#and brooding

She didn’t deserve his behavior. He had meant what he said--he did think her work needed some polish, but she was a brilliant lass, and her debut novel had been excellent. She was impressive for her talent alone. To say nothing of her fiery passion and startling good looks.

God, he hadn’t been prepared for that. He’d been so distracted by her golden hair and solemn, intense green eyes he’d barely remembered how to function. Clearly, he hadn’t remembered how to keep his words in check, if that cringe-worthy excuse of a meeting was any indication. August was not going to be happy when he filled him in on this development.

When he’d met August Booth a few years before, he’d dismissed the man’s offer to come work at his fairly new publishing house. August and his partner, Regina Mills (a pseudo-royal figure in the publishing world), had just gotten it started and off the ground, and while they were pulling in excellent talent, Killian was happy to remain in London. Plus, the Boston location didn’t appeal. If he were going to relocate to the US, he really would prefer to end up in New York, the real center of the publishing world.

But then everything had gone to shit.

It had started with that damned publicity tour for the Royal Navy. He’d been recruited after graduating from uni, drowning in debt and getting his start in the cutthroat world of publishing and public relations. Liam was an officer and said he’d look out for him. He’d quickly been snapped up and promoted within the PR division for the Navy. (“Just think, your face and the pathos of brotherly love...the country will eat this up.”) It had gone well enough, grueling if a bit dull.

Then they’d sent him out on tour on his brother’s ship. The first part had been grand. Getting to spend time with Liam every day was amazing, a feat they hadn’t reliably managed in years. It had been smooth sailing of the literal and metaphorical sort, until the explosion.  

The work of terrorists or saboteurs--the Navy was never too clear about the results of their investigation. At any rate, the tragedy had claimed Liam’s life, and Killian had lost his hand. His increasing bitterness against his country had obviously rendered him a poor choice for continuing his career in PR for the Royal Navy. They’d released him with a generous settlement, on the condition he not badmouth them to every reporter who came along.

He’d done well enough at the keeping quiet bit for a while, until trouble had found him in the form of Milah Smythe. She was tenacious, his Milah. She was a journalist for The Independent, and she’d tracked him down and tried to tease out his tale for a story she was working on. She had succeeded in doing so...after three dates and a passionate night.

She’d come clean to him the next day about her job. He’d been angry, devastated that the first person he’d felt a connection to since Liam’s death was trying to use him. Then she apologized, telling him she had no intention of using his interview for her story, that the attraction between the two of them was worth more than that to her.

Killian remembered the next year and a half in perfect detail. The laughter over dinners and lunches, the steadfast support they’d given each other. She had even gotten him back into the literary world by introducing him to an editor she knew.  The love that had grown between him and Milah was his cornerstone. He knew it was love on their first weekend away together, a brief trip to Cornwall. They’d moved in together after just a couple months, and he loved the bliss of waking up to her in his arms, greeted by her tousled hair and light snores, her teasing him over his sleep-talking.

He’d been eyeing rings--even had an appointment with a jeweler--when he’d gotten the phone call from the hospital. It had been one of those crazy things. Milah apparently had a heart condition no one had known about. It was completely unpredictable and her death instantaneous.

Suddenly, she was gone and he was alone again.

He’d climbed back into a bottle, and his work had suffered for it. He knew he was in trouble with his publishing house, so he’d done what he could to salvage it--he’d tried selling the story of what happened to him and Liam in the Navy.

The British government had been none too pleased, and when he found himself being followed by hulking men, he panicked. He dug out August’s number and asked him if the offer to come work for Mills & Booth was still good.

August had agreed to help him, and quickly, in exchange for a favor. The favor that would now be even more complicated than he’d thought.

Killian sighed. He’d had one job. (Well, two, since he was in fact an editor, regardless.) He needed to win Emma over, keep her pliable and complacent. And willing to go along with anything he or August suggested.

That was going to be...fun.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. Somehow, someway, he was going to have to fix this.

&&&

Killian made his way down the hall to Cleo’s office. He had only known her by reputation prior to arriving at Mills & Booth, but so far all of the positive things he had heard seemed to be borne out. His meetings with her had been purely professional, but he recalled hearing that she had worked closely with Emma and her former editor. The couple of times they’d seen each other since his arrival had been pleasant enough, and he hoped she’d be able to help him.

He knocked on her closed door.

“Come in!” her voice rang out, in a clear, brusque tone.

Walking through the door, he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Ms. Fox.”

“Mr. Jones,” she said, peering at him across the desk and motioning for him to take a seat. “What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping to chat with you about Emma, if you have a moment,” he said, hoping there was enough humility in his posture she’d take pity on him.

Cleo looked impassive and unimpressed. “Quite a ruckus you all raised yesterday.”

He scratched the back of his ear self-consciously. “Er, indeed. About that…”

“I’m actually surprised it took you this long to make your way down here.”

Killian winced at the mild censure in her tone. “Sorry about that. I was unsure about the best way of handling, so I--”

She snorted. “So you went for the opposite of ‘handling it’ by doing nothing?”

“I thought maybe we just needed to cool down?”

A raised eyebrow was the only response he received.

Finally, he shrugged in defeat. “Look, truthfully, I’m not used to meeting that kind of resistance to my...suggestions.”

Cleo sighed. “What the hell did you suggest?!” She waved her hand before he could answer. “Never mind that right now, Emma was furious. I need to know what you intend to do about it.”

“Does...does she accept apology flowers?”

Cleo laughed. “The only time I’ve ever seen her accept a bouquet she threw it right into the trash.”

“Oh.”

“To be fair, they weren’t even hers. She thought they were, but turns out they were for poor Ariel,” she confided.

He let out a surprised chuckle. “Emma is a tough lass, isn’t she?”

“She is. And I’ll tell you more or less what I told her. You need to find a way to work with her. I don’t care if you think her writing is garbage--which it isn’t--but she’s one of our most successful authors, so you’ll keep an eye on her. Apologize, and get in good with her so you can bring out another bestseller from her.”

“I...yes,” he said. Sensing this brief interview was nearing its end, he got up. When he reached the doorway, he stopped. “One thing--how is it you weren’t assigned to work with her? It seems like it’d be an easier fit.”

She tilted her head. “A question I’ve wondered about, too.”

He paused a moment, wondering if she would elaborate. She didn’t so he nodded. “Well, then. I’ll do what I can.” He moved to exit the office.

“Killian?”

“Yes?”

“There’s a diner she likes. Out in West Roxbury. She worked there all the time on her first book. It’s called Granny’s.”

This time, his nod to Cleo was one of gratitude.

&&&

It took almost a day for him to work up the nerve to go to Granny’s and a further three and half days staking out the place before he contrived to “accidentally” run into Emma.

He had become very familiar with the greasy diner food, and the owner of the place knew him by name at this point. His insides hurt and he was overly caffeinated, but if his plan worked, it would be worth it.

On the Tuesday he finally saw Emma enter, Killian sat up higher. He was on his second cup of coffee, practically vibrating with the cursed fake energy that only came from caffeine.

She clearly had a destination in mind, and after a quick “Hey, Ruby,” she headed toward the back. Stopping only when she saw him, she narrowed her eyes at him. “You.”

“Aye, me. Lovely to see you, Miss Swan. I trust you’ve received my emails?”

She stared at him, seemingly contemplating his motives, his presence...probably his very existence, if Killian were honest with himself.

“Yeah. Sorry I haven’t responded. Haven’t figured out what I wanted to say yet.”

“Well, it appears we’re stuck working together, so...I’d like to smooth things over, if you’re amenable.” He gestured toward the other side of the booth.

“Nothing else to add to that, pal?” She cocked her head at him.

“Erm, sorry? I apologize for my words, though I stand by my methodology.”

She continued to stare at him a few beats before she slid into the booth. “That’s fine,” she said once she settled in, “but if you’re going to continue to be an ass, this isn’t going to work.”

“And it won’t work if you stubbornly resist everything I say.”

They exchanged wary looks, and Killian felt a pang of something a lot like loss at the thought that any flirtation seemed out of the question. He had enjoyed those fleeting moments when she first walked into his office and  had stared at him like he was a popsicle and it was a hot, hot day outside.

He intentionally leaned back, hoping he looked as confident as he wished he felt. “Well, if that’s settled, can I buy you a coffee? Or perhaps something stronger?”

“Why?”

“As a toast to our new partnership, Swan.”

She gave a deep sigh, “Fine. Get me a coffee, then.”

He gestured to the waitress and ordered them both coffee, his gut churning at the idea of consuming more of the stuff. As soon as the server poured their drinks, he found himself studying the dark roast, praying he could come up with an approach that worked with Emma.

“So, darling, what are some things I can do to make this collaboration more palatable to you?”

“For starters, don’t fucking call me darling. It’s condescending as hell, and the only thing it accomplishes is making me want to punch you.”

He snorted. “Very well, no more ‘darlings’. I’m assuming any other endearments are out, too. Anything else?”

She bit her bottom lip as she pondered the question. Killian found his gaze drawn to it, and he had to tear himself away from the frightfully imaginative things his mind conjured.

“Why?”

He froze at the unexpected question and looked back up to catch her eye. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you come here? And why are you working with me?”

He offered her his most charming, rakish grin. “While I didn’t request you, lo-Swan, I can’t say I regret it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, buddy,” she said, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

He frowned at her. “Okay, I hate being called ‘buddy’.” He leant forward. “Can we just...impose a moratorium on nicknames of any kind?”

“Sure, but I also want an answer.” She took a pointed sip of her coffee.

“God above, you’re like a dog with a bone. Is this an interrogation?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “No, but getting information is an important part of writing.”

“To be sure, lass, but…” He sighed and leaned back in the booth. “My apologies--Emma. Truthfully, I don’t know. Perhaps Mr. Booth, and Ms. Mills, naturally, wanted someone partnered exclusively with you.”

“I need that much work, do I?”

He hesitated. “I’d think of it more as you being a valuable investment.”

She snorted. “Flattering, real flattering.”

He grinned. “I aim to please.”

An eyeroll greeted him at that. “I’m sure. But anyway, I get the feeling you’re not telling me something, and I really don’t appreciate being left in the dark.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whatever,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Listen, I’ll be working on my book, and I’ll get you an outline and first chapter soon. But we’re not going to be pals, and I won’t compromise my integrity or my style just because you bought me a fucking cup of coffee.”

Killian stared at her, his mouth slightly agape, and for once in his life he felt speechless.

Emma wasn’t done rendering him shocked and incapable of using words. “Also?” She stood and tapped on the edge of the table. “You should have bought me hot chocolate if you wanted to impress me or get me to talk.”

Then she left before he even had a chance to formulate a reply.

&&&

Killian tried to tamp down the surge of mixed emotions he was dealing with. This was the second time in one week the same woman had walked away from him, and he was annoyed. He had been the one who was supposed to question her, to figure out what made her tick. Instead, she had managed to twist things around both times and, somehow, he had managed to reveal more of his hand than he had intended.

She had known he was hiding something. He wasn’t sure how, or why it bothered him so much. Everyone had an agenda, and Emma had to know he would have one.

But how she guessed it might not be a straightforward editorial one, he couldn’t imagine.

There was a part of him that he was trying to push away, though. A part of him that respected Emma, much to his surprise. She had called him on his bluffs and bullshit, and she followed her convictions and spoke her mind.

Unbidden, a thought came to him: Milah would like her.

He sighed. That was a road he didn’t want to go down. Nodding at Ruby and ignoring her smirk, he asked for the check.

“I knew you weren’t here for the salads,” she said, dropping the ticket down on the table.

He raised an eyebrow and gave her the smarmiest once-over he could manage. “Maybe I was hoping for different fare.”

She rolled her eyes. “And yet, you’re the one who got devoured. Chewed up and spit out, more like. It was a treat to see.”

“Ah...you know Emma, then.”

“She’s one of my best friends. Like a sister to me.”

“Of fucking course,” he groaned.

She grinned wolfishly at him. “Don’t be afraid to come back. I enjoyed the show.”

He dropped enough cash to cover his bill along with a generous tip and clenched his jaw, walking out of the diner.

How humiliating.

As he walked the couple of blocks to the T, he pushed his shoulders back, trying to let go of some of his tension. Once again, he could almost hear Milah.

“So dramatic, Killian. She bested you, and you’re just whinging about it now. Don’t be petulant, my love.”

He felt his insides twist at the realization that Milah would likely not approve of his dealings with August. It might not be precisely illegal, at least on his end--but it was unscrupulous and reprehensible.

He had only known Emma about a week, but wasn’t sure he could keep on doing this. Perhaps it would be best to be above-board from here on out, focus on his actual job.

Killian grimaced, thinking of all he owed August. Hating himself and holding back a snarl, he pulled out his phone and dialed August’s number.

He picked up after two rings.