Chapter Text
She can’t stand him. She really, really can’t stand him.
“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? MOVE IT!” he screams at the car in front of them. Rey lets out a big sigh and tries to stay focused on the road. Only two more minutes until they reach the airport. Two. Then she can drop off her boss and join Finn, Rose, and Poe baking cookies back at her place. She smiles at the thought. This is going to be her first white Christmas. Having grown up in an orphanage in the desert, Rey didn’t get too many happy memories to cherish around this time of the year (or really any at any time of the year for that matter). But this year will be different.
“What’s their problem?” Her boss says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. Poof! There goes her daydreams of warm blankets and gingerbread cookies.
She tries not to groan before she replies. “You know, it’s not their problem. The whole road is packed. Plus, you know they can’t hear you screaming in here, right?” Her eyes shift to his. “Only I get that pleasure.”
His eyes narrow. She smiles to herself at the satisfaction of putting him in his place—something no one ever seems to attempt around their office. She just got the job to be his personal assistant less than two weeks ago. His last one quit as the pressure of the holidays mounted, and she guessed that maybe he had some sort of breakdown that made him need to get help or leave his job unexpectedly. But then she met who the last assistant was assisting. Mr. Kylo Ren, CEO of First Order Enterprises. The only thing more intimidating than his tall frame and soul-piercing stare were his lack of manners and the possibility that he may burst into a bout of yelling at any moment. Personally, Rey had never been at the receiving end of one of his outbursts, but she’s seen plenty who have.
“Just keep driving,” he grumbles and his crossed arms tightening. Her eyebrows knit together. Huh. That’s strange. She’s happy she never seems to get the “Royal Ren treatment,” as her co-workers call it, but she doesn’t get it. And she can tell that it makes the others in the office a little cold to her. Maybe they think she’s doing something to get on her boss’s good side…
She shakes the thought away and continues navigating through the icy streets. Maybe he’s tuckered out from all the road rage.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? NAPPING?! GET OFF THE STREETS IF YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE!” He screams at the car in front of them. Nope. Still has plenty road rage left in him.
She sighs. “Can you please stop shouting? It’s giving me a headache.”
He shoots her a glare and gives a tch sound before saying, “Well maybe I’d stop shouting if the people in front of us stopped driving like grandmas. I’m going to miss my plane.”
“You are not going to miss your plane,” she says, swerving to miss the enormous truck pulling in front of the slow car just a couple feet in front of them now. She puts her turn signal on to sneak into the left lane beside them. “I’m an expert driver.” She eyes the tight spot she thinks she can squeeze through. It’s risky, but she just might make it.
“You’re going to get us killed,” he says, worry washing over his face. He winces as she rolls down the window, the sharp bite of New York winter air piercing the heat now seeping out of the car.
“You said you don't want to miss your plane, right?” she asks briskly, rolling down the window so she can stick her head out and ensure they don’t crash into the drivers flying past them. “Okay, here we go!” She takes the tiny window of opportunity to slide into the left lane, speed up, and then slide in front of the ricocheting eighteen-wheeler.
Her boss clutches his seat. “I can’t board my plane if I’m dead,” he says, his right hand reaching up to grab the handle just above the passenger seat.
She laughs under her breath. “You need to have more faith in me.”
“I barely even know you! How do I know you won’t kill me out of spite?”
She smirks as she makes her way into the far right lane and then skids into the exit for the airport. “Because if I wanted to kill you I would have done it in a setting that wouldn’t have risked my own untimely demise.”
He rolls his eyes. “Very reassuring,” he says, but from the corner of her eye she can see that he’s suppressing a smile.
**
When they get to the airport, she hasn't brought the car to a complete stop yet when Mr. Ren flies out of his door. Her eyes bulge. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
“Hurry! Get my bag!” he yells just before shutting the car door behind him. He points to the back seat and then takes off for the sliding airport doors. She groans and puffs a hair out of her face, bracing herself for the cold outside (at least her face is still numb from sticking it out the window). She opens the back seat and grabs his large designer suitcase (Italian leather), pulls up the handle, and rushes into the airport, hoping she doesn’t get ticketed for abandoning her vehicle in a no-parking zone.
When she catches sight of her boss at one of the counters, she picks up her pace, the bag rolling smoothly behind her.
“What do you mean it’s been canceled?!” his voice reverberates across the busy lobby.
Oh no.
Her heartrate quickens with her steps as she dodges flustered travels and practically runs to the counter. She can see his finger pointing angrily at the girl behind the desk, whose stunned face looks like she's seen a ghost. He has that effect on people.
Rey continues looping her way through the crowd. A car horn goes off. She looks back at her car to make sure it's still there and not getting towed or ticketed, and then back to Mr. Ren, whose hands are now covering his face, his fingers curled tightly in his ink-black hair. Her eyebrows knit together yet again at this sudden mood change. He's facing away from the desk, but he hasn't moved from his place upfront. Someone in line is trying to get past him, but Rey can tell he's too scared to as Mr. Ren to move.
Then he finally does. His hands drop by his sides, his shoulders pull back, and then he starts making his way back towards the exit. She catches his arm as he walks past her, blind to the fact that she was right there in front of him. "What's going on? Are you okay?" she asks. He flinches at the questions.
"I'm fine," he grumbles, his fists clenching so tight she thinks they might pop off his wrists. "I'm just not going to get where I need to be because APPARENTLY NOBODY CAN FLY MY PLANE BUT CAN FLY EVERYONE ELSE'S!" he shouts back at the counter. The girl at the counter bristles and puts her head down. He lets out a big sigh and continues forward. "And apparently all the cars are rented and all the taxis are busy, and no one will drive as far out as I need to go." His voice drops significantly, and Rey realizes she's never actually heard him sound so sad before. It's always just been groans, yells, or pressed speech from him. The only time she's heard him speak quietly is when he mumbles to her grumpily, since he doesn't ever seem to have the energy to yell at her. That's her theory anyway.
His face has dropped, and something in his eyes hints that this trip means a lot more to him than Rey could have guessed. She thinks of her own plans as they make their way back to her car. She thinks of Finn and Rose baking cookies back home. She thinks of her warm bed and the slew of Christmas movies just outside her reach that she so desperately wants to dive into . But then she looks back up at her boss, his face staring straight in front of him, but his mind is elsewhere. This is her first well-paying job ever. She can’t risk losing it at an unhappy boss who may not make it home for Christmas. Plus, this is the first time she’s seen him like this. Angry, but silent, eyes searching for solutions, his mouth a solid line across his long face.
She walks in long strides back to her car, feeling his presence looming behind her, hearing the wheels of his bag scratch along the sidewalk as they exit through the airport’s automatic doors. Still, he says nothing, and suddenly she wishes he'd yell at more employees and demand another flight. They're probably all booked anyway.
When they make it to her car, she offers him his luggage. He picks it up without a word and tosses it into the backseat. She watches him and becomes acutely aware of how good looking he is. It's just because he's not yelling for once, she tells herself, though not quite convinced.
She sighs and lets the thoughts of sugar plums dancing in her head evaporate. The Hallmark movie marathon can wait I suppose. “I can drive you where you need to go,” she says, although it takes an immense amount of force to get the words past her lips. “I’m sure there are taxis outside the city that can take you somewhere you can rent a car, or maybe to a different airport farther away.” He looks at her with an expression she can’t read, but maybe that’s because it’s not one of frustration. Maybe it’s surprise? He searches her face, the dark depths peering into hers much longer than ever before. She doesn’t know why, but heat rises to her cheeks.
She looks away. “Let’s go. No time to waste. I need to be back before too long. I have plans.” With that, she pivots on her heel and makes her way to the driver's seat.
Her heartrate picks back up again as she forces herself to ignore the feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. The feeling that maybe this plan won’t go as smoothly as she thinks.