Chapter Text
Gojo (Boss): utahime
Gojo (Boss): uta
Gojo (Boss): hime
Gojo (Boss): himeeeeeeeee
Gojo (Boss): answer meeeeeeeeee
Utahime felt the buzzing from her phone against her thigh and inwardly sighed. She could see Gojo to her left, head down and fiddling with his phone, instead of paying attention to the presentation the operations lead was giving on Q3 results.
Utahime: Shut up and pay attention. They’re going over the profitability of that media company that we acquired in 2015.
Gojo (Boss): And??
Gojo (Boss): [has sent a game of 8 ball]
At the sight of the virtual pool game he loved playing when he was in meetings he didn’t want to be in, Utahime turned off her ringer and nudged his foot. His blindingly platinum, if not white, head of hair did not even move an inch.
“...and, based on this analysis, we’re projecting a 15% increase…”
Utahime could admit the operations lead was not the greatest presenter. Ryuchi Watanabe was a leftover of Gojo’s father’s reign of terror at Gojo Holdings, Ltd. Watanabe had been here since the 80’s and while, technically, good at his job, was no corporate superstar. His seniority, rather than his talent, secured him the operations position that subjected the board and Gojo to hour-long quarterly reports.
She could spot the other board members flagging as well. One had a glazed look in their eyes, another was tapping his leg, and another was mirroring Gojo by surreptitiously glancing at her phone. Still, she dutifully took relevant notes for Gojo while feeling pity for the Corporate Secretary, who had to record every single reaction and comment Ryuchi received during his presentation.
“That ends my quick and efficient overview on our quarterly results. I open the floor to any questions.”
The room was silent for a moment before shuffling resumed as the room realized that— thank god—the presentation was over.
Ryuchi’s eyes darted around at the silent board, and as the silence continued, grew contented at the fact that no one was asking questions.
“Quick comment, Watanabe.”
All eyes snapped to Gojo, who was suddenly sitting up in his chair with his phone still displaying the green pool table of 8 Ball.
“Ah, yes, sir?”
Gojo clucked his tongue. “Big, big issue on the 17th slide. If you’ll turn to that please.”
Ryuchi’s face paled as he and Utahime realized that was the forecast page. Utahime tried to rack her brain on what could have been wrong for Gojo to flag as Ryuchi was hissing at his poor assistant lead to go back on the slide deck.
“Slide 17, sir.”
Utahime and other board members leaned over. Doing the quick calculations in her head, she found them sound, even if she thought the assumptions were overly optimistic. She side eyed the idiot to her left.
Gojo’s gaze slid over his sunglasses (which Utahime hated!), until his piercing blue eyes zeroed in on the poor man sweating buckets. His expression was grim and his arms were folded, then opened his mouth to say:
“That’s an awful picture you have of me!”
As soon as they reentered Gojo’s executive suite, Utahime’s hand snapped up and hit Gojo over the head when he sat down.
“Ow, ow! Uta! That hurt!”
“Get serious, Gojo! That is all you had to take away from that presentation? Your picture was bad?!” Utahime hissed, looking over her shoulder while assembling his morning hot chocolate.
“But, Uta, it was a really bad picture,” Gojo whined, holding his head while slumped in his seat. His office, overlooking the Tokyo skyline in one of its highest skyscrapers, would’ve been an intimidating sight had it not been for the lanky man sprawled about. “Made me look like I had a double chin. And fat!”
“Hey, you said it. Not me,” she snorted. The hot chocolate (made from Belgian chocolate poured over milk imported from America) finished, she set it down with a clink on the table in front of him.
The man in question dramatically tilted his head to the side. “Whaaaat? I am so not fat. I work out all the time. Look at these guns!”
Utahime didn’t even have to look to know that Gojo was flexing his muscles. Unfortunately, Gojo did work out a lot, and took great care in making sure he was physically fit to combat all his time spent in his office.
“Must be all the sweets you eat, then. Must I remind you of the notes we received from your last check-up?”
A snort, and his chair creaked as Gojo leaned back on it. “Bunch of bullshit. I’m not laying off on anything. I’m the peak of the human condition, may I remind you!”
The amount of times Utahime has rolled her eyes around this man should’ve dislocated her eyes from the sockets, but, alas, they remained perfectly in place. Some tech magazine had done a spread on Satoru last year and gave him that ridiculous nickname. The magazine had gushed that not only was he the CEO of the biggest asset managers in Asia, but was fit, handsome, and had a Master’s in Physics from an elite Western university.
It made Utahime kind of sick to think about how the world thought Gojo was perfect. The “peak of the human condition” was actually a little kid who had never been told “no” in his life.
“Enough of that,” she sighed, and sat down in the chair in front of his desk. She crossed her legs, dressed in a red skirt, and opened her laptop. “I need you to—”
His phone rang suddenly, the alarm breaking the silence of the office.
Utahime paused, expectant. As he did nothing to answer it, only honed in on her, she crossed her arms. She pursed her lips.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?”
Gojo’s gaze didn’t waver, uncanny blue eyes single-mindedly focused on her. “Continue, Uta. I’m sure it’s no one important.”
She leaned over to catch a glimpse of his phone screen.
“It’s your father.”
“Fuck.” Gojo grimaced and reached for his phone, swiping when it almost reached its last ring. “Hello?”
As Gojo answered a terse call with his father, Utahime’s gaze wandered out the window onto the streets of Tokyo. With the sun out in early October, Tokyo citizens were eager to do their errands in the cool weather. She spotted a couple holding hands in a matching couple outfit, smiles as warm as the steaming coffee in their hands. Utahime saw a young man assisting an elderly man cross a busy crosswalk, taking their time despite the cars honking at them. In the park nearby, Utahime’s eyes snagged onto a few kids running around. While she couldn’t hear them nor see their expressions from this high up, she could imagine the shrieks and peels of laughter as they chased each other around the park and eventually returned to their parents waiting on the shaded benches.
Kids. Parents.
Utahime’s heart panged and she tried not to think about the conversation she had with Shoko earlier in the month. It had been weighing on her mind and…
“You look uglier than usual, Uta. What gives?”
Utahime was shaken out of her thoughts by Gojo smirking at her, head tilted like a curious cat. She scowled instantly.
“You are literally so annoying.”
“You like it.”
Their gazes met and Utahime felt a flicker of something, but before it could materialize, averted her gaze from his brilliant blue eyes.
“Anyways, what did your father want?
He reclined again on his chair, looking like he were at the beach instead of his goddamn office. “Bah, someone in the clan is holding a party for Sachiko-baasan’s birthday. Can you believe that old lady is 82? Jesus, dude.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I guess I gotta RSVP and stuff. Oh yeah, and a gift too. I remember when I was 11 and shattered-”
“—the 100-year old sake bottle that your parents had given her? Yes, I do,” Utahime finished, dryly. “Your grand-aunt brings it up every time we see her.”
“She’s so old that she thinks 11 years old was, like, 5 years ago,” Gojo complained.
“It’s because you act like a child. Regardless—”
“Hey!”
“—I already RSVP’d and booked a private tour to Matsumoto Castle for her.” Looking down at her handy iPad, she continued, “I rescheduled your appointments on that day and moved the Oomori dinner to lunch so you could attend.”
Gojo beamed at her, outshining the morning Tokyo sun behind him.
“God, what would I do without you Uta?”