PR Nightmare AU. Jackson and Derek are normal humans and a bit older, working in the corporate sector.

"Lydia, I can't talk right now. I'm about to meet your client…..Yes, that big fish." Jackson smirked to himself as he walked through the vast lobby, all polished marble and glossy designer furniture. He was one of top PR consultants in the country, he excelled at making people look good. "You doubt I can tame the beast? If I had feelings, I'd be hurt. Really. Gotta go hun." Jackson switched off his earpiece and ducked into the elevator.

He pressed the button for the top floor and checked his hair for the umpteenth time in the black glass. His hair of course, was perfect, his pale grey suit impeccably tailored, Saville Row of course; he looked every inch the exorbitant fee he was going charge for taking on the PR nightmare otherwise known as Derek Hale. His colleagues and gossip columnists might think Derek Hale was a lost cause with his drunken outbursts, dour personality and complete lack of social skills, but they didn't have Jackson's ambition. He was determined to wear Derek down into the public figurehead he needed to be.

The elevator chimed and open softly. An immaculately groomed assistant greeted him, dressed head to toe in black. "Welcome Mr Whittemore. Mr Hale is expecting you. If you could please follow me."

They heard a man shouting as they walked down the hall. "For the last time: Fuck. No! I don't have time for this crap. You want me to run a company? Fine. But I won't waste my time playing dress up with whatever asshat you and Lydia hired!"

Then someone infinitely more calm replied. "I know you're still grieving but you are ruining the company's reputation, Derek. If you keep going like you are now, soon there won't be much of a firm to lead left. Give him a chance, I'm sure he'll have more to say than which color is best for your ties."

The assistant shot Jackson a sympathetic smile and knocked on the door. "Mr. Whittemore is here," she said, shooting Derek a quick and shy glance.

"Uncle, no, I'll-" Derek started, but Peter interrupted him. "Excellent. Send him in." The secretary nodded and left.

Peter immediately walked over to Jackson and shook his hand. "I believe we've already discussed all the details in our correspondence. I expect absolute discretion, but I'm sure Ms Martin's already explained that. I would love to stay for a chat, Mr. Whittemore, but I must apologize. I have a client to meet, so I will just leave you with my nephew for now and I'll check in later." With that Peter shook his hand again and excused himself, returning Derek's murderous gaze with a wink.

The door fell shut behind Peter and a tense silence fell between them, Mr Hale sullenly quiet and shut down. Jackson wondered which approach to take. The best way to get someone to do what you want, is to make them want it too. Best to be direct.

He cleared his throat. "Mr Hale, why do you think I am here?" He paused, letting the question hover in the air. He pulled out his ipad, and played a video of Derek's drunken meltdown at the charity gala. "This is why I am here. As you already know, this video's gone viral. You're a national joke and what's worse is that your problem, has become your family's problem. How many points do you want the company's stock to drop? How much of a drop can it take?" Jackson's locked eyes with Derek, unafraid of the volatile, bigger man. "If you care anything for your parents' legacy, you will let me help you. Check into rehab, redeem yourself to your family and the public."

Derek rolled his eyes. "You are here because my uncle has made it his one and only life goal to turn my life into living h-" The video had gotten to it's most embarrassing moment. A half-naked Derek was seen drunkenly dry humping a parking meter. Derek sighed and looked away.

Jackson brought up the rehab's website on his ipad. "It's not so bad. It's private and by the beach. I'll go with you to assist with media training." He arched a brow at Derek, waiting for his response.

Derek snapped his head back at Jackson, rage etched into his face. "Rehab?" he repeated as if the word itself had offended him gravely. "I hope you are joking or else I'm gonna give you ten seconds to excuse yourself before I throw you out the window. I will not check into anything. If this is your great idea of polishing up my image you are even worse at your job than I expected," he spat out.

Derek seemed quite angry, like he might launch himself across the desk. but that didn't bother Jackson in the slightest. He smiled brightly at the other man, egging him on. His polished composure was his weapon.

"Yes, Mr Hale, rehab. The public view you as having a problem, therefore going to rehab, in the public's eyes, would be the first step to atonement. Whether you think you have a problem or not; whether you want to go or not, is irrelevant. Now if you do not, there will be consequences, rather unpleasant ones for yourself. The choice is yours. Continue your self destructive downward spiral, or let me help you. Which is it?"

Derek stared at him for a moment, then exhaled heavily. "Where is this rehab place anyway?" he asked, making a grab for the ipad.

"Twelve Keys, Florida. I should add that you can request someone else, but I'm the best."

"And miss all the fun of watching you suffer in Florida?" sneered Derek. "That's half the fun."

"Excellent, rehab's a good start," said Jackson, struggling not to give Derek the reaction he wanted.

Derek chuckled. "Oh you have no idea," he said with a dangerous glint in his eye.

Just what was he planning, wondered Jackson.