Work Text:
one
As Executive Assistant to the Chief Executive Officer, Iori Utahime has one of the highest-paid jobs in Gojo Industries and it simply isn't enough some days.
It definitely isn't enough when she's trying her best to keep the Monday meeting going smoothly and her boss just keeps antagonizing half of his board of directors and bumping his knee against hers under the table. She's pretty sure there'll be a bruise on the small cleft on her patella by this afternoon.
She jots down a few details that Satoru won't remember but will definitely need in the future while the discussion rages on in front of her. All the old men yelling makes her head hurt, but she soldiers on.
"Gojo Satoru."
She looks up from her notes. It's almost a reflex now, to respond to his name as if it were her own. After almost eight years working as his assistant, she's learned that nine times out of ten he will not pay attention to people speaking to him, so she has to do it for him if they want to avoid company-wide disasters, like that one time with the paper towels and the mint gum.
She'd rather not elaborate.
Gakuganji Yoshinobu, one of the oldest members of the board and Chief Human Resources Officer, is staring holes into Satoru's skull.
"Old man," he yawns in acknowledgement.
The old man in question starts his weekly tangent about Satoru's irresponsibility and obvious inability to run his own enterprise, completely ignoring the fact that sales had gone up in the last few years he'd been in charge.
Her boss reclines on his chair and looks at her. "Let's ditch this," he proposes without opening his mouth.
"No, it's important," she gives him a reprehensive glare. "Just half an hour more and we'll be out."
"But I'm bored. Come on, I know you are too."
"Boredom is not a good enough reason to not do your job."
"I haven't ditched a meeting in the last two weeks," he insists and then tilts his head forward to point to the still-ranting Gakuganji. "Besides, Gramps is acting more like Grumps today. Must have forgotten his vitamins. Let's ditch this."
"Gojo, no."
"Utahime, yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"Fine."
"Hell yeah," he grins crookedly and goes back to pretending to listen to Gakuganji.
She visibly checks her phone and then clears her throat. Everyone shuts up and looks at her. Commanding the attention of a room is a skill that's proven useful throughout her career. "There's been an emergency call Mr. Gojo must attend immediately. So if you will excuse us—"
She has barely finished speaking when he loudly pushes his chair away from the table, and with a charming smirk that beguiles everyone but the people in the room, he walks off. Sighing to avoid smiling at his antics and therefore further encouraging them, she follows suit, clipboard in hand.
Once they're out of the suffocating room, he stretches his arms over his head. "See? Don't you feel leagues better now that those old fucks aren't drilling your ears?"
"Be more respectful, Gojo, they are your seniors," she reminds him as they make their way to his office, where they'll lock themselves to play Battleship for an hour and call it working.
"But I'm their boss," he counters with finger guns and a wink, "so who is the real winner here?"
"Not me, that's for sure."
"Heeeeeey~"
It's not very professional of her, or him, but sometimes professionalism must be sacrificed for the sake of ditching boring meetings with the boss one has developed unprofessional feelings for.
two
There are a lot of people waiting in the conference hall and Satoru is taking forever to knot his tie.
"Gojo, you're out in five minutes," Utahime calls. "Are you ready?"
"Almost," he grumbles.
"May I remind you there are at least a dozen new investors out there whose money we really need?" She insists. "Are you really going to make them wait?"
"Yes."
Impatiently, she drops her clipboard on the nearest table and stomps to his side. His eyes are transfixed on the reflection of his tie on the mirror as his fingers fidget with the fabric. His brow furrows in concentration. He loops the shorter end through the middle and the entire thing comes apart, the silk it's made of making it easier to slide to the ground.
She can't help a chuckle. He sends her a deadly glare. "Don't laugh."
"Have you ever done this before?"
"I created my own enterprise so no one could ever tell me to wear a tie," he breathes out slowly, massaging his temples. "And I've gotten away with it for almost a decade. Why do I have to do it now? Can't I just wear a clip-on?"
"You have to go out in five minutes," she picks the poor tie up and smoothes its wrinkles, "so unless you produce a clip-on out of your ass in that time, no, you can't wear a clip-on."
He huffs. "Aren't I paying you to manage this sort of thing?"
"No, you pay me to do the paperwork you never do and pay attention to the stuff you refuse to pay attention to. Now come here."
She pulls him closer by the raised collar and wraps the tie around his neck. She knots it slowly, careful not to rumple the fabric. He watches her work through the loops. She cinches the tie up to his neck.
"There," she tucks the tie inside his vest, making sure it lies flat over his chest and it doesn't bulge. "Pretty good, huh?"
When she looks up, she finds he is already staring at her with parted lips. She takes a perfectly controlled breath to avoid inhaling too sharply at their proximity. It is not the first (and it won't be the last) time they are this close, but his warmth blending with hers and the scent of his cologne seeping under her skin will never fail to knock the wind out of her.
"Yeah," he sighs, his voice tinged with an indescribable emotion.
She coughs, she does that when she's nervous, and steps away. He takes his jacket off the backrest of one of the chairs and shoves his arms in the sleeves. She checks her schedule and watch again; only a minute and thirty seconds to the beginning of the presentation.
"Be ready, Gojo." She takes a peek through the curtains separating them from the conference hall. More people arrived in the few moments she wasn't looking. She should be used to crowds this big by now, but she doesn't think she ever will. "They're waiting for you."
"Alright," he tightens his right cuff, then the left one. "How do I look?"
In all truth? He looks handsome in the all-black suit she picked for him, with his hair slicked back and the sunglasses he insisted on rolling down his nose. Of course, she can't say that, it would be highly unprofessional.
"You look good," she says, keeping her expression neutral so he can't tease her about it later. "Now get out there already."
"Well, you know what they say—"
"Please, don't say it's showtime."
"It's showtime."
three
"Company outing!" Satoru jumps out of the bus with the excitement of a child.
Utahime gets out more calmly. There is really no point in rushing, they are going to be here all day. "Gojo, please behave."
"Aren't you excited?" He opens his arms to the clear sky. "We're having a picnic, and it's a beautiful day—"
"And I gotta go set things up," she cuts him off, "so please don't do anything stupid in the meantime."
"You're gonna work, even today?" He tails after her as she goes around signaling the catering staff. "Can't you take the day off and enjoy yourself a little?"
"Then who will make sure everything is ready for lunch?"
"I'll pay someone to do it."
"You are paying someone to do it: me," she gestures to where the others are getting off the bus. "Why don't you go talk to Geto for a while?"
"Fine," he relents, "but you are not working all day, you hear me? Boss's orders."
She shakes her head in fond disbelief as he skips off to bother his friend. A man in charge of the pavilions approaches her with a writing board in hand, asking her to sign the arrival order. Soon she's swayed away with something or the other and loses Satoru in the crowd.
She spends all morning swamped, organizing the setting up of tents and the seating. The latter ends up consuming almost half an hour, since apparently the Accounting and Merchandising teams cannot see each other or they will begin World War III. That one is particularly stressful.
By noon, the entire company is sitting or laying on the grass, enjoying their meals and chatting amicably with each other. If the head count from the bus is to be trusted, she had successfully organized lunch for roughly three thousand employees.
She's definitely requesting a raise on Monday.
"Utahime~" Satoru croons, popping out of thin air. He wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Good job."
"Thank you," she gives the multitude another once over.
He spins his watch around his wrist until the dial faces up. "Well, would you look at that, it's twelve thirty pm. Doesn't your lunch break start around now?"
"Gojo—"
"Hey, yeah, it does," he ignores her and starts dragging her away. "Come on, let's eat."
"Gojo," she repeats, a smile traitorously pulling at the corner of her lips.
"Come on, I had to push Gakugramps into the lake to get away."
"You did what?!"
She cranes her neck to scan her surroundings and sighs in relief when she finds the old man sitting under a tree, completely dry. Satoru chuckles and tugs her forward again.
He leads her to the farthest pavilion and turns around it. Behind it, the ground dips in a soft slope. He butt-slides down the soft grass and holds out a hand to her. She raises an eyebrow. Does he really expect her to…? Yup. Okay. She takes it and ungracefully falls down the slant.
At the bottom, there's a blanket laid out with sandwiches and iced tea. They stay there for almost an hour, munching on the food and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. She teaches him to make crowns with the daisies growing in between the glass blades and after several tries, he finally gets it right and lays a delicately woven diadem on her hair.
She laughs when a leaf tickles her ear and he stares at her in a way he shouldn't. She tries to tell him not to; it's very unprofessional, but she finds she doesn't really care.
four
Utahime stifles a yawn. Late nights are not uncommon, never have been, especially for her. There's always a memo to send for the next day or a database that needs updating. But tonight she stays behind for Satoru, who has been locked in his office writing the pitch of his new sale for the past four hours and a half.
Her clock beeps to warn her it's ten pm already. She rolls her shoulders, her muscles aching for a soft, real bed. It's been long enough, she decides, and opens the door to the office.
"Utahime, can you tell me if this sounds good?" Satoru asks her as soon as she closes the door behind her. "With the oldest generations dying off—"
"Sounds like a jab at Gakuganji."
"—we must target our newest inventions at the young people to ensure the survival of our company into the future."
"What are you writing?" She goes to stand by his side to read the open document on his laptop.
"It's my main argument for— hey!" He cries when she shuts the laptop right in front of him.
"It's time to go home. You've been here too long."
"I am almost done," he tries to open the laptop again, but she slaps his hand away.
"No."
"Please?"
She grabs his chin to make him look her in the eye. "Gojo Satoru, that's enough already. Let's go home."
"But—" His cheeks are squished in between her fingers and her thumb, and his lip juts out in a weird pout. "But—"
Time to pull out the big guns.
"Look, I am going home and I took the bus today," she explains very slowly, hoping he'll catch on. "So now, I am going to walk home, alone at night. Goodbye."
She doesn't even make it two steps away before he scrambles to his feet and yells for her to wait, that he'll drive her.
Victory.
He rests against the wall of the elevator and closes his eyes. His skin looks bruised and translucid under his eyes. She made a good call pulling him out of that office. Knowing him, he would have stayed there all night.
Once they're in the car, Utahime turns on the radio so she doesn't fall asleep on the way to her apartment. It happened once. Quite embarrassing, since he refused to wake her up and instead tried to carry her up to her house. Satoru taps his fingers to the rhythm, bobbing his head back and forth.
"Hey, I've been thinking," he says when they stop at a red light. "The Charity Gala's next Friday, right?"
"Yeah. Everything is ready by now," she rests her head against the window. "Any adjustments you want to make?"
"Nah, I trust your judgement," she smiles at the compliment. "I just wanted to know if you already had—"
He cuts himself off and looks away. It might just be the poor lighting, but she swears he turns red.
"If I had what?"
"Forget it."
What could she possibly need to have for the Gala? The dress? Yes, she has it, but he knows that already. What else? Shoes? A hairstyle chosen? A…?
Oh.
Oh, he is such a dork.
She sits more comfortably on the cushioned seat and catches his eye through the rearview mirror. "No, I don't have a date yet."
"You should get one then."
"You should, too."
"Nah," he spins the wheel easily. "I think I'll go alone. That way I can dance with all the single ladies."
He winks at her and she grins. "I might take after you on that."
five
The Gala runs smoothly. Utahime smiles proudly from the mezzanine, watching the guests have the time of their lives in the ballroom they rented for the occasion. The light from the crystal chandelier reflects off the brim of her glass, making the champagne inside glitter like gold.
"Hey," Satoru joins her, his own glass sitting untouched on his hand.
"Hey," she smiles softly. "Why aren't you down there, dancing with all the ladies like you said you would?"
"Got tired," he shrugs. "Besides, there's a lady missing down there, precisely the one I wanted to dance with the most."
"Maybe that lady is running away from you," she suggests.
"She would never," he takes a step closer to her. His fingers skim over her elbow, making the hair on her arms stand on point. "Would you?"
"If only I could," she teases, setting her glass down on the marble railing. "Can't exactly run away from my job, can I?"
He leans closer until their foreheads are almost touching. "Dance with me, Utahime," he breathes out, only for her to hear.
"There are a lot of people here," she doesn't intend to whisper, but she does anyway. His hand now rests comfortably over her arm, his thumb rubbing circles over the bump of her elbow. "Someone could see us, and the press will eat us alive. You know it."
"Then let's not give them anything to see."
Convinced, she grasps his wrists and pulls him away from view into a separate room. Both their glasses lay forgotten on the banister.
The music sounds faint and distant after they close the door, but it's still enough for a dance. Satoru takes the lead, gently swaying back and forth and spinning her around the room.
"You are a terrible dancer," he comments after she steps on his foot for the second time.
"Well, excuse me for not being taught thirty different dances at age four," she huffs, the hem of her dress flapping around her ankles.
"You are not excused."
"You think you're very funny?"
"I know I'm very funny."
"You are not."
"Come on, just laugh a little," he digs a thumb in the space between her ribs. She chokes out a snort and thwacks him on the shoulder. "I am funny."
"You are a disgrace to comedy, and stop tickling me already—no, wait!"
She wheezes as his fingers ghost over her sides, poking into her flesh and sending her into uncontrollable fits of laughter.
"You got something to say, Utahime?" He asks innocently, holding her against his chest so she can't escape torture. "I can't hear you well."
"You son of—" she manages to squeeze out, but he blows a raspberry against her shoulder and she cackles maniacally. "Stop, Satoru—"
"Aw, you called me Satoru."
"I'm serious!"
"You're laughing, you're not serious."
She shrieks. "Come on, just stop it!"
"Fine," he stops tickling her, but his hands remain on her waist, keeping her close to him. She breathes for the first time, "are you okay?"
"I am going—" she pauses to catch her breath, "—to sue your ass for that."
"Ah, you're so boring, Utahime~"
"Oh, so I'm boring?"
He bellows with laughter when she slides down her hands and runs her fingers over his sides.
"That's how it feels like, you ass."
"I'll fire you," he gasps.
"You wouldn't last a day without me—ah!"
He overpowers her and lifts her bridal style. "I would manage."
"You wouldn't," she wraps an arm around his neck to steady herself. "You'd die."
"Probably," he admits before kissing her cheek.
That's definitely not professional.
plus one
So scotch sucks.
Satoru already knew that, and yet he still decided to pop open the bottle he got for fancy reasons. He sniffs the brown liquid and immediately scrunches his face. Disgusting.
He leaves the glass on the desk just as someone knocks on his door. "Come in."
"Gojo, some documents just came in for you to sign," Utahime pushes open the door and sees him sitting pathetically in his lush chair with liquor she knows he doesn't like. "What are you doing?"
"Do you want scotch?" He offers.
"Why do you have scotch?" She drops down the files she brought on his desk. "You don't drink."
"I wanted to look cool."
"And failed miserably?"
"You're mean."
She laughs. The afternoon sun filters through the window and paints her in gold. The light makes her eyes look like honey, gleaming and blazing through the room. He's not very good with wax poetry, but she is the most beautiful woman he has ever had the luck to lay eyes upon.
It's unfair, almost, because he always claims he has no time for anyone, yet he wants to dedicate his entire day to her, to loving and cherishing her, to making sure she's never lonely.
Fuck, he's so in love with her.
She takes the bottle from in front of him. "I'm going to put this away before you make a mess of yourself."
"So little faith, Utahime," he whines, trailing her figure with his eyes as she walks to the small table in the corner bought for fancy-whisky-holding purposes only.
"You have never given me reason to trust drunk you," she puts a hand on her hips, still smiling fondly.
She's so bewitchingly beautiful, he can't even begin to express how much.
Before he can stop himself, he sighs, "I'm in love with you."
The whisky bottle slips from her hands and thuds to the ground, only saved from being smashed to a million pieces by the thick carpet. She flushes. "What?"
"I'm in love with you."
"You can't just say things like that!" She exclaims, clutching her hands to her chest.
"Why?" He tilts his head to the side, a lazy smile slowly making its appearance. "Aren't you in love with me, too?"
She sputters incoherently and he chuckles. He's very sure that she is. It might be an arrogant conclusion to jump to, but he’s sure it's the correct one. He knows she looks at him the same way he looks at her, he knows she smiles with him, even if she tries to hide it. She helps him out of boring meetings and to knot his tie. She dances with him and drops her all-business façade for him.
He hopes he's right.
Utahime gapes like a fish. He leaves his chair to walk up to her and gently push her jaw closed. When he cups her face with both hands, she reddens further. "You can't say stuff like that," she repeats softly, not quite meeting his gaze.
"But then how will you know I'm in love with you?"
"You did it again!"
"Because I want you to know!"
She huffs, but her hands slide over his waist. He grins uncontrollably. "What do you want me to say to that?"
"What do you want to say to that?"
Finally looking him in the eye, she sighs and smiles. "This is very unprofessional behavior from both of us."
"So you're in love with me too?"
"How did you get that from what I said?"
"Are you?"
She laughs again. "Yes. Now kiss me, you dummy."
He does just that.