Thanks so much for CharlotteAshmore for betaing this story. She's been a huge help.
Sorry for posting this chapter later than usual. I fell behind in my schedule with the holidays.
I re-edited the first chapter, and added little things here and there, so if anyone wants to go back and re-read before reading this chapter, that would be great. I would probably recommend doing that.
And moving on to the story...
Killian was sitting at the bar, drinking. It didn't matter that he was underage. He had a fake ID that looked real enough. The bartender of the dingy, little pub he had chosen either didn't care if it was fake, or had more interest in making a coin than catching minors.
He took a gulp of his beer, looking around the room. He was alone, a runaway. He had no home, no parents. He was minding his business, when a man walked by.
The man was holding a cane, wearing what looked liked an expensive suit. He stopped by Killian's chair, tilting his head.
"You're not old enough to be drinking here," the man said, a Scottish lilt to his voice.
Killian snorted. "What do you know, old man? I have an ID."
The man smirked. "No doubt," he said. "But is it real?"
Killian just looked at the man. "Fuck you," he snarled.
The man chuckled. "And a temper," he mused. "Should be interesting." He sat down in the stool next to Killian's. "Where are your parents?"
"Why do you want to know?" Killian asked, looking suspiciously at the man.
The man shrugged, his hands folded on the bar. "I can tell a minor when I see one. And you, son, are not old enough to be drinking." He pulled Killian's jug of beer away, and turned to face Killian head on. "So answer me this: Where are your parents? You shouldn't be here."
Killian rolled his eyes. "I ran away from home, ok?" He reached for his glass, but the man pushed it farther out of reach.
"Why did you do that?" The man asked, softly.
Killian shook his head in frustration. "Because my father's a dick, and my mom puts up with his ass, even after he beats her. I didn't want to be around them anymore. Does that answer your question?" Killian asked, harshly.
The man sat back, thinking. "It does," he said, simply. "You remind me of my own son," he added. The man stood up, grabbing his cane. He held out his hand. "My name's Mr. Gold."
Killian rolled his eyes again, but reached out and shook Gold's hand. "Killian," he responded, gruffly.
Gold pulled back his hand, eyes blazing with ideas. "Well, Killian. How would you like to work for me?"
Belle stopped in at Granny's again, Friday morning. She really needed her hot chocolate fix again. And if she was being completely truthful, she wanted to see that man again. The man who's name she had no idea.
She grabbed her cup, and went to sit down. She looked around the diner, but didn't see him. She frowned. Disappointing. She shook herself, and picked up her book from inside her bag. Just because she couldn't speak to that man again, didn't mean she couldn't enjoy her novel.
She was in the middle of a chapter when she heard a tapping noise. Then a voice. "Invested in a book again, Miss French?"
Belle quickly looked up and saw him. He was standing in front of the chair across from her, smirking, hands resting on his cane. He still had great hair, Belle noticed, but that was silly. She just saw him yesterday. It wasn't as if his hair could have changed that much.
Belle realized she was sitting there gaping at him. She hurriedly shut her mouth. "You," she said, not knowing what else to say.
His smirked turned into a small grin. "Yes, me." He nodded at the seat across from her. "Mind if I sit?"
She shook her head. "Not at all."
He nodded himself, sitting. Resting his cane next to him, he leaned against the table. "What are you reading today, Miss French?" She held up her book. "Ah, Wuthering Heights," he mused. "I took you more for a Jane Eyre girl."
She blushed, smiling. "I already read it," she said, sheepishly. "I adore Charlotte, but I thought I should give the other Bronte sisters a chance."
"So you've taken to reading Wuthering Heights. Not the finest work of literature in my opinion, but interesting nonetheless."
She nodded, looking at the book. "Catherine is extremely annoying and too indecisive, and Heathcliff is way too brooding. He's so young that he wants to prove himself to Catherine, when really he should just be with her."
"You don't like brooding?" he asked, folding his hands underneath his chin.
"Not really," she responded.
He smirked. "Well, what about Mr. Rochester? He's older than Jane by twenty years, and yet she seems to have it all figured out."
Belle smiled, shyly. "That is true." She looked steadily at him, into his brown eyes. "But there is something about an older man that's more attractive."
He smirked. "An older man like me, Miss French?"
She blushed again, catching her breath. "Well, I didn't say you," she teased.
He grinned. "You were thinking it though."
Her smiled widened. "So sure of yourself, are you?"
He shrugged. "It comes with my profession."
"And what's that?" Belle asked.
He wagged a finger at her. "If I told you, than I'd have to kill you."
She pursed her lips. "I think you won't tell me, because then I could figure out your name."
He paused. "Well, that is the other reason."
She giggled, making him smile. "You are very mysterious, Mr. 'whatever your name is'. I'm going to crack the code. I'll figure you out, one way or another."
His eyes glinted. "You're so sure of yourself, Miss French?"
She smirked. "Well, it comes with my profession," she teased, throwing his words back at him. She couldn't believe she was teasing and flirting with this man. Normally she was so awkward around men, but there was something about this man that made her feel confident. Maybe it was his own confidence, radiating from him. Maybe it was the steadiness of his eyes, his unflinching gaze that seemed to send a tremor of excitement and mystery coursing through her. Whatever the reason, she felt free in speaking with him. Well, maybe it had to do with that fact that he liked to talk about books. That was always a win in Belle's book.
"And what is your profession?" he asked.
She shook her head. "You didn't tell me, so I don't think it's fair that I should tell you."
He smirked. "Touche, Miss French. I'll give you that one."
"I didn't know we were keeping points," she said.
He sat back in his seat, unlacing his fingers. "With me, you will realize that I always keep score." He said it so softly, that Belle blushed ten shades deeper again. He nodded towards her book. "You don't exactly seem to be liking Emily Bronte's work."
Belle shrugged. "It's all right, just not as good Jane Eyre. Jane is a heroine I can appreciate."
"And Mr. Rochester?" he asked, tilting his head.
Belle looked steadily into his eyes. "He's a troubled man, with many secrets."
"Yet," he said, "Mr. Rochester can't help falling for his young governess."
"And she him," Belle said, softly.
"Why is that, do you think?" he asked, staring inquisitively at her.
Belle paused, thinking. She haltingly responded. "He challenges her. Makes her question herself. ...And he is older. That right there brings an appeal to him. Jane was hopeless from the start."
"But he made so many mistakes," he countered.
"That is true," Belle nodded. "But Jane stays strong and leaves when Mr. Rochester's secret comes out."
He smirked. "But she returns to him again, in the end."
Belle paused again. "Because, Jane realizes that Mr. Rochester is her true love. He understands her like no one else."
He stared at her. Belle couldn't quite make out the look. He was looking at her like she was an enigma. He was also looking at her suspiciously. Belle wondered what secrets he was holding. He wasn't ready to trust her yet. Who was this man, so secretive that he couldn't even tell her his name?
He was like Mr. Rochester. Keeping secrets that would only hurt him in the end.
Mr. Clark nervously entered Gold Enterprises, clutching an envelope filled with money. He'd scrounged through every drop of money in his bank account, trying to get eight thousand dollars over night. He'd barely managed, and had even been forced to dip into the money he had been saving for retirement.
He walked up to the front desk asking for Mr. Gold's office. It was on the tenth floor. Clark tried to catch his breath the entire ride up the elevator. When the doors'dinged' open, he was petrified. He hesitantly stepped up to a young woman, with short black hair, at a front desk. Mr. Gold's secretary he presumed.
She glanced up at his approach. "How may I help you?"
Clark gulped. "I'm here to see Mr. Gold."
"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, nicely.
"N-not exactly. Mr. Gold is expecting me though," Clark stuttered.
"All right. I'll ring him up for you," the secretary said. She called Gold's office asking about Clark. "He says you can go on in," she told Clark, after she set the phone down.
"T-thank you," he stuttered again.
Clark entered Gold's office, terrified out of his mind. His two broken fingers were bandaged, making it difficult to hold onto the envelope. Gold looked up at his entrance.
"Mr. Clark," the Scotsman greeted, pointing at a chair. "Have a seat."
Clark sat down quickly, not wanting to invoke the wrath of Mr. Gold. "Here's your money." Clark handed the envelope over, struggling with his fingers.
Gold lifted an eyebrow. "I wasn't sure if you would get it for me. If I'm being truthful, I had my doubts." He grabbed the envelope, and sifted through the dollar bills. He nodded. "You got it all." He sounded surprised.
"I didn't want to have any other bones broken," Clark said, breathlessly relieved. He had succeeded in his task. "I was pretty desperate."
Gold chuckled. "I can imagine." He nodded at the door. "You're free to go, Mr. Clark. Just remember what I told you: you still have to sell the merchandise I gave you."
Clark nodded, quickly. "I know. I won't forget, Sir." He stood up, practically running towards the door. He stopped abruptly, turning back to Gold. "You know, you're not as scaring in the day, as you are at night."
Gold smirked. "I'm still terrifying, Mr. Clark. You're just on my nice list right now. So I suggest you leave before that changes." Gold looked away, dismissing Clark.
Mr. Clark wasn't about to argue.
David entered the bar, The Idiot, Friday night. He noticed, for a Friday night, that the bar wasn't filled with many people. It was somewhat run down, probably to help take away any attraction.
He saw Jefferson sitting in a corner near the back, speaking to some other man. He was short and had a beard. The man didn't look too pleased to be speaking with Jefferson.
David recognized Jefferson from the band promotional posters. He wanted to rush over there and demand answers, but he knew that wouldn't help him at all. That would just get his cover blown. He ordered a beer, and sat down at a nearby table. He could hear a little of Jefferson and the other man's conversation.
"I'm telling you, Jeff, I don't want to be a part of any gang," the short man replied.
"Leroy, it isn't a gang. It's an operation. An empire," Jefferson responded.
The man, Leroy, snorted. "Sounds like a gang to me."
Jefferson sighed. "We could use a man like you."
Leroy barked a laugh. "I'm a lowlife drunk, who can't hold a steady job. I have no expertise to give you."
"But you're exactly the type of man to easily take off the grid," Jefferson said, emphatically. "You have no family, no job. We can place you in any undercover mission we might need. No one will miss you."
Leroy crossed his arms. "Just because I don't have a job, doesn't mean I want to get caught up in illegal business."
Jefferson looked like he was wracking his brain for an answer, one to get Leroy to accept. He rubbed his chin, conflict in his eyes. Finally, he came to a decision. He lowered his voice. David had to stretch his ears to hear. "What if I told you, you'll be working for Mr. Gold."
Leroy shrugged. "Never heard of him."
Jefferson sighed. "Of, course you haven't," he muttered. He straightened up in his seat. "Mr. Gold runs a huge law firm, here in Boston. You could work for him."
"Like at his office?" Leroy grumbled.
Jefferson hesitated, then nodded. "Sure, why not? So you won't be working for a criminal gang, like I told you. You'll be working for a lawyer who wouldn't dream of breaking the law. Like I said: an empire. Not a gang."
David wasn't sure if Jefferson was being sarcastic or not, but the news on Mr. Gold was huge. Mr. Gold ran a huge corporation, and was one of the top most sought after lawyers in Boston. David, nor any police officer, would have been surprised if he partook in any criminal business. He had so much power. But there was no evidence to pin anything on him.
For all David knew, Jefferson could have lied to Leroy to get the short man to accept the job. There was no proof that Mr. Gold had anything to do with Jefferson's meeting. For now, David was after Keiran Hook. He knew for sure, that Hook was one of the higher stationed men in the gang.
Leroy hesitated himself, finally sighing. He nodded, and shook the outstretched hand Jefferson offered. "I really do need a job," grumbled Leroy. He stood up, and left the bar.
David walked over and sat in the booth across from Jefferson. The other man looked surprised, not expecting David to sit down.
"Hello," Jefferson said, confused.
David nodded after Leroy. "I couldn't help but overhear you mention a Mr. Gold."
Jefferson eased back in his seat, a weary expression crossing his face. "Yes, but I just said that so Leroy would accept the job."
David frowned. "Damn," he murmured. "That would have been nice job to work for a man like him."
Jefferson raised his hands in a 'what would you have me do' manner. "Sorry, buddy. I've never met the guy."
"So what is it you do, exactly?" David asked.
"I'm a music promoter." Jefferson lifted a flyer out from his back pocket.
David dismissed the piece of paper. "What I meant was, what do you really do?"
Jefferson's eyes glinted. "You're not a cop, are you?"
David smiled. "If I was, why would I answer that?"
Jefferson snorted. "That's true." He eyed David, speculating. "Do you have any special skills?"
"Is this a job interview?" David asked.
Jefferson winked. "Not quite, but answer the question anyway."
David sighed. "Right now I'm unemployed," he said. "I got fired from my job for selling illegal contraband."
"Where did you work?" Jefferson asked curiously, crossing his arms.
"At an electronics store."
Jefferson quirked an eyebrow. "Like The 40 year Old Virgin?"
David paused. "Uh, yeah. Like that."
Jefferson looked immensely more interested then. "Did you sell off brands or illegal pieces of computers, or something?"
David nodded. "Yes, both actually."
Jefferson pursed his lips, squinting at David. "You looked too clean cut to be doing something illegal."
David spread his arms wide. "That's why I'm the perfect candidate. I'm unsuspecting."
Jefferson paused, thinking. Finally he snapped his fingers, and pulled out a pen and notebook from his jacket. He wrote something down. David saw that it was an address. Jefferson ripped off the piece of paper, handing it over.
"Show up there, next Wednesday," Jefferson pointed at the address. "I need to speak with my boss, before I can give unapproved jobs away."
David nodded, pocketing the paper. "I'll be there."
The both nodded at each other, David standing up. He left the bar, breathing a sigh of relief. The plan worked. He had a way in.
And Jefferson...well, he wasn't as good at detecting lies as Killian had said.
Monday morning came sooner than Belle expected.
She spent the whole weekend reading, looking over Hook's case file again, and over analyzing about the man from the diner.
When she stepped into the precinct, she noticed Ruby immediately. She was chewing her red cinnamon gum again, yawning between chews. Belle took off her jacket, sitting down.
"You look miserable," Belle commented.
Ruby yawned, revealing more of the inside of Ruby's mouth than Belle wished to see. "Long night," was all she said.
"Doing what?" Belle asked, innocently, setting her desk up. Ruby shot her a pointed look. Belle giggled. "Ah, that kind of night."
Ruby nodded. "Yeah, that kind of night."
"Who is he?" Belle asked, sharpening her pencil.
Ruby sighed. "His name's Victor. Jackass left me in the morning."
"I'm sure it couldn't have been that bad," Belle said. "You look tired enough. I'm sure it must have been a pleasant evening," Belle smiled, teasing.
Ruby snorted. "Pleasant evening, sure. Morning? Crappy. He left through the window, Belle."
Belle's eyes widened. "Oh." She paused. "That would be crappy."
"Thank you!" Ruby exclaimed. "Emma didn't seem to understand that when I was telling her a few minutes ago."
Belle hesitated. "Were you telling her, or complaining to her? Because there is a difference, Rubes."
"Telling!" Ruby also exclaimed. She paused, thinking. "Or was I complaining?" She asked herself softly.
Belle shook her head, grinning. Before she could set out another case file, Emma came walking up.
"Meeting in Captain Mills's office," she said. "It looks like David might have an in into Hook's gang."
That perked Ruby up. She shot up, rushing to the office. Belle followed after, more slowly in her heels and skirt.
Regina was standing behind her desk, arms folded. Like before, the only ones in the room were Emma, Ruby, Belle, and David, other than Regina.
Captain Mills nodded at David. "Good work, Nolan," she praised.
"Does this mean he's found a way into Hook's circle?" Ruby asked, excitedly.
"Not quite," Regina said.
Emma elaborated, at Belle and Ruby's confused frowns. "Jefferson gave David an address to meet up at on Wednesday, at some warehouse down by the docks."
"So I might have an in," David added. "We'll have to see."
"One thing that was disturbing though," Regina said, "was the mention of Mr. Gold."
"Who's Mr. Gold?" Belle asked.
Emma snorted. "Only the richest man in Boston. He owns Gold Enterprises, a colossal empire, and he's a ruthless lawyer to boot. That man could get away with murder and no one would know about it."
Regina sighed. "That's why he's so difficult to pin down, but Jefferson did mention to another man, that if he accepted a job offer, he would be working for Mr. Gold."
"Do we know that for a fact?" Ruby asked.
Emma sighed. "No, we don't."
David cleared his throat. "Jefferson told me that Mr. Gold's name was just a cover to get the other man to accept the job. So, we don't know if Mr. Gold is in on anything."
"What does he look like, this Mr. Gold?" Belle asked. Regina typed into her computer, turning it around for Belle to see.
But Belle wished she hadn't seen anything. Belle's breath was caught in her throat. She recognized Mr. Gold... because he was the man she had been crushing over for the entire weekend.
Ruby shot her a confused look, on hearing Belle's gasp. Belle shook her head, not answering Ruby's silent question.
"But right now," Regina was speaking, "Mr. Gold isn't our priority. Hook is."
"But you don't think," Ruby asked, "that Mr. Gold is the one Hook is working for?"
"Why would you guess that, Lucas?" Regina asked.
Ruby shrugged. "Because Emma mentioned how she couldn't believe that Hook was the leader. How he wasn't smart enough. If Mr. Gold owns an empire, surely he's smart enough to be the leader of a gang."
Belle wished that Ruby would stop talking. She didn't want to think that way about the man she spent time with discussing books. The man she was most assuredly crushing on. Not that Belle thought they were in a relationship. Clearly they weren't. But, in those two conversations, Belle could not stop thinking about him. He was a mystery waiting to be uncovered. Clearly that mystery was turning into reality.
But now, Belle realized, the entire time she was gushing over books, and falling out of chairs, she was doing it in front of a billion dollar man...who owned an empire...and might be a part of illegal business. That really was not what Belle wanted to hear.
Regina tilted her head. "Gold is smart enough, sure. But we have no proof, so it's not worth wasting time on speculating. We know Hook's a threat. We're going after him." She looked around at all the people in the room. "Is everyone clear on that?"
Belle, Ruby, Emma, and David nodded. Regina also nodded. "Then everyone's dismissed." She turned to David. "Good luck, Wednesday night."
Everyone left Regina's office. Ruby was talking excitedly, but Belle kept her head hung low. She felt like she had been punched in the stomach.
So much for having crushes.
Gold was at work, in his extremely nice elegant office, at Gold Enterprises. He was working on a thievery case. Some idiot decided to rob a bank, and Gold was the defense attorney building a case for the man.
He dropped his pen down with a sigh, settling back in his seat. He enjoyed being a lawyer, though not exactly a defense attorney. He would have much preferred prosecuting men in an instant. Some would call him a hypocrite for wanting to put men away for doing things he surely did once or twice before in his life, but he never really did care what others thought. Knowing why these men committed crimes, would make it easier to send them to jail. It would also make it easier to not have to deal with as much competition. If they were in prison, Gold would be able to run his empire more smoothly.
He had just picked up his pen when his intercom buzzed. He pushed the button, saying, "What, Miss Blanchard? I have work to do."
"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Gold," Miss Blanchard, his secretary stuttered, "but your wife his here to see you."
He rolled his eyes. "My ex-wife, Miss Blanchard."
"I'm sorry, Sir," she repeated. "Your ex-wife. She's very adamant to see you."
He sighed, grumbling under his breath. "Send her in."
His door opened, and Milah, his ex-wife, entered the room. She was blazing with fury, holding a folder. She slammed it down on his desk.
"So good to see you too, Milah," Gold said, sarcastically.
"I just came by to make sure you knew when our court hearing was," she said, lifting her chin haughtily. She opened the folder, revealing the date of the hearing.
"So we can get this bloody divorce on the way, no doubt," he muttered, lifting his pen to make notes on the case he was working on.
She gabbed the pen from his hand. He lifted an eyebrow, glancing up calmly. Milah threw the pen to the ground. "You never seem to have the ability to listen to what I have to say," she seethed.
Gold stood up, grabbing his cane. He walked around his desk to pick up his pen. "I'm not listening to you because I already know when it is. May 10th, at nine in the morning. I'm a lawyer after all, dearie. I can remember dates."
Milah snorted. "You never seemed to remember my birthday, or our anniversary."
Gold chuckled, and scoffed at the same time. "Oh, it's not that I didn't remember, Milah. I just never wanted to partake in any celebrations with you. They're so tedious." He sat back down.
Milah's eyes widened in outrage. "You son of a bitch. We're getting this divorce because you had the audacity to sleep with your other secretary. Cora, was her name?"
Gold's lips thinned. "I only did that, after you slept with your pool boy. Phil was his name, if I'm correct." He paused, tilting his head, lifting his pen again to get back to work. "I never knew what you saw in him. I mean, he cleaned pools for a living."
Milah sneered. "Well, at least he paid attention me. And didn't drive our son away."
Gold froze. Mentioning his son was a low blow. "Neal left of his own accord. I did nothing," he tried to say calmly.
Milah scoffed. "Please, Mason. You were so overbearing, and controlling. Neal felt stifled, so he ran away."
Gold squinted at Milah. "Well, what about you, dear wife? You were so jacked up on a bottle of...well...anything, really, that you never paid any attention to the needs of our son." He threw his pen down. "You were too focused on fucking the help, and drinking your sorrows away, that you never gave a rat's arse about Neal."
Milah flushed, closing her hands into fists. "Don't think this is all my fault, Mason."
"I never said I did." Gold closed his eyes. "I know I've made mistakes." He opened his eyes, blinking. "But don't come into my office accusing me of something that was both our faults." He nodded at the folder. "I know when our hearing is, wife. Now get the fuck out of my office."
Milah scowled, grabbing the folder. "Don't be late," she muttered, walking to the door.
Gold snorted. "I never am, dearie. You're the one that can't seem to be punctual."
Milah rolled her eyes. "I've gotten better."
"Yes," Gold nodded. "It must be the pool boy. He's had such a great influence on you." He was clearly being sarcastic.
Milah looked ready to punch Gold in the face. "Just be there, and we can get this damn divorce done with."
"With pleasure," Gold said, as Milah left the room.
He finally could get back to work, but his soon to be ex-wife rattled him up. She actually made him think of the young Miss French he met Thursday, and had the pleasure of speaking to again Friday morning. He wasn't able to stop by the diner this morning, having an early meeting.
Miss French and Milah were nothing alike, only both having brown hair, but the thought of his wife, reminded him of Miss French. Both his ex-wife and Miss French intrigued him the minute he met them. But Miss French seemed sweet, and a little naive. Innocent, more like. Nothing like Milah. He had enjoyed speaking to Belle about books. Her eyes lit up, and her whole body exuded happiness. He had never seen anyone so passionate about books before. It was a very entertaining sight.
Of course, he couldn't deny that Miss French was a beautiful young woman. Way to beautiful for someone like him. He was also way too old for her, being over twenty years her senior, he guessed. She hadn't told him her age, but she looked young. Gold rolled his eyes at his fancies. Miss French was a beautiful woman who made discussing books fun. That was all. He had not looked into Miss French's life, though he had the resources. He respected her privacy, as she respected his. Though she did say she would 'crack the code.' That made him smile. She was a funny little thing.
However, he would never drag a woman like her into his world. They were too far and separate, but he was looking forward to speaking to her again.
About books, of course.
Belle stopped by at Granny's again, slightly hoping he wouldn't be there, and yet, really hoping he would be. Mr. Mason Gold, she reminded herself. She knew his name now, not that she wanted to.
She wasn't going to tell him that she knew who he was. She would have to tell him her job, because of it. If Mr. Gold was a possible criminal, she couldn't well tell him she was a detective.
She entered the diner, glancing around. Her breath quickened when she saw him, sitting at a back table, reading again. She quickly ordered her hot chocolate, hoping he wouldn't see her. But the book goddesses of Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, and Louisa May Alcott, were not on her side, for Mr. Gold raised his eyes at that moment, spotting her.
Crap, she thought. She hesitantly smiled, grabbing her drink. He indicated for her to step over to his table with a nod. Belle obliged.
Her high heels clacked on the tile floors, as she walked to stand behind the chair across from him. "Mr, G- uh, 'whatever your name is,'" she quickly corrected. He squinted at her, frowning at her slip. "Enjoying your book?"
He didn't question her, thankfully, and smirked, lifting the cover. Catch 22, it read. "Immensely," he said, nodding at the chair in front of her. "Care to sit down?"
She hesitated. "Sure." She dropped her bag next to her, folding her hands on the table.
"How are you today, Miss French? Your mysterious job still going all right?"
She blushed, trying to smile. "Yes, and yours?"
He grinned. "Still as complicated as ever."
The comment made her giggle. Being in his presence made her feel more comfortable again. She had overanalyzed too much. He obviously didn't know that she knew who he was. Under other circumstances she would have told him. With the threat of him being a possible criminal, she was hesitant. She could have told him that she happened to stumble across his name through innocent situations, but Belle knew she couldn't do that. Better for her not to mention it at all, lest she slip up.
Gold held up his book. "Have you read it before?"
"Yes, for school," Belle responded. "Paradoxical situations are very interesting."
He tilted the cover in his direction. "I happen to enjoy putting people into paradoxical situations that they can't escape." He was teasing, Belle could tell. But it made her wonder if he was referencing his possible criminal past. She shook herself, smiling at his comment.
"I'm sure you do," she finally said. "A powerful man like you could easily make it difficult for a person to escape your clutches." She smiled to let him know she was teasing back.
"Who said I was powerful?" His eyes glinted.
She nodded at his clothes. "Your suit..and the way you hold yourself. You're clearly a powerful man."
He smirked. "That I am, Miss French."
"You still wont tell me your name, though?" she asked, tilting her head, mock pouting.
He chuckled. "Not yet, dearie. You still have to earn it."
"I'll keep trying," she said, confidently. "You'll have to tell me sooner or later."
"That would imply you want to see me again," he grinned.
Belle blushed again. "Maybe. I like talking to you about books. It's the highlight of my day." She absolutely meant that. Despite her confusion over his profession, Mr. Gold still intrigued her.
He smiled. "And for me as well," he murmured.
She shook her head. "You don't mean that."
"I do," he said, simply.
Belle smiled herself. She moved her eyes behind Mr. Gold's head and saw a clock. She noted the time, jumping up. "I have to get to work," she said, quickly, picking up her bag. "I'll be late."
He leaned back, looking up at her. "We don't want that. Good day, Miss French."
She nodded. "Have a nice day," she responded. Before she turned to leave, she hurriedly asked, "Will you be here tomorrow morning? I noticed you weren't here yesterday." She sheepishly glanced at her feet.
He smirked at her admission. "I will be. I wouldn't want to miss our morning discussions. I'd hate the thought of you going to someone else to discuss books."
She giggled. "I have no one else. Just you." With those words, she quickly left the diner, trying to walk as fast as she could in her high heeled shoes.
I love writing Gold and Belle's conversations. They're so much fun.
Also, Phil, they pool boy Milah slept with, is Phillip. I couldn't have it be Hook since Hook works for Gold and is kind of like a son to him, so poor Phillip became the pool boy instead. But hey, at least he's good looking. ;)
Upcoming: more into Killian's and Gold's backstory, David moves farther into the criminal world, and Belle decides to get a furry friend.