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Suite 1813 at the Ritz. 8pm?
Kagura had not ripped her eyes off of the text, nor the number that it came from.
She knew that number. She’d never saved it into her phone. She hadn’t needed to. Because she dialed it so many times a day that it was forever branded into her brain. Sesshomaru. Her former boss. The man she had the world’s most inappropriate crush on. The man, the last time she’d seen, she’d planted a big wet juicy drunk kiss on.
Not one of her most refined moments.
It wasn’t her fault that her coworkers plied her with bottles of champagne, wanting to celebrate her new opportunity with the proper amount of alcohol for a Manhattan fashion magazine (read: a lot).
And dammit, it had been snowing. Snowing. Big fluffy pillows of perfect white snow outside the window, blanketing the city in alabaster serenity. It was as if New York City had decided to make everything feel romantic and beautiful and nostalgic. She was leaving Shikon (the world’s preeminent fashion magazine), where she had been an executive assistant to its editor-in-chief, for an actual writing job at the New Yorker. All because of that goddamned recommendation that he refused to detail to her. She was hired after a single interview. Whatever Sesshomaru had said was probably unprecedented for him.
So who could blame her for… well… for what came next at that party? Honestly, why had Sesshomaru stopped in anyway? At the end? When she was tipsy and emotional from all her coworkers wishing her well for her dream job? He never made appearances at parties like that. (Probably because he was usually the one who drove the employee away but still. All she had done was be as competent as she could be for him. And… well… secretly thirst).
So when he walked in, her breath caught. The gunmetal Dolce & Gabbana suit looked as if it was sewn directly onto his body, and he wore the ice blue button-up shirt that Kagura had suggested because she liked the way the slightly rounded collar completed the shirt and a suit without the need for a tie (or any other neck adornment, for that matter).
“Congratulations.” Sesshomaru had held out a little box, long and rectangular, covered in white paper with a black velvet bow.
Kagura had opened it, astonished by both the fact he’d just personally delivered a gift for her, and the fact that his amber eyes carried warmth.
Not fire, warmth.
Wait. And also fire?
Inside the meticulously wrapped box laid… a pen. A Mont Blanc polished to such a sheen that it reflected the harsh points of track lighting that lined the room. But below the black lacquer were mother-of-pearl inlays: fans. Because Kagura had once told Sesshomaru that she absolutely adored fans. It was something so simple in its design and function, but with the right wrist and hand movements, could become something enthralling. She laughed as she told him about the fan dance she once witnessed at the Bon Odori festival on a vacation to Japan, and how someday she hoped to learn how to dance such a dance. She had not thought that he had listened. Apparently, he had.
It was the combination of factors that led to what happened next... clearly! Too much champagne to celebrate landing her dream job, the snow outside, Sesshomaru in that sin of a suit, the perfect and thoughtful gift, the warmth, the fire, the fact that she no longer was his employee. Because she kissed her boss. Full-on. Lips to lips. And… was… was there tongue?
There definitely was.
Secret Santa Gift Artwork by nartista!
Yup. Kagura attacked her boss’s face with kisses. Her editor-in-chief of the most important fashion magazine in the world boss’s face. Her ice king makes everyone cry with a single glare boss’s face.
And… he kissed back?
Probably because he was taken by surprise.
Maybe also out of relief that Kagura, who had just sexually harassed him, was no longer his responsibility.
She remembered the silence that came over the party after she’d done that (because she was a drunk idiot). She remembered running as fast as her legs could carry her out of that party and back to hide in her apartment. She’d fallen on her ass not once, but twice, as she ran (Manolos, while well-made were not made to sprint in snow), and still that was not as embarrassing as face planting into Sesshomaru’s face.
That was probably why his text message came as such a surprise. She’d assumed it was to retract his recommendation (because… you do not kiss your boss in the middle of your going-away party) and tell her to go find a job as a waitress somewhere.
But it was none of the things she assumed.
It was a picture.
Of the pen he’d bought her.
The one she’d left at the party in her haste to flee.
Because she’d kissed him.
So here she was, meeting Sesshomaru. To get her pen back. The pen he bought for her as a parting gift. The pen, she later found out, he’d had custom made for her. At night. In a hotel suite.
Sure, it was not uncommon for Sesshomaru to take client meetings at the Ritz. They knew him so well there that Kagura barely had to say more than “for Sesshomaru” and they would get it done. And, Suite 1813 was his favorite, because he liked the view it had of the park. It ‘gave him something to look at when he inevitably got bored,’ as he put it.
Maybe that was all it was. Sesshomaru wanted to meet her on neutral ground, away from his apartment, so that she would not try to make out with him again.
And she wouldn’t.
Even though…
Dammit. The kiss had been good. Really really good. Champagne had not been able to cloud the suppleness of his lips, or the way that he seemed to open his mouth to welcome her tongue. Or the fact that somehow he tasted like peppermint. Or that his own tongue had found hers.
She was overthinking this, letting the fantasies that had built over the eighteen months she had been his assistant fester. An itch… one she needed to scratch. Because sometimes he smiled at her (and only her). Sometimes his amber eyes seemed to bore into her soul when she said goodnight. Sometimes, when his willowy frame glided into the office, she could not resist staring at the two perfect globes that made up his ass.
See you then
Kagura finally texted Sesshomaru back.
She looked down at her watch: 6pm. Plenty of time to get ready and order herself a Lyft to get there. Fine, she probably could have gone in her work clothes: a lilac silk button-up shirt with a ruffled collar, black form-fitting slacks, and a pair of Louboutin patent leather pumps.
What could she say? Eighteen months in fashion certainly had had its effect.
But she wanted to do better.
Because it was possible she was about to see Sesshomaru for the last time in her life.
And… she wanted to make sure she left him with the perfect memory of her.
So Kagura stripped and hopped into the shower. The water could never be hot enough for her demon skin, but a couple of winks at the super had gotten the safeties removed from her water heater, so it made do. Kagura scrubbed off the stink of the day from her skin, taking extra care to clean the makeup from her face. She wanted everything—her outfit, her hair, her face—to be fresh.
Why was she still trying to impress him?
Oh, right. Inappropriate crush. Kissing without permission.
After Kagura finished toweling off, she opened her closet. Sesshomaru could see through even the most elaborate get-ups, boiling them down to their most basic elements. It was something he’d sometimes shared with her, while she sat and took notes of different runway looks he showed the most interest in.
Perhaps that was why she decided on the spaghetti-strapped black Gucci that had cost her a month’s rent, but was her first true couture. It was simple. But in its simplicity one could see the masterful craftsmanship. Despite not showing a single seam, it hugged her body perfectly, like it was made specifically for her. Kagura then threw a jewel-toned kimono-inspired jacket (it was, after all, three days until Christmas) made of quilted satin with elaborate embroidered cranes holding it together, and finally, her pair of jade earrings: the same earrings she wore when she first interviewed. Earrings that Sesshomaru had looked at, and given the slightest nod. Finally, she threw on a pair of knee-high black suede boots. It was cold outside, after all. It had nothing to do with the fact that they somehow made her legs look even longer than they already were on her short stature.
She went simple with her makeup: ruby red lipstick (jewel tones were in), a swipe of eyeliner to give her a cat eye, and mascara. She threw her hair up in the complex bun she liked wearing, pressing the hair pins decorated with two simple red fans on the top.
Simple enough outfit and makeup to look like she wasn’t trying.
(Even though she sure as hell was.)
With one final check in the mirror at how she looked, Kagura summoned a Lyft. ‘Myoga’ was only a couple minutes away, so she grabbed her purse, and headed out of her apartment complex, to be greeted by the fluffy kisses of snowflakes on her cheeks. New York City had given her the gift of snow. Again. (And apparently Myoga had an SUV with all-wheel drive. Something he bragged about through the entirety of the drive).
Kagura waved a thank you to her overly-friendly driver and stared up at the hotel she had seen so many times.
“Suite 1813,” Kagura muttered.
Sesshomaru was there. Waiting. For her.
Kagura only paused for a moment after crossing through the revolving doors into the lobby. She’d walked this path so many times before, checking that everything was ready for whatever bigwig Sesshomaru was meeting with. She always inspected the room, making sure that the hors d'oeuvres were not stale, that the flowers were fresh, and that the table was set with fresh water and lemon slices and paper and pen.
But this time, she was not walking up to Suite 1813 to prepare it for someone. She was the… visitor. All because her idiot self had kissed her boss. An easier way to avoid letting her into his apartment (crap… she still had his home address memorized. She would need to try harder to forget that too…).
Kagura closed her eyes as the elevator raced to the top floor. She made the swift left and walked to the end of the hallway—staring at the 1813 in front of her.
She was certain she could hear him. Pacing. The footfalls were nervous. He was nervous.
Dammit, she should have told him it was okay to have a courier drop off his gift. It would have saved them both so much discomfort. But no. She’d decided to just lean into his pride. The pride that required a proper handoff, and a proper thank you.
And maybe a proper apology for assaulting his face with her lips.
So, she lifted her hand, and with a single knuckle, knocked lightly on the door.
The footsteps grew louder and faster the closer they came to her. And, Kagura was certain, the person on the other side of that door paused, then took a deep breath, before opening the door.
Kagura knew what she expected to be behind the door when it opened. She expected to see Sesshomaru’s laptop on the far table, an espresso cup to its left, and a tall glass of water with a single lemon wedge to its right. Maybe he would have let loose a bit, and his suit jacket would be hanging over the back of the chair. Maybe there would be signs that he’d ordered the fruit and cheese platter, something to enjoy while he plucked the keys of his laptop: critiquing the winter spreads in the magazine, flicking through the virtual copy of Shikon, checking advertisement placements, or perusing ‘found fashion’ blogs to see if there was any new and exciting trend he wanted to get ahead of.
That was not what greeted her on the other side of the door. Instead, it was a bright smile on Sesshomaru’s face that showed off his fangs. It was his usually disaffected eyes widening when he took her in. It was… something directly behind him was a spread Kagura had never seen in Suite 1813.
Sitting in front of the grand park view window was a dining table. It was covered with a white linen table cloth. There were two place settings, and champagne on ice ready to go. A tapered candle sat between the two halves of the table, tickling the rest of the room with its gentle light. The flowers that decorated the room were white and red lilies (her favorite).
It was a room set up for a single purpose. A date.
“O-oh.” Kagura would admit that… seeing her ex-boss, object of her infatuation, kissing victim, standing before her with what looked to be a table set for two, she hoped she would be more suave, like she was in everyday life. But… when Sesshomaru was involved, apparently her suave brain went the way of the dinosaurs.
“Kagura…” Sesshomaru’s voice was soft and stoic, laced with… longing.
“This is…” Kagura couldn’t say the rest.
This wasn’t happening. Because if it was happening, it meant that Sesshomaru had set up a dinner. A romantic dinner. For her. For them.
Kagura had never set up Suite 1813 for a romantic dinner. Because those were unheard of. Sesshomaru was far too busy for relationships.
Wasn’t he?
He was.
He stayed late practically every night.
The only woman he seemed to have any interest in making smalltalk with was her.
The only woman whose jokes she’d ever seen him smile at were hers.
Was this…?
“For you,” Sesshomaru said simply. “To answer the question that is so clearly painted across your face.”
“I—I… don’t understand.” Kagura walked into the room, and shut the door behind her.
“Do you not?” Sesshomaru raised an eyebrow. “Your comprehension was one of the things I so admired about you too.”
“This… this looks like…” Kagura stuttered.
Dammit, her ability to say articulate words had been better when she was drunk.
“It is me. Asking you to have dinner with me,” Sesshomaru sighed, then took Kagura’s hand in his. “The day that you asked me for that reference. It was… the hardest letter I have ever had to write. Yet the easiest one for me to formulate.”
Kagura tried not to look incredulous. Sesshomaru did not touch people intentionally.
“Letting you go. I did not believe I could do it. Because…” Sesshomaru swallowed, “I’d grown fond of you. I… I am successful at what I do because I do not let feelings cloud my judgment. I knew this. Knew that my feelings for you meant that I was no longer unbiased, unclouded. But, you’ve never looked at me with fear in your eyes—far from it. Talking with you about work, about nothing, was often the highlight of my day. And you offer your opinion without self-consciousness at my judgment, for good or for ill. It is… rare for me to be with someone I can completely be myself with, because of how honest she also is. It was… a revelation. For me. To find how much my affection for you had grown and evolved.
I toiled over the proper course of action, over what to do about my growing sense of joy at being in your presence. And… I decided that, because you were my subordinate, I could not act upon those feelings. It was… it was simple.”
Fond? Affection? Sense of joy?! Sesshomaru was not fond of anything. Sure, he found Prada’s threadwork acceptable, and would begrudgingly admit that his idiot brother’s fashion shoots were tolerable. But… he was not even fond of his mother. And yet… of her...
“...Then you interviewed at the New Yorker—others noticed your competence too, and I had to ask myself… were Kagura to leave my employ, what would that mean?” Sesshomaru was now softly stroking her hand, which was setting her nerves on fire. “Well, it meant no longer seeing you each day.” Suddenly, the longing in Sesshomaru’s eyes was back. “But, perhaps it could mean something more. I did not fail to notice your… interest in me, even with how well you disguised it.”
“W-wait. You knew?” Kagura choked.
She had been so damn careful! She thought she had done an outstanding job not letting him catch her.
“Should I say… I hoped?” Sesshomaru’s eyes had not broken away from hers. “When I arrived at your going-away party, I was resolved. To find out if all those signals were in my head. To find out if… perhaps… now that we were no longer supervisor and employee…”
Sesshomaru came to her going away party to ask her out?!
Sesshomaru Taisho. God amongst mortals. Tall and lithe, with muscles that appeared to be sculpted by a renaissance master (and that perfectly formed ass), molten gold eyes that could level a city with a single icy glare (but seemed to burn brightly when they looked at her), and moonspun silver hair that seemed to always fall perfectly whether he let it flow free or braided it. That Sesshomaru… had planned to ask her out.
“Well, shit,” Kagura groaned, “I’m an idiot.”
“It is a good thing I have known that about you for a long time,” Sesshomaru chuckled. “Your… greeting was certainly unanticipated.”
“I sexually harassed your mouth,” Kagura grimaced.
“You confirmed for me that my fondness was not misplaced,” Sesshomaru answered. “And, I must say, watching you flee your own going-away party was quite the sight to behold.”
“Not my finest moment,” Kagura exhaled; the grimace on her face had not abated.
“Love makes fools of us all,” Sesshomaru sighed, relinquishing Kagura’s hand, then bringing his own hand to her jaw. “I hope I was not presumptuous in telling you tonight how I feel. That… I have been thinking about you for a very long time. And that the night of your going away party, I returned your kiss because I could not help but do so.”
Kagura’s eyes widened. It was hitting her finally. All of it. The pen was not a ‘goodbye’ or even a ‘thank you’, it was a… declaration. Of love. It was also an invitation. To stop dancing around and let themselves explore what could be something profound. For both of them.
It was then that Kagura saw it: a sprig of curled leaves with round white berries tied in a handsome red bow hung from the ceiling. She didn’t know if it was intentional, or from some previous holiday party that Suite 1813 had hosted. But she knew why fate put it there.
So Kagura placed her hands on Sesshomaru’s chest, unsurprised at the lushness of the eggshell cashmere sweater he was wearing, and guided him backward. One step, two steps, three steps.
When they were directly underneath, Kagura shot a glance upward. “Odd. Putting something like that in here.”
“Odd indeed,” Sesshomaru chortled, then he leaned in and claimed Kagura’s lips.
He tasted like peppermint.
Commissioned Artwork by zairarw