Had this story in my head for a while, I hope you all enjoy. Reviews are always appreciated.

Act 1

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He was stunned.

His face did not betray him - but he was. She looked even better up close.

"Mr. Grimes, wow it's fantastic to meet you," Mike grinned like a Cheshire cat as he outstretched his hand. Rick could basically see the dollar signs spinning in his eyes like a cartoon slot machine. It's funny how he became used to this kind of look from this kind of man.

He gave him a firm handshake over the chic black table of the hotel restaurant. But his eyes couldn't help but pan over to the elegantly dressed woman to Mike's right.

"Pardon my manners," Mike said with the same grin, "Allow me to introduce my business partner and fiancé Michonne Evans."

Rick wanted to grimace. But once again, his face didn't betray him.

He was well aware of their partnership but seeing it up close was harder than he thought it would be.

"It's fantastic to meet you Mr. Grimes."

Michonne's hand fit perfectly in his. "Believe me, the pleasure is mine," he said softly.

He watched her eyelashes flutter as her head arched slightly to the side in curiosity.

Rick smirked, it was slight, he was certain Mike didn't see it.

"Please sit down," he said, "We have a lot to discuss."

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Michonne was quickly jotting down notes. Their potential new client was detailed. He knew his references, he knew what he wanted, and above all his taste was impeccable.

And with a net worth of 20 million, it was no wonder.

"Is that something you think you can manage?" Rick's blue eyes pierced Michonne's brown ones.

Mike answered for her, despite being the less talented of the duo, "Absolutely we can."

Rick watched Michonne put down her pen, "Actually, I don't think we can."

Rick's eyebrow raised in mild trepidation.

Mike balked then recovered with a smile, "What she means is, we need to talk about the specifics. You know-"

"No," Michonne said emphatically, "What I mean is that this vision, this house you want- it lacks heart. It's cold."

"Michonne!" Mike whispered harshly just as Rick said, "Explain."

"Mr. Grimes. I don't just design houses. I design homes. Homes where people start a new life, make love, start a family, host holidays, grow old. I design - then Mike helps build - homes that house dreams, passions. You want another million-dollar property. You don't want a home."

"Mr. Grimes, my apologies-" Rick put his hand up, Mike stopped immediately.

"You think I'm just looking for another million-dollar property that I'll eventually flip and sell for more. And I won't deny that it has its appeal."

Rick unbuttoned his Tom Ford suit jacket to lean closer, "But I could call anyone to do that. And I would, if that's what I wanted. But I don't want that. I want warmth, I want passion. I want you."

Michonne can't explain why goosebumps dot her toned forearms. She's sure her gulp is audible.

"Then we have a deal, Mr. Grimes," Mike said triumphantly.

Rick rose, he extended his hand to Michonne, "Do we?"

She glances at Mike who gave her an eager nod.

She turns back to Rick and places her hand in his, "I supposed we do."

He squeezed her hand between his two. His emotions finally betrayed his cool demeanor. The corner of his lips flicked up in a smirk.

He would have her.

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The last thing she was expecting, three weeks after closing the biggest contract of her career as an architect, was her new client at her studio door.

"Mr. Grimes?" She said, snatching off her reading glasses.

He held his hand up to stop her, "Please call me Rick."

Michonne's eyes scanned his appearance. Wrangler jeans, blue denim shirt, sunglasses. Rick was the picture of casualness. The polar opposite of the stoic businessman she met weeks ago.

Yet, she still felt under dressed in her large white blouse and leggings.

"Rick," She said, trying it on her tongue, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to check on my forever home," he said with a sardonic grin.

Michonne grinned back, despite herself. And stepped to the side to allow him into her studio.

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Rick licked his lips.

Michonne was bent over her drafting table, eyes laser focused on her T-square. Slow but steady, she traced a line.

Rick swallowed as her large linen blouse exposed the tops of her mahogany breasts which sat snugly in her lingerie.

His palms itched.

"Okay!" Michonne said joyfully, "This is the basic outline."

Rick stood up from the stool and looked at it. The outline for the blueprint was crisp but also sparse.

"Where's the rest?"

Michonne chuckles. It's the best sound he's ever heard. The sides of his eyes crinkle as he smiles back. She's infectious.

"Easy does it. We don't want to rush the fun part."

"The fun part?" Rick questions.

Michonne nods her head and gestures for him to join her at the drafting tables.

He walks up behind her and looks over her shoulder.

Michonne clears her throat to alleviate the tingle that's gone up her spine.

"There," She points, "That's your front door."

Rick nods and moves closer. She can now feel his body heat.

"Now, this," She points, "Is where the dream begins."

Rick took a deep breath - her perfume was light, honeysuckle based perhaps. The hair on his arms stood up. He took in the elegant swoop of her neck and resisted the urge to pull her locs to the side.

"Yes, it is."

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"You have to go," Mike said.

"Mike," Michonne answered back incredulously.

"I'm serious Mimi. This is our biggest contract. It's what we've been waiting for since we left the firm. If that means you have to go to bumble fuck Georgia, then go."

"But-"

"But what? This project is going excellently. We're hitting our deadlines. We've hired the best contractors."

Michonne opened her mouth then closed it. There was no easy way to tell your fiance that their dream client might be trying to seduce her.

"He loves our work and he's going to tell all the rest of his rich friends about it. What's the problem?"

"It's..It's just," Michonne thinks of an orchid (her favorite flower) in the most intricate bell jar she's ever seen. It was perched on the shelf of the studio Rick visited three months ago. It was one of the many gifts he would either have delivered or deliver himself when he came to "check" on her progress. One of the many gifts from him that she couldn't seem to throw away.

"It's just what babe?" Mike said, folding his pocket square again. He was getting ready to go out to meet another potential client. He had to look his best.

Michonne looked down at her Dansko clogs in frustration. Mike was doing this client meeting alone. He usually did this alone. In fact, Rick was the first client to ever ask to meet her.

"It's nothing," she said quietly.

"So, you're going?" Mike checked; his attention now focused on his cufflinks.

"Yes Mike, I'm going to Georgia." Michonne gritted out.

"Fantastic," Mike said with a grin, he kissed her cheek, "I'll see you later, babe."

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Michonne looked outside the window of the plane. Her nerves were on edge. Somehow her flight anxiety was worse on a private plane. She sneaks a look at Rick.

He was in his classic uniform, dark Wrangler jeans and a flannel. As always, his eyes were fully trained on hers.

"You know I googled it," Michonne said, her hands still gripping the lux seats.

"Googled what?"

"King County," Michonne said looking outside the windows, "It's only a 3 hour drive."

Rick raised his eyebrow and took a sip from his rock's glass, "And what about it?"

"Why are we taking a jet when we could just drive?"

"Do you not like jets?"

"Jets are fine. I just don't like pretension."

Rick stilled. Michonne held his stare in a cold sweat.

He laughed, suddenly.

Michonne gave him a confused look.

"I guess I haven't been subtle."

Michonne looked down, thinking of all the gifts from him she'd received, all the time they had spent together in her little studio. Her face burned with embarrassment and something else; something she was too afraid to admit.

"You're not an easy person to impress Michonne."

She fidgeted with her engagement ring as she looked out the window, "I work for you Mr. Grimes. There's no need to impress me."

Michonne regretted the words the moment they left her lips.

He looked out the window with her, "We both know that's not true."

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Rick's family home was small, but beautiful. With a porch that reached around the whole house like it was giving it a hug.

Rick hid a smirk as he watched Michonne take in the details of the home he'd spent his childhood in.

"Rick," Michonne said with a wild smile, taking in the hand carved details, "This is incredible."

"Worth the jet ride here?" Rick said with a smile.

Michonne turned around and smiled back, "Worth the jet ride here."

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Rick knew this chicken fried steak and garlic mash potatoes recipe from his grandmother was a winner. But he hadn't felt this nervous since his company went public. A bridge engineer turned bridge part manufacturer, turned patent holder of the best infrastructure engineering in the world - Michonne's jestfull look of disbelief at his cooking acumen rattled him more than he would like to admit.

The millionaire playboy routine didn't work on her. He should've guessed as much. Top of her class at Cornell, daughter of two respected doctors, it was no wonder Michonne wasn't particularly impressed by money.

But, he could feel it. Every time his hand lingered on her shoulder, or when they laughed over a carton of cold Chinese food as she worked, he could feel the electricity between them.

"Are you sure you don't need help?" Michonne asked with humor in her voice, "I dated a chef once. I'm well versed in being a sous chef."

"Wow," Rick said, "I'm surprised."

"At what?"

"I just figured you and Mike were high school sweethearts, or something."

Michonne's eyebrows crinkle in confusion, "What makes you say that?"

"I mean why would someone like you stay with-"

Michonne's phone rang. She all but jumped out of her seat. They stared at each other as it rang three more times before she picked it up.

"Mike, baby, how are you?" She stuttered as she excused herself to the porch.

Rick gave the mashed potatoes a stir, "Shit."

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"Color me surprised." Michonne said, taking a coy sip from her third glass of 1984 Napa Valley Syrah.

"Didn't think I was much of a cook did I?"

Michonne laughed. One of many full belly laughs of the evening, "I was prepared to lie."

Rick laughed, "You were prepared to lie?!"

"I had a performance all mapped out. I guess I'll have to save it for another occasion."

"Nah, I reckon you're not the lying kind."

Michonne giggled again despite herself; Rick's southern accent was stronger here. A few glasses of bourbon in, sitting at the table his great grandfather carved with his bare hands, he was spurs away from being a cowboy.

Michonne's giggles died down as she looked around, "I can see why you wanted me to see this place."

"Yeah?"

"I see it. The warmth," Michonne got up and walked over to the fireplace, a picture of a young boy who could be Rick's spitting image grinned back at her, "The legacy."

Rick got up from the table and joined her at the mantle, "That's Carl."

Michonne smiled, "It's great to put a face to the name." Carl was a constant conversation topic during their working sessions.

Rick smiled as he took in her side profile, "He wants to meet you."

Michonne's head whipped over to seek his eyes, "What?"

Rick shrugged, "He wants to meet you. I told him that your architecture thesis was on The Bat Cave. He wants you to do his bedroom the same way."

Michonne peeled out in laughter, "Tell him I'm on it."

"You can tell him yourself. He'll be joining us tomorrow."

"Rick-"

"Before you say anything, let me just say this wasn't expected. Something came up with his mother. So he's meeting us here"

Michonne nodded silently. Rick wasn't the only one who did his research. He only spoke of Carl, but the whole world knew of his nasty divorce with his first wife, his high school sweetheart.

"I don't want to interrupt family time," Michonne said looking back at the photo of Carl.

Rick placed a hand on her shoulder, "You won't. He's dying to meet you. And it would…it would mean a lot to me."

Michonne nodded, her eyes quickly flashing down to observe Rick's thumb that was absentmindedly rubbing circles on her shoulder.

Before she could register her own thoughts, her hand covered his and squeezed.

Rick's heart rate picked up. His eyes bounced from her elegant hand, to her eyes, to her lips, back to her eyes.

He took a step towards her, gripping her shoulder unconsciously.

A crack of thunder resonated out of nowhere. They jump towards each other startled. Rick's hand gripped her shoulder, while the other traveled to the nape of her neck.

They let out a shaky laugh once they realize that there's nothing to be afraid of.

Michonne's eyes flutter shut. She can feel his breath as he leans in.

Her small hand presses against his chest to stop him.

She lets out a small sigh - part frustration, part revelation, "Rick, enough."

She pushes him back and turns around. Her body is on fire. Her mind is too. She doesn't think she can survive another close encounter with him.

She takes a deep shaky breath and attempts a nonchalant tone, "I'll get started on the dishes."

"Leave them," Rick said quickly, eyes acutely reading her body language. She was shrinking away from him. He pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration.

She nodded.

The sound of rain settled around them.

"Michonne, I'm-"

"Good night Rick," she said softly yet emphatically as she walked through the kitchen to the guest room.

Rick walked to the kitchen table and picked up his glass and took a sip.

He shook his head and chuckled darkly. He played his card too quickly. The slow burn he had been cultivating for the last few months just evaporated.

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Michonne should have known there would be a knock at her door. Persistent. That's how she would describe Rick. In business and in life. Hard working? Certainly. But more so than anything, persistent. That's how he got a small contracting firm to a multi-million-dollar company. That's how he became Carl's primary guardian.

So Michonne didn't know why she was shocked when she heard a knock at her door. But she was.

She opened the door up, toothbrush in hand,

"I'm sorry."

"Rick, you don't have to apologize-"

"Let me finish. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but I'm not sorry for how I feel about you."

Michonne's hand gripped her toothbrush, "Rick, please I-"

"You're a brilliant woman, Michonne. And I know this isn't a surprise. And I know I've put you in a tough situation-"

"A tough situation?" Michonne said incredulously, "A tough situation Rick? I work for you, me and my fiancé work for you."

"I know that. But it doesn't matter," Rick said firmly.

"It doesn't matter?" Michonne crossed her arms, "My life and my livelihood don't matter?"

"It doesn't matter because I know you feel the same way."

Michonne opened her mouth, then closed it. She shook her head, "Rick, I'm with Mike."

Rick took a step towards her; they're a breath apart, his eyes are sharp, "And you shouldn't be. He's a pompous, social climbing asshole who jet sets around the country pretending to be a big shot while you do all the work."

Michonne eyebrow creased in angry frustration, "And what? You're the alternative? Some divorced, millionaire playboy trying to seduce a woman he's paying because he's lonely?"

She pushed him away only for Rick to take her hand, pulling her into his chest. His eyes narrowed in frustration, "Michonne. That doesn't change how we feel about each other."

Their angry heaving chests filled the silence. He waits for a reply he'll never get.

Rick chuckled darkly, "So that's how you see me huh?" The chuckle did a poor job of masking his hurt.

Michonne's eyes softened, "No. No, Rick. You and I, we can't. It doesn't matter how I feel. I made a promise to someone else. Someone else who loves me."

Rick brought his hand to her cheek. He could feel her skin flush. His eyes scanned her face, as if to memorize how her heart-shaped face looked in his hands. His thumbs make absent circles on her jaw line.

Michonne knows what comes next, but for a moment she wishes everything is different.

Rick drops his hands and takes a step back. He looks down at his scuffed cowboy boots, "Michonne, he-he-"

He looks up at her again. Her jaw is tight, but her eyes betray her. They'd taken on a glossy tinge.

Rick looks down, "He's one lucky man."

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The next morning Rick woke up to the sound of a car door slamming. He sprang out of bed, blindly grabbing a shirt on his way to the kitchen.

The kitchen he left in shambles was clean. And on the mantle they stood in front of hours before, was a note.

Rick,

I'm going home. Any questions about the project should be sent to my assistant Sasha. Tell Carl I'm sorry I missed him.

Regards,

Michonne

Rick crumbled the note between his palms.

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More soon. This will probably only be 5 to seven chapters long. Apologies for any spelling errors. Reviews are always appreciated.

xo