Chapter Text
I am aware what people at the company think of me and Derek. They think that there is something going on between us, and to be honest, I would believe the same if I were one of them—Derek, much unlike himself, frequently pays a visit to the lab, where I am working, and he usually gives me excessive accounting work, just because he knows I have an accountant vocation.
I hate that, though. I hate it when he comes down only to inform me that I am going to have to stay in for longer. I have to transit from the laboratory, which is underground, to the penultimate floor at the top of the building, the floor under Derek’s office. There is the accounting department, under them the logistics department, then the purchasing, sales department, and customer service, respectively. Derek chose to organize his company this way, because he isn’t fond of intruders, hence he doesn’t want those who are not his subordinates go too high with the elevator—the customer service is much like a defence line in his strategy. As for the laboratory, only those with a password can use the elevator to descend underground.
The building is among the tallest in Seattle, and the company itself is very impressive, too. It can be etched up to Derek ruling it with an iron fist—should someone commit a mistake twice, or make too many mistakes, and the next thing they know is that they’ve just been fired.
The telephone ringing tears me out of my mind. I am startled backwards from my desk where I am bending over one of the samples. I take off the goggles and approach the phone in the wall.
“(Y/N), Laboratory,” I say by way of a greeting.
“This is Erica Reyes,” says a high-pitched tone at the other end of the line. She is Derek’s PA. “Derek wants to see you.”
“I’m busy at the moment,” I say. Sometimes I have a feeling Derek is deliberately trying to distract me from my work just to have an excuse to fire me. But every time that comes to my mind, I remind myself I shouldn't be making myself any more anxious than usual. I can hear Erica exhale softly, like she’s just as fed up with our arguments as I am.
“He said it was important,” she says, like that would be enough reason for me to leave my work here. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my index finger and thumb, massaging the skin there.
“All right,” I give in. “Just… tell him I’ll be there in…” I glance at the sample over my shoulder, then at my watch. “ten minutes,” I end up saying.
“Okay,” she says. “Bye.”
I let out a breath before putting the phone back into place and return to work.
Fifteen minutes later I push the button of the highest floor in the elevator. Lacking better, more interesting things to do, I lean back against the mirror that is the wall of the lift, with my eyes fixed firmly on the red numbers ticking away. I finally arrive with a soft ding, and the sight of a corridor welcomes me. I know that at the end of it, there is Erica sitting at her desk with a headset on, most likely typing away on her computer or arranging files, making sure that no forbidden trespassing is going on, preserving Derek’s non-disturbance.
She looks up when she hears my footsteps, and pushes a button on the phone before her. “She’s here,” is all that she says, then waves for me to go ahead. Right now, she’s pinning together papers—by glancing down at them, I can tell they are copies of contracts. The calendar in front of her is full of her messy handwriting and there are many and much more post-its stuck on it with additional memos.
I knock on the dark, heavy wooden door before opening it. There, I can see the huge desk in front of the window that makes the entirety of the wall, but not Derek.
“Close the door,” comes the command suddenly, startling me. I quickly do as I was told, then turn in the direction of the source of the voice. There Derek is. When I notice him, I can see him giving me a once-over. “You left your gown on yourself,” is what he decides to begin with, and there’s so much I can do not to huff out a mocking noise at his observation, or retort back with something like, “Very perceptive of you”.
Instead, I simply say, “I was already five minutes late, I figured it was an important matter that you wanted to see me so much.” The corner of his mouth twitches, but barely noticeably. He’s standing beside a small table that hold a silver tray with a golden coloured, alcoholic liquid on it—most likely whiskey, but I can’t be sure—, pouring a small amount into a crystal glass. I find myself staring.
“Why did you want to see me?” I ask finally, steeling myself a bit. I vaguely register that my hands are in the pockets of my gown, but I refuse to take them out. He turns, so now instead of his back, I can stand face to face with him. I can see him holding out a glass toward me. I look down at it, hesitant, then shake my head. “No, thank you.”
I don’t miss the way his eyebrows furrow just a bit, before he sets my portion back on the tray. He approaches me.
“There is going to be a conference two days later,” he says. I nod, not quite having an idea what I should say to that. He takes a sip of the alcohol before going on. “I don’t like going alone to conferences, and there are going to be topics I don’t have a knock to,” he continues, and now I’m starting to get an idea of where he’s going with all of this. I open my mouth to refuse his offer, but he cuts me off. “Let me finish,” he says, like a meek warning. “before you say no.”
“Why did you think I was going to say no?” I ask, not being able to help it. I want to know what made him think I was intend to decline.
“You have a knock to two fields—chemistry and economics—, and I’m going to need both of those at the conference,” he says instead of answering my question. “The latter I can deal with, but not the former. I want my company to evolve, and many unexplored fields in your area of science are going to be mentioned. You have a great insight into things, and whichever you can see a future in, I want you to let me know.”
This genuinely sounds entirely professional.
I nod, “All right.”
He smiles, then, without taking his eyes off of me, takes another sip of his drink. Derek approaches his table, and from one of the drawers, he pulls out a brochure. He hands it to me.
“Here,” he says. “The details of the conference. It’s going to take several days, almost a week. The companies are going to have to introduce themselves in the first two days, and just then will the innovation sharing come,” he informs me. My eyes skim through the lines, absorbing hints of data about the conference. “It’s going to take place in New York,” he adds.
I don’t say anything, so he dismisses me with a single, “See you in two days from now. Don’t be late”, and I take that as my cue to leave.
. o O o .
Two days later, when I arrive at the company, the first thing I see is a huge car parked in the parking lot of the corporation—an ebony black Camaro. When I come closer, Derek gets out of it.
“Put your suitcase in the trunk,” he instructs, opening it up for me. He helps me get it inside, then we both take our seats at the front. There is modern blues coming from the speakers, and the music calms me down. “We’re going to the airport,” he says, turning the stirring wheel to the left to back up his car from the parking lot.
The travel there is silent. None of us talks, but that's fine—I’m not much of a chatterbox myself, and I’m not capable of talking freely about anything that comes to mind with someone I’m not comfortable around.
The checking in takes about twenty minutes, and then we are lead to the corridor that leads to the aeroplane. At the entrance of the plane, we both show the stewardess our tickets, and she explains where our seats are. As for the Camaro, Derek told me while we were waiting in the line that he has it transported, so by the time we arrive, it will have already been taken there.
We take our seats up-front, in the first-class area. I sit next to the window and Derek on my left. I turn my phone off, figuring I won’t need it for the flight. Instead, I pull out a book from my bag and start reading. That is, until I can feel someone’s gaze on me.
When I look up, my eyes meet Derek’s.
“What?” I blurt before I could stop the word. If anything, Derek smiles at that—the reaction I was expecting the least of all.
“Nothing,” he says, then turns away from me and waves a stewardess over to order something. “You want anything?” he asks me. I shake my head.
“No, thank you,” I smile at the woman, who looks at Derek for a touch longer than it would be appropriate. I tell myself it doesn’t bother me.
Minutes pass by, and after what feels like an hour, Derek speaks up again. When I check the time, I realize it was only twenty minutes.
“I hope you brought a nice dress with you,” he says. I look at him with wide eyes.
“Why?” He shrugs. His head is propped on his left hand; the tips of his index and middle fingers are resting against his temple, his thumb under his sharp jaw and remainder fingers are brushing his lips.
“There’s going to be a charity ball last night,” he says. “They figured this out later on, that’s why it wasn’t mentioned in the brochure,” he explains.
“I didn’t know about that!” I say.
“I thought Erica told you,” he says, genuine.
“I think she thinks you order her every time before she has to do anything.” The corner of his mouth twitches again, apparently suppressing a smile. “Anyway,” I open my book again. “I’ll just skip it then, I guess.”
Derek doesn’t say anything about that.
. o O o .
After our arrival, we head to pick our suitcases, then Derek drags me with him to ask about the whereabouts of his Camaro. Several people direct us to different areas of the airport before we reach the final destination where the sleek car is already awaiting us.
Derek and I put our suitcases and luggages in the trunk, then we take our seats and Derek drives us to the hotel where the conference takes place. He helps me get my stuff out of the car before we approach the impressive building. We check in, and when we are given a key, I realize that we are to share one room. My heart switches to an insane rhythm.
This is a problem. A major problem.
“(Y/N)?” asks Derek, voice laced with concern and eyebrows furrowed a bit. Apparently he’s been calling my name for a while before I responded.
“Yes?” I shake my head briefly. He curtly cocks his head towards the elevator.
“Let’s go,” he urges, but my feet are rooted to the ground. Seemingly he realizes I have trouble coordinating my body, because he takes a few steps towards me. “What’s the matter?”
“Uh,” I say intelligently. How does one even convey they are uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed with their boss without being rude? “It’s just…” I avert my eyes from his and fix them on the ground. “Is it a single bedroom?” I blurt at last. As Derek’s eyebrows arch, I know realization is dawning on him.
“Yes,” he says. “Does it make you uncomfortable?” I resist the urge to bark something sarcastic at him, and just nod instead. Derek licks his lips, apparently not knowing how to handle the situation accordingly. I shake my head. “Never mind,” I say, starting towards the elevator. “I”ll sleep on the couch.”
Derek follows me, waits with his response until we are in the elevator.
“I won’t let you sleep on the couch,” he says simply, although it sounds eerily like a command. “Why are you so worked up over it anyway?”
“You are my boss,” I point out the obvious, not quite able to grasp the perfect phrase to convey what my problem is with the situation. I hope he understands, though.
“I know as much,” he says sarcastically. I am reassured he isn’t intend to go easy on me on this. I wish I could chicken out of this.
“For me, it’s strange to share a bed with my superior,” I say, figuring I picked the best wording of all. Derek crosses his arms over his chest.
“Why?”
“Do I really have to spell it out?” I nearly snap. He doesn’t even wince, so maybe he doesn’t mind. Maybe I would be better off at another workplace. Probably I would have already left my job at Derek’s corporation if it weren’t for the fact I love my job there.
“No,” he says, leaving the tiny area since the elevator halted at our floor. I scramble to grab my suitcase and follow him out to our shared bedroom. I swallow my heart back from my gullet where it belongs.
Derek opens the lock, pushes the door wide open and allows me to enter first. The room itself is gargantuan, and it has a modern bathroom attached, which is also huge.
I drop my suitcase next to the king sized bed so that I can load my clothes into the wardrobe. There is also a drawer standing next to it, but I didn’t bring enough clothes to fill both furniture. I refuse to turn around, so I can only hear as Derek starts doing the same. When I finish and turn, I am startled back against the door of the wardrobe, surprised. Apparently Derek finished before I did, and so, has been staring at me ever since. The lump in my throat becomes prominent again. His pale greenish-hazel gaze bores into my own. I school my posture.
“What are you looking at?” It probably came out harsher than it would have been appropriate, for I am still talking to my boos, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not right now.
“Now that you saw the bed, are you still planning to sleep on the couch?”
“You forbade me,” I bite back, sarcasm seeping my words. He smirks.
“Oh yeah,” he says, his head lolling forward while his arms are folded over his chest. “You and your snarky tongue.” He snickers. “You usually keep it at bay at the company,” he says in a chatty voice. “But I did notice it.”
“It probably isn’t too hard, I assume.”
“Trust me, it’s rather my excellent people reading skills,” Derek says, matching my level of sarcasm. The latter fact actually excites me. “On a more serious note, though,” he says, tone just a tiny bit switching to a lower note. It’s barely audible, but definitely there. “I would really want to know what is it in me that puts you off so much.”
“According to what I have noticed, when a subordinate is straightforward and explicitly honest with their boss, they end up being fired in the majority of the cases,” I point out, attempting to make a beeline for the entrance of the bedroom area to migrate back to the living-room, but Derek steps in front of me, blocking my way. I look up at him, confusion showing on my face. He crosses his arms over his chest again.
“Then let’s talk to each other as equal individuals, how does that sound?” he offers, but I know his generosity isn’t stemming solely from pure kind intentions. He just wants an excuse to have something he can hold against me. I shake my head curtly in denial.
“Then as a person equal to you, I refuse to continue this conversation,” I say sternly. Derek purses his lips in frustration, but doesn’t budge otherwise. He moves to the left, giving me space to leave. “Thank you,” I say before heading out of the room. I made up my mind on the plane, deciding to take a tour and explore the area.
. o O o .
When I return to the room, I find it empty. I am perfectly aware that Derek is most likely in the bathroom, since it’s already gone dark outdoors and it’s nearly 9 PM, and we are getting up early tomorrow.