Chapter Text
She almost doesn’t go. The email had said, “company-wide” but how often did that really include the janitorial staff? It wasn’t like she really knew anybody in the company. She hadn’t really made friends there. That was the side effect of working the evening janitorial shift. She always arrived when everyone else was heading home.
“This will be your chance to meet some people then,” her friend Lauren had argued.
“Masked,” Tobin had pointed out. “Company-wide Office Holiday Masquerade! Come dressed for holiday cheer and don’t forget your mask! Come enjoy some food and drink with your colleagues!” the email had read.
So here she is, tugging at the hem of her red and green checkered suit coat, wondering if she really wants to actually go inside.
She takes her mask off and looks at it. She’d found it at this cute little thrift store that she’d never really noticed before, though she wasn’t quite sure how that was the case given the bright red and gold paint that adorned the storefront and the bold red door featuring the most decorative wreath Tobin had ever laid eyes on. The mask had been handed to her by the odd little old lady inside, the woman's kind brown eyes peering at her from behind a pair of dark red spectacles with a secretive smile and a knowing look. She'd bought the gold colored disguise without trying it on, the shop owner's mystifying behavior making her uneasy enough to hurry it up and get out of there. She needn’t set foot in the shop every again now that she had what she needed for the party.
Playing for time, she finds herself studying the mask in her hands, gaze traveling from the slanted eye holes to the intricate details of scrolling leaves and vines that surrounded them. She's still surprised by how well it fits and how warm it feels against her cheeks. There's barely any weight to it when she wears it, even if it feels somewhat heavy between her fingers now.
She hears some people coming up behind her towards the entrance and quickly dons the mask, then, with one more deep breath, she steps inside.
Expecting a tacky explosion of all things Christmas, Tobin's pleasantly surprised by Conference Room 2's tasteful decorations. The large room's usual large rectangular tables have been replaced by cosy couches and stuffed chairs in one corner. The flicker of flames from the fake fireplace draws attention to the tall fir tree standing beside it, highlighting its pretty glass ornaments. There's no evidence left of the usual frosty interior of the room and its cosy design pulls her over the threshold and into its welcoming warmth. A few heads turn her way while speculating murmurs reach her ears over modestly playing background music. They won't recognize her because most of these people don't even know her. Not really. Ignoring the curious stares, she makes her way to the drinks table, cursing her eye catching colored suit, but thankful for the mask she's wearing and the opportunity to hide herself behind it.
She gets a cup full of punch and gravitates towards a corner, her eyes sweeping over the other attendants. The HR people huddling together, pointing out the problem people in a way that Tobin thinks isn’t exactly subtle. Upper management all cropped together as if even at a party they can’t be bothered to mingle with their underlings. The secretaries loudly laughing together. They’ve always seemed like a fun crowd, but Tobin only ever encounters them one at a time, staying late to make extra copies, and she never wants to keep them, never wants to make them stay even later.
She's waiting for Dagny to walk through the door any moment now and rescue her from social exile, a hope dashed by a rather abrupt text message telling her she's on her own tonight due to a sick kid. Wonderful.
She contemplates just leaving.
No one will even miss her.
A short man in a sweater that might well be pictured next to “ugly Christmas sweater” in the dictionary approaches her, and she braces herself for interaction.
“Nice suit!” he says, raising his drink to her.
“Thanks,” she mumbles. “Nice, uh, sweater.”
He laughs. “Isn’t it great? My wife hates this thing, but I think it’s glorious. Can’t have a Christmas party without an ugly Christmas sweater, right?”
He continues to babble on, and Tobin makes the appropriate noises in response, her eyes continuing to scan the room, glancing back politely to the man she’s talking to from time to time. She's bored to tears. Wishes she hadn't listened to Lauren and her persuasive arguments. Meeting people sure sounded nice, but is Sweater Guy ever going to stop talking to her? She sure hopes he's not flying solo like she is tonight, making her his unwanted buddy for the rest of the evening.
Right when she’s about to try to lie her way out of the conversation, she becomes aware of someone approaching.
Her breath catches in her throat when she realizes exactly who it is, as the woman (because it is a woman - the most gorgeous one around) informs Sweater Guy that someone is looking for him over by the tree.
Tobin’s eyes trail up over a dress that fades from the white of snowflakes up to a dark green, hugging over smooth curves and cut a hint low - not inappropriate, but, well —
And then she realizes that she’s checking out her boss. CEO Press in all of her Christmassy glory, complete with Santa fuzz trimming the dress looks absolutely stunning, but she is still the CEO of the company.
She feels her cheeks flush with color, thankful for the mask that covers part of her face, and she brings her eyes up to meet ones that are a stunning shade of sea green. They dance with amusement behind her delicate black mask, and there’s a smile on CEO Press’s face as she says in a low, almost conspiratorial voice, “Xander is an excellent accountant, but he’s a bit of a bore.”
Tobin chuckles nervously. “Well, thank you, Ms. Press. I appreciate the save.”
“I don’t think you need to be quite so formal. This is a party after all.”
Tobin can’t help watching the way her nose wrinkles adorably as she says it.
“Call me Christen, please.”
Tobin nods, unsure of what else to say. Christen doesn’t seem to have that problem. Poised as always, she continues. “Are you having fun? Please tell me that Xander didn’t trap you in conversation as soon as you arrived.”
Tobin offers a small, apologetic smile. “Sadly...he kinda did.”
“Well, we’re definitely going to need to fix that.”
They’ve been talking for a good ten minutes (and Tobin’s been thoroughly enjoying them) before it occurs to her that Christen might not know exactly who she is. She hasn’t said anything to that effect, or asked her name, but there’s a way that she’s almost skirting around any personal detail questions that give Tobin the impression that she FEELS like she should know who Tobin is, and doesn’t really want to admit that she doesn’t. Tobin could be offended, but the truth is that there’s no real reason why Christen SHOULD know who she is. She’s showing up as people are heading out more often than not, and when CEO Press stays late, Tobin avoids her office until she’s gone, not wanting to disturb her work. Why would the CEO recognize the lowly night janitor on sight? Especially with a mask firmly in place. Right now she could be anyone in the company.
She could tell her, she’s aware, introduce herself in a way that doesn’t embarrass her, but, well, there’s something kind of nice about not being known, too, about that possibility of her being anyone. And the truth is that she’s enjoying the conversation with Christen. She’s enjoying the way that she throws her head back when she laughs, the way her curls bounce when she flicks her head to the side, the way her lips curve up into a beautiful smile, the way she leans a little closer when she points out that Crystal from IT is actually the unsung hero of the company, always going above and beyond, always there to bounce ideas off of when Christen gets stuck on something. If Christen finds out she’s just a janitor, would she keep talking to her? Tobin’s not sure, but she’d rather not find out.
Christen doesn’t seem to have a negative word to say about any of her employees, Tobin notices, Xander’s conversational skills notwithstanding. And she’s much more hands-on than Tobin had realized. She really is the backbone of the company. She’s even responsible for many of the nicer details of the party: the stockings with personalized notes for each employee, the overall theme of the decor, and even the playlist.
“I don’t think I’ve heard ‘Jingle Bells Rock’ once so far. That’s kind of impressive,” Tobin comments, and Christen laughs.
“That is because it is on my no play list. That and ‘Santa Baby’. Can’t stand them.”
“What about ‘Little Drummer Boy’?” Tobin asks.
“Prettier song, but what new parent needs some kid with his drum showing up?” Christen replies with a grin.
Tobin laughs. “That’s exactly what my sister said after my nephew was born.”
Talking makes way to dancing as the punch flows freely and people loosen up more.
Christen dances her way back onto the makeshift dance floor and crooks her finger towards Tobin, inviting her to join.
Suddenly the tie around her neck feels like it's slowly choking her. She pulls at the knot to loosen it just the slightest bit, pointer finger tugging at the stiff collar of the black button up she wears underneath the suit jacket everyone who’s walked by keeps complimenting her on. The words “hot under the collar” run through her mind. Christen makes her hot, no question.
She shouldn’t. She’s her boss. She’s —
“Come dance with me!” Christen calls out.
She feels envious eyes burning into her. She’s not the only one who has maybe a bit of a crush on their stunning CEO and Christen is out there looking like the belle of the ball, the pleated skirt splaying out as she spins. The faux fur lining of the modestly filled cups of Christen's dress draws Tobin's eyes to inappropriate places for a second or two before she catches herself.
“Come on!” Christen entices her again, and Tobin gives in.
It’s just one night. Just one song, even, she tells herself. There’s no harm in dancing with her boss. It’s a party, after all. And she’s masked. Worse comes to worse, she’ll say it wasn’t her.
If anyone asks later, Tobin will have no idea what song they're dancing to. It's something fast and fun and it makes her heart beat faster or maybe that's just Christen and the way her body twists and twirls so close to Tobin's. They're laughing and making fun of each other's dorkiest moves and it leaves them breathless but exhilarated. One song bleeds into another and Tobin finds herself unwilling to move away.
Surely Christen as CEO has other people to see, other people to talk to, but she doesn’t seem like she’s eager to leave her company, and Tobin —
Tobin can’t get enough of bright green eyes, of fleeting touches, of the warmth settling tight in her chest.
It feels like Christen is dancing closer and closer, and Tobin wants to pull her in, to hold her close, to be brave, to do something a little reckless.
But job security is nice, too, so she doesn’t. She lets Christen set the tone and the distance. That doesn’t stop her skin from burning where Christen’s fingers brush the back of her hand, doesn’t stop the way her breath catches in her throat when Christen’s hip accidentally bumps hers.
Another song ends and the familiar intro of yet another Christmas Classic has Tobin rethinking her decision not to push things, just a little.
The introductory chords are slower than those of the songs before. Friends are clearing off of the dancefloor, making more room for the more inebriated and the couples, and Tobin, a moment of daring taking hold of her, moves closer, quietly asking for another dance.
She can’t help but have one eye on the clock. She can’t miss the last train towards home or she’ll be shelling out for a hotel that she can’t really afford for the night. She’d rather spend her money on presents for her nephews and nieces. Then again, she’d rather while away the night with Christen.
She holds her breath for a second, then two, and then Christen willingly bridges a few of the inches between them, her left hand finding the dip above Tobin's hip. Another moment of boldness and Tobin slides her palm against Christen’s other hand, takes another step closer, then brings their clasped hands up and lightly presses them against her sternum. It's instinctual and too intimate for the occasion. She half expects Christen to pull away, to say it’s too much, to leave her abandoned and embarrassed in the middle of the dance floor. But she doesn’t. Christen seems fine with it and that's the only thing that matters. With Tobin's right hand finding a home on Christen's slender waist, they're dancing again.
Her feet feel like they’re flying as she twirls Christen around the dance floor. She can feel eyes on the two of them, watching, some surprised, some envious, and maybe she puts on an extra flourish here and there, just because she can. Christen’s body is warm pressed to hers, her breath falling hotly against her cheek, and it’s a lot, she knows. Too much for an office Christmas party and yet —
She wants to capture this moment, freeze it in time, because it feels perfect. She came here tonight not anticipating having any fun at all and here she is dancing the night away with the most beautiful woman she’s ever laid eyes on, the envy of all around her. Whoever CEO Press was in her mind before tonight, the reality has proven so much better. She’s kind and funny and light on her feet and easy to talk to, and Tobin finds herself smiling brightly as she gives Christen another spin.
But then Christen’s personal secretary, Rose, is tapping Christen on the shoulder, whispering in her ear, ahd Christen’s stepping away, offering an apologetic smile.
“Apparently somebody had too good of a time at their own Christmas party and crashed their brand new Mazzerati. Sorry. I really need to take this call.”
Tobin tells herself that she’s not disappointed as Christen walks away. She tells herself that her body doesn’t feel suddenly cold at the absence of Christen’s body pressed to her.
“Save a dance for me!” Christen calls over her shoulder as she leaves the conference room, and Tobin feels something flutter low in her stomach.
Her night is almost done, she knows. She needs to leave soon if she’s going to make her train. Still, she lingers by the punch table, hoping that Christen will make her way back in time for that dance.
It’s stupid, she knows. Christen probably didn’t even mean it like that. She’s the CEO for goodness sakes. She probably would have said that to whoever she was dancing with at the time that she was dragged away. For business, Tobin reminds herself. Just because it’s their Christmas party doesn’t mean they don’t all still have jobs to do. She herself is coming in earlier than usual to make sure this conference room gets all cleaned up before Christmas itself.
She’s about to give up hope, to pack it in and call it a night, when the conference door opens and in she strides.
Tobin watches her approach a little slack-jawed. Somehow she looks even more stunning as she locks eyes with Tobin and smiles. The swish of her dress shouldn’t be audible over the music and the conversations around the room, but Tobin is sure she hears it anyway.
“Sorry for taking so long,” Christen greets her with an apologetic smile. “Seems I’ll be working overtime over the holidays because some people don’t know when to call an uber.”
“They had a little too much fun?”
“Not my kind of fun,” Christen replies.
“Oh? What’s your kind of fun?” It comes out flirtier than she means it to, and she can just barely see Christen raising an eyebrow behind her mask. Tobin’s on the verge of apologizing when Christen replies, “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”
She takes Tobin’s hand and leads her back to the dance floor, pulling her in close. The music is slow and Christen wastes no time in pressing their bodies together, wrapping her arms around Tobin’s neck as they sway. “You promised me one more dance.”
Tobin swallows hard, tells herself not to get carried away, reminds herself she really should be going soon, but then Christen’s hand slides inside her coat, rests firmly on her hip, and, well, Tobin really does want this dance.
“I guess I did,” she replies, giving in to what she wants.
Two more songs have played before Tobin remembers herself. Her mind has been caught up in the warmth of Christen’s body, in the way she feels moving with her, the way they match each other step for step, sway for sway. When her eyes glance to the large clock on the wall she sees she’s out of time.
She’s PAST out of time.
“Shit! I’ve gotta go! I’ve gotta —”
She’s backing away, making her way towards the exit.
“Wait! What? Why?” she hears Christen call after her.
“Sorry! Gotta catch my train! Thank you for the party, Ms. Press!” she calls over her shoulder, shoving unceremoniously past Xander who is now swaying on his feet near the door.
He wobbles and he grabs at her as he tries to catch his balance. His hand grabbing her mask as he does so.
The ribbons holding it on come loose and he comes away with it in his hand, but she doesn’t have time to stop. She doesn’t have time to get it back from him. She’s probably going to miss her train as it is.
She hears one more, “Wait!” called after her, but she just can’t, even if it means she has to have a meeting with HR after the holidays. She has to go.
She runs through the halls and down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator. She practically bursts through the doors to the building in her hurry and almost bowls over a few pedestrians in her mad dash to reach the subway. She jumps down the last few stairs, and mercifully she’s just swiping her card as the train pulls into the station.
Her heart is pounding as she slips through the doors, and she can finally breathe a sigh of relief. She won’t have to get a hotel for tonight or pay some exorbitant amount for a taxi or an uber to take her home. She’ll be there to have pancakes with her nephew in the morning like she promised him.
As relief settles over her, it mixes with something else. An inkling of regret wriggles its way into her mind as she thinks about dancing with Christen. How nice it would have been to finish up their song properly, to end the evening chatting with her. And then it hits her. Christen still probably doesn’t even know who she is. She never did ask her name, and Tobin never let it slip.
But that was the point of the masquerade party, wasn’t it? That they could all be someone else for the night? She wasn’t Janitor Tobin and Christen wasn’t CEO Press, just for a night.
Now it’s back to reality, and in reality, they live in two very different worlds.