Sorry for the long wait. There's just been so much going on. School, studying, etc.
So, I'm sorry if this chapter seems rushed. I wanted to get something up for those who've been waiting. It hasn't been proof-read either so there's bound to be mistakes.
Also, thanks to anyone who's given a review. They're very helpful.
Again, sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy!

The Thornton household was precisely that. A household… designed to house about thirty billion different people, if the sheer size of it was anything to go by. Mike couldn't help but feel intimidated, as he stood there in a suit which everyone always mocked, coming from the simple background which he had. He was about to go in and interview one of the most influential women in the world, while he stood there as nothing better than a fraud. Mike cleared his throat nervously, fixing his tie before he took a large gulp of air before walking up to the door of Thornton Manor. Magically, the large wooden door swung open before he had even raised his hand to knock. He took that as a good thing – it meant that no one would notice how badly his hand was shaking.

Those tremors in his head never ceased, especially not when he caught sight of the butler in front of him - a goddamn butler. His apartment only had three rooms – a tiny bedroom that he could barely fit in, a living room/kitchen and a bathroom. When he had lived there with Trevor, he had needed to sleep on a mattress – on the floor – in said living room.

"Michael Ross. Mrs Thornton has been expecting you." The butler stated, with the stereotypical British accent.

In fact, Mike thought as he finally shoved his nerves down enough to look at the man, everything about him was the stereotypical butler. From the brushed-back white hair on his head, to the wrinkles that lined his aging face, to the black suit and white shirt… it went so far that the man had a white towel draped over his arm.

Mike shook his head. Some people certainly knew how to live the high life.
He cleared his throat, "It's Mike."

The butler paid him no attention. The only reply he got was the older man retreated back into the house, leaving the door wide open in a way that was obviously meant to suggest that he better hurry up and get inside. Mike did so slowly, his eyes taking in the richness of the interior. It was furnished in a way that could really only be described as ghastly. Everything was obviously antique – probably handed down from generation to generation. He supposed that, with a certain frame of mind, one might find the Thornton house beautiful. Yet, he could practically hear Harvey Specter's mocking voice in the back of his head. He could see those brown eyes silently judging everything that the butler led them past, as they walked through the maze of hallways that created the house. The butler – whose name hadn't come up in conversation – didn't stop walking until they entered, what Mike assumed to be, the dining room. It was a low-ceilinged room, the walls painted a dark red with the only light coming from the candles that were plastered everywhere. The room was dominated by the long table in the centre, probably made of some fancy wood that Mike would never even be able to dream of pronouncing. Sitting at the end of the frightfully long table, was a flawlessly gorgeous blonde.

He felt his stomach clench in nervousness as Rebecca Thornton pushed back from the table and made her way over to him, surprisingly graceful on the killer heels that she had decided to wear that day. Although Rebecca Thornton wasn't getting any younger, she was still undoubtedly beautiful with her wavy silvery-blonde locks, intelligent icy-blue eyes and laughter lines on her face. She was dressed in one of those skirt and blazer ensembles that Mike had seen Rachel wear plenty of times before, but had never thought to learn the name of.

"Hello. My name is Rebecca Thornton. You must be Michael Ross." The intimidating women held out her hand.

Mike gripped it, startled to realise that the women had a strong handshake, "Just Mike."

Unlike ignoring the correction – which the butler had done – Rebecca smiled. And it set off a chain reaction. Her icy eyes lit up, going from ice to electricity in the space of a few mere seconds, while her entire posture relaxed and she immediately looked ten years younger. Mike could only hazard a guess at how stressful a divorce could be.

What shocked him most, though, was when Rebecca let out a sigh of relief.

"I have to apologise. Conversing with lawyers is not really my most favourite pastime." She explained,

"Talking to intimidating public figures isn't mine." Mike replied, before his brain could process the words.

When it finally did, his eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open in a hurried attempt to apologise, before mentally berating himself at being so rude to someone who was so well-liked throughout the country.

But Rebecca Thornton merely laughed, cutting his apology short.

"I think I'll like you, Mike Ross." She stated, before turning away, "Please… have a seat."

Mike turned to the table, warily eyeing up all the chairs that were positioned around it. Wordlessly, he watched as Rebecca opted to take the seat at the head of the table – one which must have usually been claimed by her husband. Although Mike still had limited knowledge when it came to the rich and "fabulous", he knew enough about them to know that the men could inherit a gene that left them controlling and dominant. It would come as no surprise to him if he was to find out that Jonathan Thornton usually occupied the seat that his wife was seated in now. Mike decided to play safe, selecting a seat at the middle of the table but still being brave enough to angle it slightly, so that he was facing in the beautiful blonde's general direction.

"Jessica failed to mention that they've started hiring so young." Rebecca murmured, chin on her hand as she looked at Mike thoughtfully.

No matter how desperately he tried, Mike couldn't resist squirming uncomfortably. Being fixed with Rebecca's gaze gave him precisely the same feeling as being fixed with Harvey's. It left his heart pounding.

Mike cleared his throat, "I, uh, look young for my age."

The blonde nodded and, thankfully, looked down.

"Mr Ross…"

"Mike." He corrected again.

"Mike," She smiled, before it faded, "I understand that I am not in the strongest position here. I did commit an immoral act, that much I'm aware of-"

Mike couldn't help but interrupt her, "It's not like I'm here to judge, ma'am."

"I just wanted you to know that, although I have no excuse for what I did, I stand by that decision. Jonathan… he's… well… he's Jonathan. He's the CEO of a large company. He works and works and works some more. He goes on business trips, he goes to business dinners, he's always in a conference whenever I call and… and… I got exhausted. I got tired of having a one way marriage, where the only people to ever talk to me where the people on TV and the cat when I was going insane. I got tired of the lonely life."

He wasn't entirely sure why she was telling him all this. Mike had been under the impression that he would have had to do a little more digging, a little more subtle pushing, a little more channelling Harvey Specter to get the results that he really wanted from her. This had almost been too easy.

"I never wanted the press to find out, I'm sure you can understand that. I was going to tell Jonathan eventually. I was going to wait for the right moment to tell him that I couldn't keep going through the motions – smile in front of the cameras, don't let them know how much you're hurting inside, the whole nine yards, you know? But some journalist got in there before I could, planted that seed of doubt in Jonathan's mind and, well, the man isn't really the poster boy for rational thinking. He hired a private investigator, had me followed and, from the money that he was being paid, the man squealed. Jonathan came home in a fury. Not that that's something which is particularly knew but he…confronted me. Right here, in this house, in front of the kids! And… I snapped. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take his controlling nature or the way he treated me like I was nothing better than a dog, or a Christmas present that he never much cared for. I'm not proud of the things that I did or the things that I said… but I don't, for one minute, regret them."

Mike stayed silent, almost certain that there was more.

Rebecca took a deep breath, drawing herself up, "If we're going to work well together, you need to understand that."

He nodded, "I do."

"Good."

"So, um, do you want to tell me anything else about your marriage?"

"Marriage?" Rebecca asked incredulously, before snorting in a way that was not ladylike at all, "Mike, what Jonathan and I had stopped being a marriage fifteen years ago. In that time, it was nothing more than a business arrangement."

And that, Mike thought, just had to be one of the saddest things that he'd ever heard.