"Thanks for giving me this job at the last minute. I appreciate it."

Robin flashes a warm smile. "No problem, lass. I needed the help and Dave told me you needed another job because you were behind on your bills. Besides, he owed me for hiring Regina."

Emma hoists her head up, pausing from the cosmopolitan she's making to turn around and raise her brows at her new boss. "Wait, back up. Regina works here, too?"

He nods, confusion clouding his features. "David didn't tell you?"

"Um, no-oooo," she fumes, not particularly happy about the thought of working with her. Had she known, she would've never accepted the job here. She would've figured out another way to run into Killian. One that didn't involve having to put up with the Evil Queen.

"She got fired from her previous job. My guess is because she was too controlling, even toward her superiors, and no one else wanted to hire her."

Emma makes a pained gasp in fake astonishment. "Regina was too controlling? I'm shocked!" Emma remarks theatrically in a breathy tone. Finishing the cocktail, she adds a freshly sliced lime garnish and serves a woman at the bar her drink.

Robin follows behind to continue their conversation. "Anyway, she was staying home all the time and constantly knocking on Mary Margaret's and David's door to complain about all the noise they were supposedly making."

Emma grabs a fresh terry cloth hand towel and wipes down the counter after two patrons leave their seats. She looks up and scans the bar crowd, anxiously waiting for a particular patron to show up. Disappointment flares in her gut when she doesn't spot him. She's fine, though, really. "But she did that before."

"Not as often, believe it or not. You should've seen David and Mary Margaret a few weeks ago. They. Were. Livid." He chuckles. "Regina stormed over to their apartment, pounding on the door while they were engaged in..." He clears his throat and continues, "well, let's just say they were making tacos."

Emma snorts. She's well aware of what making tacos means for Mary Margaret and David. She's accidentally interrupted them a few times while they were making tacos.

"They were desperate and needed a break, so David begged me to hire her."

"Wow, they must've been desperate. They come here for drinks all the time," she points out.

"Which is why I schedule her day shifts on the weekends. She's gone for most of the day, and when Dave and Mary Margaret want to come here, she's already gone home. And they aren't home to make a noise while she's trying to sleep, and she's not here to spit in their drinks. It's really a win/win situation."

"Not for me," Emma groans.

"At least your shifts will only overlap with hers for a few hours during the after-work rush on the days you're both scheduled. She'll be too busy to give you a hard time."

"I highly doubt that. She'll yell at me for getting in her way."

"Probably," Robin agrees. "You can't let her get to you, though."

"Ha! Easier said than done."

He dons a slight smile. "I know, believe me. I have to work with her a lot more than you do."

"Oh, lucky you. How's that going? Do you want to fire her yet?" she asks hopefully. "Or use her head as a dartboard?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "She's actually not as bad as everyone makes her out to be. She and I get along for the most part. Sometimes she gets in one of her moods though, and I have to hide in my office to avoid her."

Emma throws the towel over her shoulder and turns around, placing her hand on her hip. "Regina actually found someone who gets along with her, other than her sister? That has to qualify for a good samaritan award," she smirks. "How do you do it, anyway?" she asks curiously, cocking her head to the side.

He shrugs. "Regina's kind of like a Shelby Cobra. She's high maintenance, temperamental, unpredictable, not easy to drive, often gives you a headache and requires a lot of attention. But at the end of the day, she just wants to be loved and cared for."

Emma sighs and shakes her head. "Why do men like to compare women to cars?" She narrows her eyes at him. "Why are you—my boss—comparing women to cars to me—one of your employees?"

"Oh, come on, it's not like we're strangers. How many times have I given you free drinks?"

"So what, that makes it okay?" She rolls her eyes. "No wonder your wife left you."

Robin gasps dramatically, placing his hand on his heart, and the look he gives reminds her of a wounded animal. "You go straight for the jugular, don't you? I guess I won't have to worry about you not being able to handle yourself with the rowdy male patrons."

"Damn right you don't. If there's anything I'm good at, it's putting men in their place. It's one of my specialties."

"I don't doubt that," he chuckles. "No wonder you're single," he teases.

"Haha, you're hilarious," she says sarcastically. "For your information, I choose to be single."

"Uh-huh, that's what all single people say."

"Well, I guess it takes one to know one," she retorts.

He responds with a caustic smirk.

Tossing the towel on the counter, she scans the bar once more before walking away while excusing herself to use the ladies' room. Heading down the small corridor to the restroom, she pulls out her phone and sends a text. As much as she enjoys her banter with Robin, she needs to save the rest of her sassy energy for someone else.

Emma: What's the ETA?

Slipping her phone into her back pocket, she enters the restroom, using one of the available stalls. Her back pocket buzzes when she's washing her hands at the sink. She dries them off and steps outside the restroom to take the call, speaking quietly into the phone.

"Hey, what's up?"

"He's on his way," David replies.

"It's about time. What took so long? You said he'd be here at seven-thirty." She checks her Fitbit for the time. "It's almost nine."

"Sorry, there was a bit of a delay. He stopped by Ruby's to return a box of her stuff before I got home," David sighs. "They ended up getting into an argument, which is both a good thing and a bad one. He's even more revved up and ready to drink, but be prepared for him to be in a pisspoor mood."

"Don't worry, I can handle him," she assures. "Do you think he'll be pissed at you for standing him up?"

"I'll just tell him I had to help Mary Margaret with a wedding planning emergency." She can detect his smile over the phone. "Works like a charm every time. And as you know, there's always at least one."

"Oh, I know," Emma laughs. "I'm the maid of honor, remember? I'm lucky to get a day off."

He chuckles. "Just remember, a little over one month from now, it'll all be over with."

"Ugh, I can't wait." Her best friends are wasting no time getting married, and because Mary Margaret has been dreaming about marrying her Prince Charming since she was five years old, she already booked the venue two years ago, right after she met David. So they're trying to scramble everything together in three months. Emma sees this as a blessing in disguise because it will get her out of having to bring a date. Since Ruby hired her to spend time with Killian and she's spending the rest of her time helping Mary Margaret pull everything together for the wedding, she won't have time to find a date, or at least that's the excuse she plans on giving Bridezilla.

"By the way, I have a bone to pick with you."

He pauses. "You're about to yell at me for not telling you about Regina, aren't you?"

"Um, yeah. What the hell? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you'd turn down the bartending job. But Robin promised not to schedule you together, very often at least. Besides, if you're only there to get Ruby back with Killian, then why does it matter?"

She groans in frustration. "Are you kidding? Have you met her?!"

"I know, I know, but look at it this way, I'm pretty sure she likes Robin, so I think she'll be in a much better mood at work," he chuckles.

"So not funny." She rolls her eyes.

"Sorry, Emma. You know I love you."

"Love you too," she mumbles bitterly under her breath.

"Well, I should let you go. Killian will be there any minute now."

"Okay, talk to you later."

"Good luck."

"Thanks," she says before hanging up. Something tells her she'll need all the luck she can get.

She checks her text messages and sure enough, there's a string of them from a freaked out Mary Margaret regarding the wedding invitations she ordered. Or rather, ones she didn't order. This is the second time the invitations have been delayed, otherwise, they would've been sent out a month ago. Well, at least now David will have a valid excuse for standing up Killian. Mary Margaret clued her fiance in on the situation with Ruby and Killian, and because he has a similar stance as her about hope and love and second chances and blah blah blah, he offered to help. (The pair's optimism is rather annoying. Endearing, but annoying.) Thus, Emma's plan to get a job at the bar so she could talk to Killian without it seeming like she was just another woman at the bar trying to hit on him, was hatched.

Finding nothing which requires her immediate attention, Emma looks up from her phone, tucking it into her back pocket. Instead of rounding the corner to head back to work though, she immediately halts in her tracks, all the air leaving her lungs when she sees him—the epitome of tall, dark and handsome—as he enters the bar. Her heart spikes, eyes widening as she watches him make his way across the room, his shoulders hanging low. His expression makes her heart hurt. He looks completely broken. Probably from the fight with Ruby. But the wreckage in his eyes takes nothing away from how attractive he is.

God, he's gorgeous.

Emma's suddenly very nervous and fidgety, tucking her hair behind her ear, smoothing her hands over the front of her slim jeans and ironing out the wrinkles in her red, button-down blouse. She unsnaps a couple buttons, exposing some cleavage, but then, twisting her lips with indecisiveness, she snaps the buttons into place.

Oh, screw it. She unbuttons them again. She's supposed to be his distraction.

She returns behind the bar counter, keeping herself occupied to avoid the temptation of staring at the handsome man taking a seat at the bar. She takes some orders, trying to steady her hands as she's making some cocktails. She sneaks a peek when she suspects it's safe to do so and catches him burying his face in his hands.

Poor guy.

Emma really wants to tell Ruby she can't go through with this, even more so since she found out who her ex is. But that would mean breaking the contract. She empathizes with the guy, and knowing he's the same man she'd fantasized about for two months makes it worse. Scratch that, knowing he's a god in bed and how big his dick is makes it worse. Now, seeing him again after that time had passed only reminds her of how good-looking he is. Not that she forgot.

She's not even sure she can go through with her grand plan. She wouldn't wish that on anyone, let alone Killian. And she's only ever talked to him for like two seconds. She's so fucked.

Taking a deep breath while tucking some hair behind her ears again, she clears her throat and strides over to him, her heart thumping in her ear. She straightens her clothing once more before placing her hands on the counter directly in front of him. "Did you come here just to mope on my counter?" she teases, throwing on a cheeky smirk, thankful her voice didn't give out on her. "Or did you come here to drink?"

"Listen, I've had a terrible day," he mumbles into his palms, but she can detect that rich, British accent she remembers from two months ago, and shudders.

She should've put the pieces together when Ruby had told her the ex was heading back to England, but maybe she just didn't want to think about the possibility that this man was him. She didn't want it to be true.

He drags his hands down his face, still grumbling. "Actually, this entire week has been fucking he—" His silky, accented words hang in the air when he looks up, his eyes flickering with recognition when they connect with hers. She swears she can hear him suck in a breath as his mouth hangs open. He flicks his tongue along the inside his cheek as if to say, well, well, well if it isn't the bitch from the elevator. A variety of expressions fleet across his features—intrigue, surprise, perhaps a hint of attraction, or so she's hoping. She has to tighten her hands around the edge of the counter to keep from falling, those stunning blue eyes knocking the wind out of her. And she's definitely not imaging what else he could be flicking that sinful tongue at. She clenches her thighs to ease some of the tension she feels under his fascinated gaze.

He wags a finger at her. "I remember you. You're the woman who barrelled into me on the elevator."

Ha, I knew it!

She glares at him hotly, placing a hand on her hip. "Yeah because you were blocking the entrance to said elevator."

He frowns. "Aye, to keep the doors open for you when I saw you coming. I was being a gentleman."

She scoffs.

"And need I remind you, I picked up your phone and handed it to you?" he points out smugly.

"As you should've since you were the reason I dropped it in the first place." She cocks her head, lifting a challenging brow.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "There's no chance of me winning this, is there?"

Emma crosses her arms over her chest, a slight smirk tugging her lips. "Nope."

"Well, the next time I see a gorgeous woman running toward the elevator, I'll make sure to step off so the doors can close before she gets there. Even if it means she has to wait for it to return to her floor." He shrugs and crosses his arms over the counter, leaning over it. "And if she's on her phone and runs into the doors, well, that's her fault. Is that what you'd rather have me do, love?"

The endearment sends goosebumps over her skin as she leans over the counter, their faces only inches away from each other. "Fine, you get a point for keeping the doors open. But not for picking up my phone."

Amusement dances across his features as he cracks a smile. "I'll take what I can get."

A victory grin crosses her lips, her eyes hooked on his. For a moment, she just stares at him, raw, magnetic energy suffocating the surrounding air.

A rowdy bunch enters the bar, along with their boisterous hooting and hollering and she remembers herself again and straightens, clutching at the edge of the counter. "So, whatcha drinking tonight?"

"What do you recommend for a man who just got his heart ripped out and torn to bits in a blender like a strawberry smoothie?" Despair etches his features again and her heart tightens, though she knows it's not nearly as painful as what he's feeling. She knows all too well what he's going through.

"Ouch, I guess you weren't joking when you said you had a rough week."

"Rough doesn't begin to cover it," he grumbles bitterly.

She purses her lips in thought, rubbing her chin as she decides what drink to suggest. "Something strong I take it?"

"Please."

"Tequila Slammers usually work for me, but I might have something more up your alley. Can I see some identification?"

He cocks a brow. "Seriously? I come here all the time. Your boss is one of my best mates."

She offers up an apologetic smile and a shrug. "Sorry, I'm required by law, and I don't want to get fired on my first day. Besides, for someone who frequents this place a lot, you should already know the selection Robin keeps in stock."

"I do, but since you're new, I have to put your bartending skills and knowledge of alcohol to the test," he says with a playful wink.

"Ah, a challenge? I'm always up for a challenge." Her lips curve into a dramatic smirk. "Still need to see some identification, though."

He blows out an exasperated sigh, dragging his wallet from his leather jacket, pulling out his i.d. and handing it to her. She scans his date of birth, doing the math in her head and gives it back. He's 28 and his birthday's January 26th. Good to know.

"First day, huh?" he asks, slipping his i.d. into his wallet before returning the wallet into his pocket. "I wondered why I haven't seen you here before."

"Yeah, I needed a side job."

"Oh yeah? What else do you do?"

Emma hesitates before answering. She doesn't want to lie to him, but she has to focus on the goal because otherwise, she'll end up on a slippery slope. "I own a small home improvement company." It's not a complete lie. Okay, it is, but she has the required education, and an updated Residential Builders license; she just hasn't put either to much use since her grandparents passed away, which halted pretty much all of her plans and dimmed her ambitions to actually own and run her own home improvement company. But if she's making Ruby look like a saint, she has to lie to Killian. And she really hates that. She hates this situation Ruby and Mary Margaret put her in; they sort of cornered Emma, wedging her in between a rock and a hard place.

"Really?" he asks in surprise.

"What? You think because I'm a woman, I can't get my hands dirty with good old-fashioned, hard work?" she asks defensively.

"I didn't say that. I'm just surprised you have the time to own your own business and tend a bar."

"I manage." Emma shrugs. "Why don't I get you that drink," she says, desperate to change the subject. She places a glass tumbler on the bar top and spins around, dashing to a cabinet where she knows Robin stashes the good liquor. She can feel Killian's eyes burning into her backside as she reaches up to grab a bottle of Bacardi Superior.

When she turns around again to pour his glass, she catches him staring at her, confirming her suspicions. Her cheeks warm and she fights off a triumphant grin as his eyes drop to the drink she's pouring him.

"Very impressive," he comments with genuine pride. "You could've gone for whiskey but instead, you chose my favorite brand of my favorite liquor. How did you know?"

She shrugs nonchalantly, sliding over the glass of rum to him. "Drowning your sorrows in rum is an excellent remedy for being cheated on."

Devastation clouds his features again, and she immediately regrets her statement. It's a sore topic.

She shouldn't have brought it up, especially since they're technically still strangers; they haven't officially exchanged names yet. But she can't exactly tell him she obtained pertinent details from Ruby, (along with some extremely intimate and very unnecessary ones) like his affinity for rum, now can she?

"But I never said I was cheated on. There are many other things that can lead to a broken heart."

"True, but you're kind of an open book, and I'm actually quite perceptive."

He takes a sip of his drink before setting down the glass, still clutching onto it, his eyes furrowing as he studies her for a moment. "You're friends with Mary Margaret. And knowing her, or rather, what I've gathered about her, she can't keep a secret to save her life. That's not perception, darling, that's listening to gossip."

She wrinkles her brows. "How do you know I'm friends with her?"

"Because, when we ran into each other on the elevator, you mentioned that her neurotic behavior was the reason why you were on your phone. Ruby had often described Mary Margaret in a similar fashion. Plus you showed me the text from an MM, so I put the pieces together." He lifts his glass, pointing a finger at her and cocking his head from side to side as he adds very smugly, "That, my love, is what you call perception."

Her mouth opens in protest, but anything she'd planned to say is immediately lost to the clever smirk he's donning before he lifts his glass to those sensuous looking lips and takes a victory drink. She'd never wanted to smack a grin off someone's face so badly in her life. She has to leave to help other customers, but it gives her time to calm down and think. She has to think of a way to respond to that, but she's so flustered and infuriated at the same time, she can't think straight. She's only known him very briefly and already he's managed to crawl his way under her skin, in more ways than one.

After serving a few patrons, she returns to Killian, wiping down the bar counter. "So, what do you do for a living? Other than pester bartenders," she slips in, taking a jab at him.

There he goes again, flicking his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he sets her with a sarcastic glare. Good God, that thing should be illegal.

"I'm an architect. But I'm guessing you already know that too."

Damn, this guy's good.

"Maybe. But still, I wanted to be polite by asking you about yourself. Is that so bad?"

A deep chuckle rumbles from his throat, penetrating her ears so deliciously she can feel all the way in her toes. "You're a lot like Tequila. Sweet on the tongue but burns all the way down."

She rolls her eyes in annoyance, but at least he didn't compare her to a car. "How do you know I'm sweet on the tongue?" she asks cheekily, placing a hand on her hip.

A ridiculously sultry grin crawls over his ridiculously handsome face, making the pulse of her heart stagger. "While I do imagine you would be sweet on the tongue," he says, swiping his tongue across his lips, "I was referring to your act of chivalry followed up with an insult."

She has to run away again and busy herself with tasks to recover from the comment and the way he casually licked his lips.

"I work at Fisher's," he says when she hands a drink to the guy sitting next to him.

She looks at him, arching a brow in curiosity. "What got you into architecture?"

"Well, I've always had a knack for drawing. I got my creativity from my mum, but unlike what you do, I enjoy working from scratch. Which is not to crap on your craft, love, we're just different in that way. How did you get into home improvement?"

"My grandparents. They were house flippers, and I wanted to carry on the family business after they died."

A doleful look clouds his features. "Sorry to hear, love."

"Thanks," she murmurs. "Continuing the business was the plan at least. But it reminded me too much of them, made me miss them more, you know? So I had to separate myself from it all and take some time to grieve. Then I ended up starting my own business." That was also the plan, but it didn't exactly happen that way.

"Well, I'm glad you were able to keep doing what you love," he smiles optimistically.

"Yeah," she breathes, guilt and regret coiled in the pit of her stomach.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the sound of his phone buzzing on the counter pulls him from his thoughts. He looks at the screen and sighs. "Of course," he mutters to himself.

"What's wrong?" she asks in concern, even though she knows who the text is from.

"I got a text from David. He invited me here tonight. Wanted to help make me feel better because of what happened with Ruby. I think he felt bad because Mary Margaret is friends with her."

She nods in understanding, offering a slight smile. "Sounds like him."

"Aye, except he canceled on me. Said he had to help Mary Margaret with some wedding invitation crisis."

"Oh, I'm well aware of the crisis," Emma laughs. "She's been blowing up my phone since I've been at work."

Killian sighs. "That's another one of my plans falling through."

"Oh yeah? What were the other plans?"

He shakes his head. "I've taken up too much of your time already. I don't want to burden you with my problems."

Emma opens her mouth to tell him he's not at all a burden, but Robin interrupts her attempt when he emerges from his office.

"Hey, there he is!" he greets cheerily, approaching the counter as he glances between Killian and Emma, sensing he's interrupting something. "I see you've two been acquainted?"

"Aye," Killian manages a slight smile. "I didn't realize you hired a new bartender."

"It happened quite fast after I found out she needed another job. How's she treating you?"

"Like family," he answers, his eyes locked with hers. "She even knew what kind of rum I prefer."

"She's good, isn't she?" Robin boasts proudly with a grin. "She's perceptive too."

The look on Killian's face is priceless and the smile overtaking her lips is so smug, even she's feeling the urge to slap it off herself.

"Aye, she is," Killian answers, donning a sarcastic smirk.

"You aren't bringing down my new help with sob stories about your ex, are you?"

Killian's brows furrow in mock offense. "No, of course not. I even dodged one of her questions to avoid that."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Oh please, I'm used to hearing sob stories. This isn't my first bartending job."

"I know. You can handle yourself, I'm not worried," Robin smiles and walks away to make his rounds, greeting the regulars and welcoming the newcomers. He knows how to work a crowd—it's one of the many reasons his bar does so well.

Emma reverts her attention to Killian and sees him draining his glass and setting it down curtly. "Can I get another one, love?"

She nods and makes another glass for him, placing it in front of him. He'd taken his time with the first drink, but this one he downs in one impressive gulp before slamming it down on the bar top.

She arches a brow. "Easy there, tiger. You keep that up and you're going to feel awful in the morning."

"I'll feel awful anyway," he groans.

Emma purses her lips. "True, but I can think of a way that might make you feel better without the nasty hangover."

Killian cocks a brow, intrigued. "And what's that, darling?"

She smirks. "Just trust me. I get off soon. Meet me outside?"

Killian looks her over, a dubious look on his face. "Look, um…" Killian scratches behind his ear, pausing in hesitation for a second as his cheeks turn pink. "You seem really nice and all, and in other circumstances, I'd definitely take you up on the offer, but, I'm not really in the mood to—"

"To what? Have sex?" Emma laughs and shakes her head. "That's not what I was offering, but it's good to know I'd have a chance if you didn't just go through an awful breakup. I do have to give you points for turning down sex so soon after your breakup. You just put Ross Geller to shame."

Killian's brows furrow in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't follow the reference."

She raises a brow. "You've never watched Friends?"

"Afraid not, love. I was more of a Seinfeld guy."

Emma gasps. "That's it. We can't be friends anymore."

Killian chuckles. "So we're friends now?"

She shakes her head, but she's smiling from ear to ear. "Not anymore."

Killian pouts, and it's just about the most adorable thing she's ever witnessed before. Like more adorable than babies, kittens and puppies.

"Okay, fine, I suppose we can be friends." She sticks out her hand. "I'm Emma."

"I know, love; it says on your name tag," he chuckles.

"And I already know yours is Killian from Mary Margaret and your i.d. but if we're going to be friends, we have to be formally introduced, don't you agree?"

He nods and slips his palm into hers. "I'm Killian. Nice to meet you, love."

Oh god, his hand is so warm and feels like heaven in hers; her heart flutters as she manages a weak smile and shakes it. "Nice to meet you too, Killian."