Strictly Business [Closed] - Printable Version
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RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-14-2016
Drusilla remained internally thrilled that she had impressed him. Watching him lounge in the chair across from her as she remained behind the desk threatened to pull forward the smirk she was suppressing. Talk of a salary came and went easily. Aphrodite had made sure to ingrain a reasonable request into her head among all of her other instructions, and Owen was easy to acquiesce. When she mentioned a budget for expenses, all he had done was handed her a shiny black credit card; uninterested in talking about numbers. Drusilla had no doubts that this was due to a desire to keep her around for revenge reasons. She thought it was a strange way to go about it, but maybe there was something else he wanted before he stuck a knife in her side. Or shot her in the head. Or however he was planning to do it.
Regardless, she had a job and Dite would be pleased. She would be keeping all the ‘son of a woman Belial murdered’ details to herself for obvious reasons. And for the time being she had something to do with herself instead of binge eating and watching nature documentaries in the apartment.
The first task she had designated for herself was unpacking all of the boxes crowding the auxiliary rooms. When she was finished the house seemed to open up and the placement of possessions actually made it looked lived in. Even though she was quick to realize Owen only bothered to occupy three rooms.
While unpacking the kitchen she noticed he had a lot of kitchen stufffor a single man who did not seem to spend a lot of time preparing meals. Wondering why seemed a lot like looking a gift horse in the mouth, since now she had a bunch of fun new kitchen stuff to play with.
His instructions, when handing over the heavy credit card had been to get whatever she needed. At some point in her trip for office supplies she had gotten ‘needed’ confused with ‘wanted’ as she was swept away in the colorful new world of sticky notes and highlighters. She purchased a rainbow of pens, and paperclips in the shape of cats. She started to use her purchases to color-code all hand-written correspondence and itinerary in the weeks ahead. Having slowly received a CAF ID card and more duties than cooking and cleaning. As he noted she would.
Within two weeks Drusilla and his credit card had been on quite the adventure together. Owen would find himself in the possession of a fully functional kitchen. The fridge was always stocked and there were spices in the cabinet next to the stove he had probably never heard of. She had also taken it upon herself to replace all of his linens and towels. His white, cotton bedding had been replaced with multiple sets in dark colors that she changed regularly. The same thing went for his boring towels.
Keeping the house in order wasn’t difficult, Owen wasn’t particularly messy. She almost felt like she washed the same four shirts and two pairs of jeans over and over. She kept his dress uniforms dry cleaned and his shoes in a line by the door. Cooking for him was even easier. She discovered that he would basically eat whatever she put in front of him as long as she had coffee ready in the morning.
Over the course of six weeks she had become quite good at the executive part of her job. The managing Owen part was a bit trickier and the Lieutenant Colonel seemed to be having a difficult time adjusting to the presence of another person in his house. Whenever he left his office it was like she was constantly in his way. She would often be minding her business completing a task when hands on her shoulders or hands on her waist would wordlessly steer her out of his path. She had protested once or twice but to no avail.
On this particular day, Drusilla was struggling. Her boss being wildly taller than her left her in a bit of a bind when it came to accessing things he had put away in his own. The weather had changed notably with the coming of Autumn. Owen’s yard was littered with a blanket of orange-yellow leaves and chill had swept over the city. To combat this, she had made a soup for lunch to go with sandwiches. She needed a bowl. Why were the bowls so high? She lifted herself on her toes, already wearing precarious heels in a blue that matched her sweater. Dropping back down she huffed as her ears fell, glaring up at the china she desired.
Pushing her sleeves up her arms, she retrieved a chair from the dining room table, and propped it in front of the cabinet. Stepping up on it, she was loathe to find that she was still barely tall enough, fingers just brushing the edges of what she wanted. She sighed in frustration, stretching her arm which separated the hem of her sweater from her black jeans, revealing a line of bare skin.
Meanwhile, Owen was finally receiving an email addressing Drusilla’s rainbow aesthetic.
To: Hart, Owen R.
From: Forsyth, Katanya D.
Re: Roster
Lt. Colonel,
Some of your agents have started to notice that your assistant has them color-coded. Private Kendrick would like to know how he ended up as magenta. I feel the need to point out that no one is bothered by the coordination, save for Private Kendrick (who is pink). Personally, I find it quite convenient and she has nice handwriting.
Major Forsyth
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-14-2016
Though his intentions had been a mystery to Drusilla, Owen had no adverse motivations in handing over his credit card. Coming into CAF Central Command had gained him a salary, bonuses, and perks leaving him with more money than he could possibly spend. He didn’t care what she purchased.Well he didn’t care at first. He came to care very quickly.
That is, when he began to notice that her shopping habits seemed to make his home….homier. For instance, having always been a fitful sleeper plagued by insomnia, Owen never lingered in bed snoozing alarms - it just made his problems worse. That is until he felt the silky new sheets against his skin. He might not be able to sleep, but he'd lay there feeling those sheets.
And the towels. Had towels always felt so fluffy? He suddenly understood the bliss that the people on commercials exhibited when they rubbed their faces on towels fresh from the dryer.
There were other strange things he’d come to like. Such as, the curious shade of orange powder in the kitchen called ‘tumeric.’ He didn’t know what such a thing was for but he liked the way it looked lining the pantry. Also, he’d never owned cinnamon before. It suddenly felt like something he should own. Because it was cinnamon. Everyone should have cinnamon.
In short, he was very pleased with his new assistant’s efforts in his home and began to wonder how he’d ever lived any other way. The credit card bills were paid without any attention to the amounts. There was even a new card he had yet to give to Drusilla with her own name printed on it. An auxiliary card just for her connected to his main account. It would be easier than constantly swapping the main card between them.
The concierge who set up the card for him suggested that his assistant might enjoy a floral print. However, Owen had ordered her a plain black card like his own, then called back to cancel, only to order the card in the floral design. He figured Drusilla would like that. She seemed to like pretty things. He didn’t know why he wanted to give his assistant pretty things and tried not to think about it too much. He also tried not to think about the whole assassination order he had for her head locked away in his top secret files. The desire to kill her wavered in the face of a growing attachment to her.
But then there were the pens.
He remembered frowning when he’d first encountered a report written in purple gel pen. That initial apprehension faded when her color coordination was applied to his personnel files and calendar. It was easier for him somehow to remember that Green was particularly successful in assignments involving infiltration tasks. He did, however, feel somewhat reluctant sending Drusilla's colorful reports to higher officers. Behind her back, he would often Xerox her colored report into black and white for its transit to CAF headquarters and file away the color copy for himself.
He hadn’t quite warmed to the cat shaped paper clips either. He switched them with a ordinary paper clips whenever he could. In doing so, he ended up with an ever growing stash of cat paper clips in his office drawer that she would no doubt discover at some point. The prospect thrilled him. It felt like a little game. Had she noticed her decreasing supply of cutesy paper clips yet? Would she confront him?
To: Forsyth, Katanya D.
From: Hart, Owen R.
Re: Roster
I’ll look into it.
Have you seen the cat paper clips? I’m curious who manufactures those things and how there could possibly be the economic demand for continued production.
Owen never used greetings or signed his emails. He let his name in the inbox speak for itself. He hit send and pushed himself away from his desk to work at solving the mystery of the color choice for … Doubling back, Owen opened the email again. Kendrick. Pink. Why had she chosen pink for this man? In fact, Owen was curious why he was blue. He wondered if it had something to do with the blue trim on the outside of his house. He made a mental note to find that out, as well.
In the hallway outside his office, Owen’s head swung left and right. Was she downstairs or up? Movement from the kitchen answered that question.
As he approached the kitchen through the dining room, Owen was somewhat horrified to find his assistant perched precariously - in heels! - on a chair. Her entire body was extended out striving for an object impossibly beyond her reach. He tried (without much success) not to focus on her figure - the shape of her bottom and that peep of skin at the small of her back.
Crossing into the kitchen silently Owen placed his hands firmly on Drusilla’s waist without warning. His hands filled that curve between her hips and rib cage. Owen lifted her with ease from the chair and set her gently down on the ground in front of him. “You are an accident waiting to happen. I do not need you falling and breaking yourself.” As if all of her would break if she fell from the height of a chair in his kitchen.
Owen pushed up the sleeves of his navy blue sweater.The weather lingered in that place between needing no air conditioner or heater. But it created enough of a chill inside the house that Owen wore sweaters nearly everyday this time of year. Something new for her to wash.
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at Drusilla as if he weren’t pleased with her behavior although, in truth, he found it quite endearing. “What are you trying to get down?”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-15-2016
Years of training meant Owen was quiet when he moved around the house. Too quiet to be completely honest. How a man so large got away with sneaking around was beyond her. Drusilla’s tendency to focus completely on whatever task was at hand, rendering her oblivious to most of her surroundings, did not help matters. When his hands circled her waist, she involuntarily made a noise. A sound that was a surprised mix between a yowl and a purr, like when you woke a house cat too suddenly. Her tail very nearly whipped him in the face as he plucked her from the chair and set her back on the ground. Turning quickly she found herself face to face with a dark blue sweater that looked very soft and fit snugly across the expanse of his chest. She cleared her throat, stepping back to look up at him; she tugged her own sweater back down over her hips.Her expression was the usual neutral mask that she usually employed with him. One ear had fallen lopsided however, noting the way he loomed and stared. He seemed to have already forgotten that lynxes were typically sturdier than humans. Even if they didn't look it. If she had fallen it would have only wounded her pride.
“I need a bowl,” she explained, calmly. Turning away from him she picked up the chair she had been using unsuccessfully and returned it to the dining room without a word; assuming that he would retrieve the item for her. Much to her embarrassment. She deposited the chair and returned to the kitchen to see if he had made an easy progress.
To: Hart, Owen R.
From: Forsyth, Katanya D.
Re: Roster
I haven’t seen the paperclips! That’s not fair. They sound adorable. I’m sure the mail room is stealing them because we never get anything fun here. Must be nice, being able to work from home.
Since you’re already looking into it, I’d like to know why I am red. I’m certain there is a method to these decisions.
Major Forsyth
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-19-2016
“I’m sorry did I startle you?” Owen asked as if he hadn’t heard that somewhat alluring (although he trying not to think about it as always) noise of surprise she had made. Like what a kitten - nope - he wouldn't think about what he thought he heard or indulge the flight of his thoughts any father. He didn't heard anything but a surprised yelp. Just a normal surprised sound.One side of his mouth was turned up in a judgmental smirk. Little did she know but he actually tried to sneak up on her most times. Other times he moved quietly strictly out of habit and it was an accident if he took her unawares.
He half turned to watch her put the chair back waiting until she was returning to the kitchen before he reached up and easily plucked the item from the cabinet. Every opportunity to put his tallness on display for her, he took. Though his torso was often too long to make shopping for shirts easily, his sweater lifted only enough to reveal the black belt that secured his dark jeans riding low on his hips. Reaching the bowl, for him, apparently wouldn’t disturb his wardrobe much.
“I’m not sure why you bother with heels,” he began setting the bowl on the counter and turning back to her. “As they don’t seem to give you enough lift to get you out of the uselessly small category.” This was the first time he’d ever teased her about his height. He wasn’t sure if he hoped she wouldn’t take offense or if he’d like to watch her get a bit annoyed at him. From him the remark was more a compliment. She was just the right size of diminutive for it to be both attractive and cute at the same time. Like a throw-you-over-my-shoulder kind of small.
Again he tried not to linger on it.
He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “Speaking of categorizations, apparently your choice of colored ink for the personnel files is a subject of much curiosity.” He didn’t say this with any judgment in his voice. “Hendrick is concerned about the choice of pink. I’m blue...”
He baited her to see if she would openly explain her decision in that regard without him having to expressly ask.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-19-2016
Drusilla returned to the kitchen, easily noticing how he seemed to wait for her before completing a task she needed assistance with. She didn't know if he was show off or bragging. Probably both. Was a shame he didn't have to reach a bit farther to get the bowl, she wouldn't have a minded a brief peek beneath that pretty blue sweater. At his comment on her shoes and her size her mouth opened, but closed quickly. She had almost gaped at him, the closest to an expression she had come to since being in his employ. The seal of her mouth was to police an immediate responses that had come to mind. She did not like the idea of being called useless. Any sign of offense was transferred to the quick flick of her ears towards the crown of her head. “I am of perfectly average height for an American woman.” She was not American and she was not of perfectly average height for a Lynx woman but that was a sore spot and could perhaps be overlooked. Since she had no way of knowing that her height appealed to him, she was left with being slightly vexed.
Grabbing the bowl from the counter she crossed the brief distance to the stove. Attending to the soup simmering there gave her the opportunity of having her back to him when he posed the question about her choice in colors. Another quick shift of her ears, her tail curling towards her spine as she recalled the instance that saddled Kendrick with pink.
“Two weeks ago when I was at the base to get your office mail, Private Kendrick whistled at me.” Her tone was even, attempting to seem nonplussed about the ordeal, as she ladled soup into the bowl. “I do not like being whistled at.” The dish made an audible sort of clunk as she placed it back on the counter. “I assumed Kendrick would not like being pink.”
She shifted around the kitchen, opening a drawer and retrieving a spoon. Height limitations aside she seemed to be comfortable in the space. “Yes you are blue.” It wasn't a question so she simply confirmed his observation. A choice of color she would not reveal without prompting.
“Will you be having lunch at the nook or your office?”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-20-2016
Grey eyes tracked between a thin lipped mouth and green eyes with a fire behind them. Apparently he’d struck a nerve. In the brief silence before Drusilla mounted her weak defense of her height, Owen put his hands on his hips and raised his eyebrows at her. A challenge. An amused warning. A begging for her to give him more material to work with. “Don’t look at me like that.” He mocked. “You may be perfectly averaged size for an American woman. But that doesn’t mean American women aren’t short now does it.”He had a point.
Owen moved out of Drusilla’s way so she could tend to the soup she was preparing for him.
“Don’t take it badly.” He placed his hand over his chest and feigned pained expression. “Your pretty little legs give me a sense of purpose and meaning. I get to help someone in need. Besides you're working with what you got if you know what I mean.” Somehow mockery had turned into flirting, which wasn't a leap with Owen.
While he made this little speech, Owen pulled open a drawer to fish out a spoon. He was curious to sample his lunch though it would soon be served to him. Crowding around Drusilla, Owen dipped the spoon into her concoction and leaned forward to have a taste. He was close enough that his her tail brushed against the front of his body. He didn’t seem to notice or mind. Steam rose from the spoon as he cautiously fed himself halfway bending around Drusilla.
Owen moved away again making an appreciative noise in the back of his throat that he approved of the soup. He pushed sleeves up to his elbows and settled against the counter next to her as Drusilla shared Private Kendrick’s crime.
“Is that so.” The Lieutenant Colonel was not pleased. “Thank you for your honesty. I will take care of it.” His tone was much altered. Sober and serious. Promising to right the young officer’s transgressions against his assistant.
His brows knit together in a concerned frown as he wondered whether his own jesting had gone too far. He hadn’t quite whistled at her, but he had put his hands on her and joked openly about her height which seemed to annoy her.
“Are you eating now? I’ll have lunch in here with you if you don’t mind. There’s a couple of other items to discuss.” Him being blue at the top of the list.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-20-2016
She was doing her best to ignore the nagging sense of self-loathing that threatened to bubble up if he kept teasing her. Drusilla reminded herself that it was harmless, and that his intentions were not to be cruel. The voice of her mother in the back of her head almost drowned him out, twisting his words into something worse. Reminding her that she would never be good enough. “Perhaps you are too tall,” she countered, tail snapping with her words. “Excessively tall,” she continued as she moved around the kitchen, unfortunately she couldn’t make her words sound like a complaint. When he wasn’t teasing her about it, she liked his height. Her heels clicked on the tile.
A glance was spared over her shoulder as he suggested she find some sort of compliment in his words. She frowned, but had to turn her face away when he’d segued into flirting, because her cheeks had gone the slightest shade towards red. “As always, I am happy to be of service,” she replied dryly, undisturbed when he moved closer to her. She had grown accustomed to his denial of personal space and no longer froze up when he invaded hers. As her annoyance waned her tail curled away from her back. It swept down the length of his leg as it returned to a resting position. She ignored it as if it hadn’t happened, as she did with most things. It was his fault for behind so close to her anyway.
Secretly, she was pleased that he seemed to approve of lunch.
“My intent was not to get him in trouble,” she explained, filling a second bowl. This one he’d had to get down for her a week prior. Eventually, the entire set of bowls would be where she could reach them. She could probably have asked him to bring them down now, but she’d rather just make do with two. “He’s harmless overall, I’m sure. I just wanted to annoy him the same way.”
Picking up both portions from the counter, she seemed to answer his question about where she would be eating by setting them down at the breakfast nook. She retrieved the sandwiches and a bottle of water for herself from the fridge, before sliding into one side of the booth. Ears stood at attention as she waited for him to address whatever he’d wanted to discuss.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-20-2016
Owen’s head bobbed in serious agreement with her assessment of his height. “Yes that may be so.” He rubbed his chin as if were a grave consideration. The corners of his eyes were ever so slightly pinched with a smile that threatened to erupt should she continue to flatter him. Being called ‘excessively tall’ was nothing but a compliment to Owen who rather enjoyed lording his height over the modestly sized woman. He was a card carrying ‘tall person’ and had been most of his life since puberty. It was generally the first observation people made about him. ‘You are very tall,’ many a woman had said in flirtation with him. Indeed he was. Her tail whisked down the front of his thigh and leg threatening to betray his quite delicately ticklish nature. It was something he kept a secret from everyone until it became impossible to do so. Usually random incidences such as this one exposed his shameful secret. An excessively tall man who could be subdued with a feather’s touch to the ribs or knees as it were. A small jerk of the leg was the only sign that the contact had disturbed him at all.
Owen pursed his lips in thought. “If it would make you more uncomfortable then I won’t address it with him. However, as the commanding officer responsible for him and you, I am really duty bound to nip this kind of behavior in the bud before it reaches a boiling point. There are risks to co-ed service that I am responsible for mitigating if you understand my meaning.”
Owen sighed and absent-mindedly combed his fingers through his hair. “I want you to feel comfortable at work.” He added at last. This was more than the subject of Private Kendrick and had become an open invitation for her to police his own behavior should she take the occasion to.
He slid into the booth across from Drusilla so they could easily speak while facing one another. Picking up his sandwich, he started to take a bite but paused to say, “So what am I being punished for in being assigned the color blue?” He asked and completed the motion to bite the sandwich.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-21-2016
She could tell her words weren’t having the desired effect on him. He seemed to have no problem whatsoever with her not-quite-complaints about his height. In fact, Owen was obviously pleased. So she only huffed as she discontinued her fruitless mission. She took note of the way he moved behind her, the smallest of motions at the accidental contact of her tail. Drusilla fought with the brief thought of doing it again, if only to confirm her suspicions of him being somewhat ticklish. “You can address your charges however you would like,” she replied, continuing to move around him and well aware that ‘his charges’ would include herself. “It’s not my position to tell you otherwise. And I am comfortable,” she added, as if to reassure him. They were both aware of the hands he had put on her not ten minutes prior to the conversation. “I’m fine. It was an isolated incident.” Her words were effectively meant to let him off the hook, in case he decided to feel guilty about touching her.
Eyes darted over him as he sat across from her. She pulled her legs up so she was sitting cross-legged in the booth. When he spoke she only blinked at him. She’d been hoping that the topic of her color selections would be dropped. Apparently, she would be having no such luck. Her gaze fell towards the bowl, and she pushed soup around it idly with her spoon. “Blue isn’t a punishment,” she said, looking back up at him after a bout of silence. She didn’t elaborate, still forcing him to pursue the information he sought. Even though he likely didn’t know what that information was. Perhaps, she could get away with her simple answer. Perhaps he would think there was no particularly deep meaning to her selection.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-21-2016
In light of the accidental contact which threatened to expose his secret, Owen moved out of Drusilla’s way so she could easily maneuver in the kitchen. Normally, he made no efforts to get out of her way. Quite the opposite. He moved her. Not the other way around. Well, until almost tickling happened. And then Owen would get out of anyone’s way to avoid embarrassing himself.“Fine.” Was ever Owen’s curt response which was merely an acknowledgement that he had heard her out and would respond to her requests accordingly. In the instant case, he had already made up his mind to punish the private who saw fit to sexually harass his assistant. The idea that some saucy underling dared to whistle at the Lieutenant Colonel’s assistant set Owen’s blood boiling. Owen felt a sort of inappropriate possessiveness towards this particular assistant which he would make very well known by the example he made out of Private Kendrick.
“I appreciate your candor. You can come to me for anything, Miss Haven.”
Anything.
He would handle anything and everything for her in spite of the fact that he shouldn’t be handling anything but the matter of her assassination orders. Which had gone unfulfilled, obviously. Her heart still beat. She still breathed.
Owen set down his sandwich without another bite. Resting his elbow on the table, he balanced his chin in his palm. His face assumed the most patient expression he could muster as he tried to conceal the fact that the color blue had kindled his curiosity.
“Go on.” He prompted.
Owen was even more intrigued by the suggestion that ‘blue’ for him held no punitive measures. So what did it imply? He made no move to resume eating as if he wouldn’t continue his lunch until the matter regarding ‘blue’ was settled.
Steam rose from his yet untouched soup which had been so delicious to him just moments before but was forgotten in the prospect of accessing some of Drusilla's private impressions of him.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-21-2016
Fine. That ever present singular response that he often employed in most of their conversations. He always said it with a straight face, as if he were annoyed with her for some reason. It always made her ears swivel the slightest bit. Insofar everything she did was fine, everything she said was fine, everything she was requested was fine. Fine, fine, fine. Even though it was probably his way of being agreeable, at present it got on her nerves. “Of course, Lieutenant Colonel. Thank you for your concern.”
Drusilla slumped her shoulders when he pressed the matter further. She inhaled deeply and slowly, before exhaling in an obvious sigh. “You look good in blue,” she admitted finally, raising her brows as if to ask if he was satisfied now. She could have just lied to him about it, but she hadn’t lied to him yet and she didn’t plan to start now. Especially over something so harmless. “I was under the impression that you liked blue,” she continued, as if it would sweep her previous statement under the rug. His house was trimmed in blue and he let her buy blue things to match overall. His sweater was blue and did a marvelous job of bringing a wash of color to his stormy grey eyes.
She realized too late that this explanation might bring attention to the blue of her outfit of the day. Which she had certainly not worn for his attention. “If you don’t like it I can change it.” Drusilla took the other half of the sandwich from the plate and bit into it for something to do while she avoided looking at him.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-22-2016
Owen’s head dropped to stare down at his own chest as if he were having a realization at the sweater he was presently wearing. Blue. So she thought he looked good just then. Right then. She was appreciating his looks. “Oh.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully as if considering whether her confession was a good or bad thing. A nonchalant shrug of his shoulders indicated it wasn’t a bad thing. Certainly not bad that she was (even if a little bit) admiring his looks. It was a comfort to think that the wildly inappropriate attraction he felt towards her might be mutual after all.
“I do like blue. Not that I think too much about color preferences. But I’ve been told I look good in blue before.” He admitted, again shrugging as if it were an observation about himself that he didn’t necessarily share.
Now that the matter of blue was settled for him, Owen picked up his spoon ready to eat again. He paused and gestured at Drusilla with the utensil. “I noticed you look good in blue too.” His eyes flicked to her sweater and back to her eyes again. The compliment was truthful. Owen wasn’t the type of person to throw out a counter compliment just to balance things out. “It suits you.”
Shaking his head at the offering to change his color assignment, Owen pulled the bowl of soup towards him and dipped his spoon in. He cocked his head somewhat trying to catch her down turned gaze. Why was she being bashful about the color? “No. I was curious is all.” He explained with a temperate tone to his voice as if to reassure her.
A silence fell as he fed himself a couple of spoonfuls of soup. Owen wiped his lips on his napkin and cleared his throat. “Katanya, similarly, is curious about whatever color you gave her. I can’t remember. She emailed me." A wave of his hand to dismiss the fact that he couldn't remember the small details. "Also there’s the matter of the animal shaped paper clips...” He trailed off because there wasn’t an express problem with the functioning of the paper clips she selected. They indeed clipped papers together.
The corner of his mouth curled in an amused half-smile as he thought about the cute cat clips. Nearly everything Drusilla did was endearing to him. Her dress, her height, the office supplies she selected, the sound of her voice over the phone, the intoxicating scent of her perfume, the way she ran his household. Everything. He had begun to wonder how he’d survived without her.
As his assistant, of course. He wondered how he’d negotiated his professional life without her.
Trying to hide the expression, Owen took another bite of sandwich and let his eyes trail over the back lawn tracking the course of a leaf as it fell from the oversized oak that dominated the yard.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-22-2016
Drusilla didn’t respond to his compliment. She sort of had the same reaction as he, a brief glance down at the sweater in question. A lighter blue than his, with a low neckline that somehow managed to not reveal any cleavage. Though she had been very aware of her own clothing, she found herself mimicking the gesture regardless, because she had never considered that she looked good. For a moment, she was wrapped up in the idea that he thought she looked good, which he would not have pointed out were it not true.
She noticed the slight tilt of his head, and look up at him. Somehow, she had known that he’d done it to get her attention. Drusilla had learned most of his preferences and tones and small mannerisms in a matter of a few weeks. Owen had a very precise way of approaching everything that he did. His mannerisms and routine had been easy to grow accustomed to.
Drusilla almost smiled when he brought up the Major. Almost. It was an imperceptible upwards lift at one corner of her mouth that you would missed if you blinked, and that was quickly hidden behind another mouthful of sandwich. “Major Forsyth is red,” she explained, after having chewed and swallowed. “Because she is dangerous and a little scary. None of the other colors mean anything,” she concluded, lest he find he was curious about the rest of her choices. She finished off her half of the sandwich, and picked up a napkin. Her tail swayed lazily over the end of the booth.
She didn’t bother to ask if there was an actual problem with the paperclips, only hummed and nodded once as the topic was breached. Drusilla seemed content to take it as a request that she stop using them. Which was fine, she would switch to normal ones and take the kitten one's home with her. Not that she paper-clipped a lot of things at home, but maybe she would start now.
Glancing down at her watch, she noted the time. “You have an hour and a half before you have to be on base for your briefing,” she told him, very abruptly back to business. “I left target dossiers and itineraries on your desk. As well as distributed them to the major and other accompanying members of the operation.”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-24-2016
His spoon clanged loudly against the bowl when Drusilla revealed that Major Forsyth was the dangerous and scary one. Eyes narrowed and brows knit together in an almost disapproving but more questioning frown. He wasn’t the scary one who deserved red? Nope. He got blue. The color was literally a moniker for sad. He wondered if the real reason she assigned it to him was because she found him pathetic in a way. She wouldn’t necessarily be wrong.
He pushed the bowl away from himself; the soup was finished. “Interesting choice.” Was all he said in response before he took the last bites of his sandwich.
Owen mirrored Drusilla’s movements and checked his own watch. “Yes. Thank you.” The curt responses indicated he was thinking about work again. He was gone from the moment as his mind busied itself with working through the itinerary he had already memorized.
Snapping back into the present, Owen leaned over and pulled out his wallet from his back pocket. “I almost forgot.” A coral colored credit card adorned with an image of white orchids on the front of it was produced and set on the table with a sharp snap of the plastic. “Your own VISA.” He explained and put his wallet back into his pocket.
Owen stacked his bowl on top of the plate and stood. He held out his hand for her to hand him her dishes even though she typically cleared things. The touches and conversation with her had put him in a funny mood. He felt the urge to wait on her for a change. “The concierge recommended that print when I told her it was for my assistant.” The fact that he felt the need to explain the dainty print on the card might give away the fact that he had got it expressly because she might like having a pretty credit card. If gel pens and cat paper clips were any indication of her preferences for pretty things.
He moved away into the kitchen again. “I'll have you stay for a while after I leave. I need you to prep the reports for tomorrow. I won't have time to finish them myself today. I'll leave you my notes. Shouldn't take you very long. Do I need to go over how to lock this place up?”
Drusilla had not been left at his house alone before when he went on assignment. He had only explained to her how to shut down the house. Owen wasn’t trying to insult her intelligence. There were a lot of specific instructions and codes to be used in securing his armory room, his office, and engaging the security system. He’d gotten used to having to repeat himself with other assistants in the past.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-25-2016
Drusilla was vaguely aware the he was offended by her answer. In a pouting sort of way, but she didn’t offer a further explanation or try to smooth it over with him. It was kind of cute. She knew that both the Major and the Lieutenant Colonel were trained killers, but their training manifested in different ways. Katanya was like a wildfire, explosive and noticeable from miles away. Major Forsyth was in charge of the Special Recon troops on base in Owen’s absence and Drusilla had really only seen her red-faced and yelling at the cocky agents. Owen was frightening like the ocean was frightening. Calm on the surface and idyllic from a distance, but he had hidden depths that threatened to drown you if you underestimated them. She had not initially put so much effort into her color choices, but she was finding they fit more and more as the conversation continued.
Ears pushed to attention as he mentioned he forgot something, and she watched as he shifted to retrieve his wallet. She looked down at the card as it snapped against the table and she was clearly a mix of intrigued and surprised. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice had a pleasant ring to it as she handed her dishes to him without protest. She had quickly learned that he did not respond to protests. She picked the card up from the table. She ran her thumb over her name printed on the card. “It’s pretty.”
She didn’t have her own wallet on her at them time, so she continued to hold the card loosely in one hand as she uncrossed her legs to stand. She readjusted her jeans and her shirt to accommodate for the movement. The card disappeared into her pocket and she followed behind him as he took care of the lunch dishes.
“No, I remember,” she reassured him. Which she did, down to the hour in which he had told her. Two weeks ago, at three fifty-six PM he had gone over his preferred procedures with her. He’d been wearing a maroon t-shirt and jeans and he hadn’t shaved in a day or two. He’d run his hand through his hair three times during the conversation. She had yet to figure out why he did that. She had thought it a nervous habit, but why would he have been nervous just talking to her? “I can take care of locking up. And the reports.”