Chapter Text
One week into his new job! Yay..
Steve wasn’t exactly excited for his new job. A stuffy office, a uniform, actual work. Yeah, no. Not his style. He’d planned to be in the NHL by now, but some stupid college injury had put him out of commission for good. So he fell back onto his actual college! Business major. Great.
Ok, whatever. You can do this, man. It’s just.. an office job. That’s super boring. With no personality. Yaaayyy, he thought silently to himself, staring up at the climbing floors of the building he was supposed to be working in. He took a deep breath, shaking the small amount of nerves out through his hands, and walking in.
The front desk lady—Samantha, he’s got to remember that—was nice enough to tell him almost everything. She mentioned the right things to say to which managers for longer breaks, the right people to talk to, and how to actually get jobs in this place. This place being—a big stock market company where they didn’t really need him, but they could put him where they needed more people.
He smiled and nodded at the copious amounts of advice he was just given, trying to remember some of it but finally coming to the mental conclusion that nothing was going to be remembered but her name. “.. and that’s what you really need to know about this place, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” Samantha said cheerfully, patting Steve’s shoulder. “Uh, yeah, yes, that’s uh- that’s great, thankyousomuch-“ he started quickly before cutting himself off just as soon as he’d started. Because who was that?
The man that just walked in derailed his brain faster than a semi truck going off a cliff.
His hair was a beautiful golden blonde, his stark blue eyes seeming to pierce through Steve for the spit second they passed over him, then Samantha, then back to the ground as he continued the phone call that Steve hadn’t even noticed was happening. His voice was sharp as it cut through the air and through any sense of self respect Steve still had, since he could not stop staring. “No, I told them to buy, I can’t do anything to get those shares back! It’s not my choice, I-“ The man huffed as he was cut off by whoever was on the other line. “I’m sorry, I can’t do anything about this,” he said finally, ending the call and shoving his phone in his pocket. He stormed past Steve and Samantha—professionally, albeit—with a slight glance over to Samatha again before mumbling a small, “Mornin’, Sammy,” as he walked past.
“Good morning, Mr. Greyman!” Samantha responded with the same amount of cheerfulness that she seemed to constantly radiate.
They both watched the now labeled Mr. Greyman walk over to the elevators. “I- I gotta, uh, go. I’m gonna be late,” Steve said absently as he continued to stare at the well suited man at the elevators, before walking over as casually as he could so he could also go up to his floor. And maybe talk to this guy, but nobody needed to know that.
They both stepped into the elevator, each pressing their respective buttons for their respective floors.
Great. Now they were alone together.
Steve cleared his throat awkwardly, opening his mouth to speak, but the other man got to it first. “You’re the new guy, aren’t ya’?” Mr. Greyman asked casually, like he wasn’t going to the top floor..
Wait.. Top floor?! That’s the CEO’s office though..
He slowly started connecting the dots in his mind. The suit that clearly costs more than Steve’s apartment, the confidence in his posture, everything else, etc, etc.
Steve stared at Mr. Greyman, eyes wide. He had forgotten for a moment that a question was even asked; he was just so shocked that the CEO knew who he was.
As he zoned back into reality, he remembered that Mr. Greyman had actually asked him something. “Uh, yeah, uhm, new guy. That’s me..” he replied quietly, feeling a lot more cautious about what he said and how he stood and how he looked and everything that someone can be judged on. “How do you know who I am? I-I mean, not in a “I don’t think you’d pay attention to the smaller parts of your company” kind of way, more of a.. “I just got hired here two weeks ago, how do you know who I am”... kind of way.”
“You played college hockey. I pay attention to college hockey and the NHL with the very little time I actually have to myself. You were good.” He paused, like he was wondering if he should mention something or not. “That shoulder injury was bad. Sad to see that you didn’t recover, obviously, since you’re working an office job,” Mr. Greyman said calmly, completely glossing over the fact that he’d seen Steve play. And thought he was good.
Steve hummed noncommittally in response, looking forward at the door of the elevator again. He was feeling a little embarrassed that his new boss had seen quite literally the worst part of his life and was now seeing the result of it.
The rest of the elevator ride was silent and awkward. Really, really awkward.
The elevator finally—finally—reached Steve’s floor. He stepped out, not looking back to see the doors close as he walks away.
—
It’s been a month now, and they still don’t have an official position for Steve. He’s a coffee runner, the guy that picks up paper from the printer, does everything else but an actual job.
Through being a coffee runner, he’s seen the CEO quite a few times, since he seems to need coffee quite a lot. He’s memorized Mr. Greyman’s order and everything—venti latte with two sugars, no cream—it’s not super complicated. It’s kind of the only thing he does all day, is get coffee for other people.
He must look like a total dork, he decides one day. Going to the Starbucks down the street three to seven times a day, wearing his stupid uniform and his stupid tie. It’s all stupid. This thought process leads him to the idea of asking the next person he gets coffee for if he looks stupid. He probably won’t.
But it’s as if God himself wills it, since about five minutes after he thought that, he gets a coffee request from Mr. Greyman’s assistant. It’s the fifth time that day. Christ, how much coffee can one man drink?
Great. Quick run down to Starbucks and he’s back, in the elevator up to the first floor, and then he’s at the door that reads:
Austin Greyman
C.E.O
Steve notes the name for the fifth time today, Austin. It… doesn’t really sound the same guy that sat on the other side of the door. Austin was a hillbilly name. It’s a I’m goin’ out to work on my pappy’s ranch when I turn 18! kind of name. Not the CEO of some big ass stock company. Definitely not.
Whatever.
He walks in without knocking, since it’s about his 28th time being here in three days and Austin told him to stop knocking in case he was on an important call or something, and to just be quiet when he came in and when he left. And that’s what he’s been doing. No actual interactions have happened between them since the elevator thing a month ago.
As Steve was going to leave, he was stopped by Austin’s voice calling out to him.
“Hey. This isn’t the right order.”
Steve tried to sigh as quietly as he could as he turned to face the blonde again. “Is it really? Could’ve sworn your name was on it,” he said with an absurd amount of couldn’t-give-a-shit-less attitude in his voice. “Yeah, yeah, I get that, it is my name on it. But it’s wrong.”
Am I supposed to do something about that?? Steve thought silently, just staring at the coffee cup. “Uh.. what’s wrong about it?”
“I-I dunno, did you get the order right? Venti latte-“ “with two sugar, no cream, yeah, I thought I got it right,” Steve cut Austin off, feeling a bit too tired for proper workplace etiquette, like not being a total ass to your CEO.
Austin didn’t seem to care much.
“Ok, whatever, ‘s just coffee,” the blonde mumbled, going back to whatever he was working on, typing quickly on his laptop. “Dismissed.”
—
Steve needed a drink. This office job was messing with him. Bad.
He needed to get away from any aspect of the office, no professionalism, no judgment, nothing but a bunch of people who are drunk or high and very happy. And he knew a really good place like that! This alternative punk bar with shitty karaoke about a half hour away from his office. None of his coworkers would be there. Why would any of them be at a punk bar. Why would anyone he knows be there.
He got there as quick as he could, and got more than little bit drunk as quick as he could. And, of course, drunk Steve immediately wanted to do karaoke. And, of course, drunk Steve was choosing stupid songs. Meaning, You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette. And everything was going great, his singing was.. above average for a drunk guy, everyone seemed entertained by how expressive he was, and that might’ve been helped by the fact that everyone in the room was a little bit tipsy.
But all good things must come to an end, apparently.
Right as he sang the lyric “And are you thinkin’ of me when you fuck her?”, he locked eyes with someone. A blonde someone that didn’t seemed nearly as entertained as anyone else in the room.
Steve’s smile faltered, and suddenly he felt a lot less drunk than he did a few seconds ago.
He stood still for a bit too long, eyes wide and locked onto Austin.
Shiiiiiittt.. why is he here????
“Ok, done, have a good night everyone,” Steve says quickly into the mic, getting his ass off the stage as fast as he can.
He can feel Austin’s eyes on him as he moved to leave the bar, a cold pit of dread forming in his stomach. What if he gets called unprofessional? What if Mr. Greyman gets offended that his workers are driven to drink, or something? What if? What if? What if?
“Hey,” a sturdy voice called out to Steve, a bit too close for comfort.
“Hello, Mr. Greyman,” Steve gritted out, trying to stay in that sober-ish state for as long as possible. Being drunk and talking to his boss is not what he needs tonight. He takes a deep breath, leaning back against the cold brick wall of the bar, preparing mentally for this conversation.
“Ah, no, don’t call me that outside of work. It’s Austin,” the blonde corrects quickly, stepping in front of Steve and essentially forcing him to look at him. “You got out of there pretty fast, I’m guessing you’re leaving?”
Steve doesn’t answer, because it’s a bit harder to soften the blow of telling someone that they totally ruined your night when that someone is the boss of the entire company you work at. Yeah, no, he’s not doing that.
“Cool. You’re not sober enough to drive,” Austin says matter of factly, like he could very easily see through the facade of soberness Steve was putting up—which, he could—and he was not having it. “You’re getting a ride from me, c’mon,” he says suddenly, grabbing Steve’s wrist and dragging him down the sidewalk like he was a child.
“Wait- sir- holdon-what-“ Steve started, but eventually gave up. “I’m taking you home, it’s not that complicated,” Austin said firmly, like that was the final decision.
—
Austin’s car is nice. Just a black sedan, nothing too fancy. This, for some reason, surprises Steve. He thought with the money that Austin has that he’d have a nicer car. Not that it’s not nice, it’s just not… well, expensive looking.
“Don’t throw up in my car,” Austin says casually, like it was completely normal for Steve to even be in his car. “Uhm.. yes, sir.” Steve wasn’t planning on it.
“Austin,” he corrects.
“Yes, Austin,” Steve says, putting a bit too much attitude in his voice, looking over at Austin with a slight frown. “Just let me be polite, it cannot be that hard to let me say Sir. Pour l'amour de Dieu,” he huffs, leaning against the car window.
Austin takes a deep breath, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly.
They drive the next half hour in silence. It’s right then that Steve realizes that he doesn’t recognize where they are.
“Austin.. you said you were taking me home. This isn’t where I live, man.”
“Oh. Not your home. My home.” Austin’s voice is calm, casual, like this is a very very normal situation.
Steve slowly looks over, brows furrowed and mouth slightly agape in shock. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not relying on a drunk guy to give me directions. You’re just staying with me tonight.”
Steve turned his head to stare forward away, like he was looking at an invisible camera in shock. “Ok,” was all he could manage to get out.