Chapter Text
Tuesday, October 19 (Pt. 2)
“What are you doing tomorrow?” You text Jinx from the far corner of Silco’s office. “Are you down for a little adventure?”
She responds almost immediately. “Duh! Do you even have to ask?”
“I want to fix Silco’s gramophone, and I know where to do it, but I thought it would be fun to go together.”
You run a slow finger over the horn of the gramophone as you shoot a surreptitious look at Silco. The sound of his phone conversation is muffled because he’s turned his office chair away to face the window, so you aren’t afraid of being watched as you examine the device.
The horn is gilded into what looks like the bell of a morning glory, a beautiful but ungainly shape. You wonder how you’re going to smuggle it out of the office without anyone noticing. The truth is that you won’t be able to do it without being immediately caught, but you do happen to know someone who can.
Sevika.
Yes, no one would bat an eye to see her heaving something heavy out of her boss’ office, even if it was a body bag.
You shoot her a quick text outlining your plan, and cross your fingers that she’ll be up for helping you out. You’ve never asked Sevika for a personal favor before, and aren’t really sure if you’re on that level of friendliness. But it’s possible that it will appeal to her sense of loyalty, since it’s for her boss.
Jinx’ next text appears, which is a GIF of some cartoon character making crying eyes. “OMG your too cute I’m literally dyingggggg”, Then, “I’ve got school till 10:00 then I’m totally free for whatever!!”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at your house around 11:00? You want to eat at home or get lunch on the go??”
“There’s this place on Black Lane with superb french fries”
“Say no more, you had me at french fries.”
She sends another GIF, from Step Brothers. “Did we just become best friends?”
“Yup!”
As you put your phone away you catch sight of your grin in an oval mirror on the wall directly behind the gramophone. The lighting is extremely dim on this side of the room, making your reflection appear shrouded, but even through the fog you sense that there is a warm glow to your face. Whether this is the result of the streaky mirror, or the afterburn of a successful and satisfying afternoon, is unclear.
Probably both, you decide.
Despite the almost complete derailment of your meeting plans thanks to the trash can debacle, the day has proven to be rather productive. You’d kept your ass firmly seated in the chair across the desk from where Silco was keeping his, maintaining a professional, three-foot working distance apart as you covered your agenda for the week.
He’d brought up The Last Drip’s data, marking the highest selling items, lowest selling items, and possible changes to make by the end of the month to improve sales. You’d suggested curating fun and fancy drinks for the week of Halloween, and he’d given you a green light to go. You’d also suggested having a greater social media presence, which he’d agreed was a good idea, so long as the person you chose had a respectable resume, and he liked the presented aesthetic.
You know you’re going to have to wrack your brain for ideas about who you could slot in for that particular task, but you’ll have to ponder that another day. It’s almost 3:30, and you’re tired of thinking about business.
You’ve only just stood up to stretch your legs after Silco confirmed that there wasn’t anything left on the agenda. It was good luck that he’d received the phone call when he did, so you could get a closer look at the gramophone without having to come up with some half-baked excuse.
Because, theoretically, there’s nothing left to do for you to do but say good-bye.
Silco’s conversation is coming to an end if the clipped tone of his voice is any indication, so you twist around to confirm that you look presentable from every possible angle. You wince as you turn a little too far, and your hip throbs. Raising your shirt confirms that there is a massive bruise already blooming where you’d struck the desk.
You’re still torn on whether the predominant emotion you should feel is embarrassment, or contentment with how everything turned out. After all, despite the awkwardness that led up to the event, sitting in his lap had been pretty dang nice.
Comforting.
And they way he’d curled his body around you, controlling your fall…
That is what he’d done, wasn’t it? He’d moved so quickly, despite the lingering effects of his eye injection. It was almost as if he’d known you’d trip before you did, and his actions to protect your head had been so practiced, like he’d done it a thousand times before.
For Jinx, maybe? Or during his time in the army?
It makes your heart squeeze to contemplate either of these options, and there’s a lingering flutter that he would so thoughtlessly put himself in harm’s way to protect you, even from such a little thing as falling into a chair.
“I see you’ve found my prized collection.”
You nod automatically, eyes briefly flitting upward to meet Silco's in the mirror before looking around to figure out what he’s talking about. Your hand is resting on a box of records, and you flip through them one at a time, pretending you'd been looking at them all along. You notice that the collection is mostly the same genre.
“So you lied to me, before?” You say lightly. “About your favorite kind of music?”
“I didn’t lie. You asked me if I preferred AC/DC, and I said I did not like classic rock. You assumed that because you were right about what kinds of rock I prefer, that it was my preferred genre of music.”
“Fair point,” You shift so you can see his face. “So… You like jazz?”
He nods.
“Mm. You have anything by the Dorsey Brothers, or Artie Shaw?”
“I’m not familiar. I find John Coltrane and Miles Davis to be the best of their genre.”
His phone jingles, and he pulls it out to check it with languid disinterest. When he doesn’t immediately turn his attention back to you, you recognize the action as your cue to leave.
You put the record back, fighting not to feel too sorry for yourself as you move towards the couch. He spent an entire afternoon with you, so you don’t really have anything to complain about. But somehow it doesn’t feel like enough.
Will it ever feel like enough?
He meanders towards the door as you collect your coat and bag, as if anticipating your departure. Because you’re a glutton for punishment, you follow at a snail’s pace, wracking your brain for ideas on how to engage him in conversation before you have to say good-bye.
“I think we should have a night where we exchange favorite albums.”
“You mean a date.”
“Well… yes.”
“I’d like that.”
It doesn’t sound like it, at this moment, so you'll have to take him at his word.
He slips his phone into his pocket as he stops at the threshold of his office, looking at you with some kind of expectation. You aren’t sure what he’s waiting for, but he isn’t holding open the door, so you figure that’s an invitation to continue the conversation.
“It can be a no pressure kind of thing,” You say brightly. “It doesn’t even have to be a whole night, if you don’t have the time for it. It could be after work, and we spend a few hours listening to good music while eating take-out. And maybe you get to pick what we have for dinner, since you hardly ate anything today.”
“I don’t like to eat fast food, and rarely eat while I work.”
You send him a reproachful look. “Well that’s a bad excuse, you work away from home all the time.”
“I’d like to change that moving forward, at least for one or two nights a week.”
“Oh good! That will be better for your health, which has the added benefit of greater productivity.”
“More potential for productivity. You forget that home means privacy, and privacy means distractions.”
“Oh dear, not pesky distractions. Don’t tell me the great Eye of Zaun is a doom-scroller?”
The blank look on his face is so wildly comical, you have to bite back a laugh.
“I’m not sure what that means, but no, I think not. It's people who are difficult to manage.”
He says ‘people’, but judging by his rather resigned expression, he’s referring to one person in particular.
“Poor Mr. Spisak,” You grin. “Your daughter does know how to make her presence known in a big way.”
“I wasn’t referring to her, alone.”
You give him a quizzical frown, but it slowly shifts into a self-conscious blush under his pointed stare.
“Ahhh,” You push your hair behind your ear and laugh. “Gotcha. Well maybe we shouldn’t have meetings at your house then. I wouldn’t want my ass to be any more of a distraction.”
“Perhaps that’s precisely the point,” He tilts his head as he executes a slow examination of what many have called your greatest physical assets. “My daughter is constantly reminding me that I need to take more breaks.”
“Oh,” You croak, mouth suddenly dry. “Okay then. In that case I guess I’ll be happy to distract you, any day you need. Maybe sometime next week, after you get back?”
“I’ll look at my schedule, and see when I can carve out some time.”
“Great. Do you cook?”
“I dabble.”
You highly doubt ‘dabbling’ for Silco is ‘dabbling’ for your average human being.
“Well then,” You say lightly, “maybe one night you can dabble in cooking, and we can listen to our favorite jazz albums together.”
“I look forward to it.”
“It’s really too bad we have to wait until after you get back to make it happen.”
“It’s only a few days.”
“It will feel like an eternity. But I guess you’re worth the wait.”
“You guess?”
You sigh, “Okay fine, I know you’re worth the wait. I’m just being impatient, that’s all.”
His eyebrow quirks up in amusement. “Your little display this afternoon certainly proved that.”
“Hey! That was totally an accident, and you know it.”
“So you say, but you performed your fall so elegantly I can’t help but wonder if you’ve done it before.”
You snort. “Elegant? Tell that to the pile of papers on the floor. And my throbbing hip.”
“I’m sorry for that.”
“Me too,” You chuckle ruefully. “But I’ll be fine. And I’m flattered you think I’m that good of an actress. I don’t think I could ever do it again with the same results. Which is a bummer because… well, I mean, after the initial rush of adrenaline passed I thought it was …”
You cast about wildly for how to end your sentence without sounding childish. There was simply no easy way to put into words how holding onto him had felt so right -- how being in his arms was like finding yourself safe at home -- but before you can begin to intelligently formulate a way to finish your sentence, his eyebrow rises, forcing you to blurt out, “It was nice.”
"So you said," He says with a faint smirk.
"Well I mean it."
"I believe you. Do you have any plans for the rest of your evening?"
His voice has taken on a clipped, business-like quality. Sadness creeps in as you recognize the wall of professionalism he’s pushing between you.
“No.”
He nods. “I’ve taken up too much of your time. Your mother won’t thank me for that.”
“It’s alright. She doesn’t need to know. And I was happy to spend time with you, even if it was just to work.”
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
“I know it won’t be like this forever. And like I said, you’re worth the wait.”
He stares at your smile, then at you, for many long seconds. Emotions flash behind his eyes, ones that you can’t even fathom. His hands twitch at his sides before he slips them into his pockets with deliberate intent.
“I’ll see you Saturday.”
You blink at him, slowly.
So, this is how he intends to let you go, without so much as a hug, kiss, or real good-bye of any kind. Perhaps it’s just his way to end conversations like business meetings. But after all the flirtation and teasing, it feels wrong to leave like this. It would linger like a bad taste in your mouth.
“What’s wrong?” He asks.
“Nothing.”
Nothing except I love you, and I wish we were better at good-byes.
Swallowing back your insecurities and fears, you stand on tip-toes to kiss him lightly on the cheek.
“Bye.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as his face takes on more undefinable emotions, yet he remains exactly where he is, hands shoved into his pockets, as he dips his head in response.
You hold back a sigh.
Silco is such a brutally rigid, self-restrained man.
How can he be capable of showing so much passion, yet refuse to give you any signs of sentiment or romance? What happened to the Silco who looked at you this afternoon like you meant more than the world?
You wish you knew some way to make it as hard for him to see you go as it was for you to leave him. You wish you could make yourself utterly unforgettable to this formidable man.
Was that even possible?
You smile sadly to yourself as you open the door, but it shifts into a look of surprise when you see Cal standing on the other side. He has one hand raised to knock, his face a mirror of yours. After an awkward second of his eyes darting between you and Silco, he grins.
“Hello love.”
“Hey Cal,” You answer cautiously.
How long was he standing there? How much did he hear?
Not that there was anything much to hear. You did talk about having a date, but there were no passionate embraces or declarations of love. Could he even hear your conversation through the thick wood of the door?
“I was just coming to see if you or the boss wanted a bit of espresso.”
“You’re selling coffee here now?”
A quick look over your shoulder reveals Silco’s closed expression. “Not at all. One of my men bought an espresso machine for the break room.”
“Paul brought his in the other day,” Cal picks up the story. “None of us have very refined tastes when it comes to espresso, so it mostly tastes like motor oil. But it gets the job done.”
“Wow, a shot of motor oil. You’re really selling this thing for me.”
He winks. “Just wait til I get goin’. Back home they said I could sell a rich man his own birthday suit, and get a generous tip. The money kind, not sexual favors.”
You snort out a laugh. “Well it really just takes time to learn how to dial in espresso. It’s all about training your palate to recognize what’s a good shot verses a bad shot. It’s not that different from wine tasting, really, if you’re familiar with that.”
“Well, not to blow me own horn or anythin’, but I’m considered quite the sommelier in my family.”
He puffs out his chest, and this time you release a real laugh. “Well I’d be happy to help you guys out, if you want.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure. Just let me know what days you have free.”
“Great! I’ll text the group chat and let the collective decide. I know more than a few of them would want to listen in and benefit from your expertise.”
“I’ll do my best not to let them down.”
“I know you won’t,” He throws an arm affectionately over your shoulder. “You’re a real catch, ducky.”
"Oh, I don't know about that."
Behind you, Silco asks in a clipped tone, “If that’s all, Calum.”
“Oh yeah, sorry boss,” Cal turns you both around to face the rather peeved looking business tycoon. “I didn’t mean to hold you back with my adulation. I just think we happen to have a very special lady here, and we’re lucky to have her. Don't you think?”
You raise your chin, trying to appear cool, calm, and collected underneath Silco's sneering appraisal.
Wait. Is that jerk actually smirking?
“I wouldn’t have chosen her for the position if I didn’t trust that she could meet my expectations.”
Silco’s compliments are truly something else.
You smile prettily. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you… sir.”
You tack on the ‘sir’ just to be salty, but the corner of his lip twitches upward a centimeter further.
“I expect to see an immediate implementation of the strategies we discussed, with a full report prepared, to be presented in person when I return this weekend.”
That was a rather smooth way of informing Cal that you and he would be spending dedicated time together very soon.
Sevika's right. He really is a sneaky son of bitch.
“Of course.”
You can admit that all this sneaking around, although stressful, is kind of exciting.
Still, you can’t wait till you don’t have to pretend like this anymore.
“Come on then, love, let’s not keep the boss from his endless work. May your trip produce the bountiful harvest of commerce sir.”
Silco rolls his eyes, and you grin. You have to swallow back the impulse to say good-bye again as Cal tugs you down the hall. You settle for peeking over your shoulder as you turn towards the staircase.
Silco's orange eye is glaring after you, so you subtly raise a hand in farewell.
Bye Silco, have a safe trip.