Strictly Business [Closed] - Printable Version
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RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 12-17-2016
Drusilla’s eyes followed the downward motion of his finger. Slowly they returned to his face. She wondered if the point of the conversation was for her benefit. To save her from an uncertain chance of future pain should she choose to pursue Sanders. He’d not yet bothered to ask if the captain had actually asked her out. Not yet suggested an interest in whether she had accepted an offer from him. Simultaneously, though perhaps unintentionally, he was doing a decent job of scaring her feelings away from him as well. She frowned, but she didn’t not respond. He could not possibly know her feelings for him, not when she did not understand them herself. “Some would think those men brave,” she mused. “The one’s who choose to live their lives so dangerously.” She hummed softly, tilting her head as if she’d thought of something else. “Others, I suppose would find it foolish.” Her attention had turned to wounds she couldn’t see, hidden beneath the comforter she had placed over him.
His question left her shrugging. As if she didn’t know the answer before she even bothered to give it any thought. She inhaled sharply and the breath caught, eyes skirting to the side as she considered his words. She never fathomed that this would be a question she had to answer, but she could at the very least be honest with him. She lifted a hand, it hung in the air briefly before she pushed it through her hair, the gesture displaced her ears. They fell towards the crown of her head, before perking again. Short bangs were left skewed across her forehead.
The nature of the conversation was not unwarranted. It was completely within his rights to know her intentions. Sanders was his friend and she was his assistant. Her job left her too involved in Owen’s personal life already. The potential of a relationship with Sanders, was personal on a different level.
She released the breath she had been holding with a sharp exhale. “I don’t see a need to keep them separate. As long as the parties involved are capable of keeping things professional where they need to. Obviously there is a time and place for everything." Drusilla paused. She laced her fingers in front of her. Her chin fell as she looked downwards at the lacy tops of her shoes. "But between the hours of six AM to six PM, Monday through Saturday I am yours. I work for you. No one, not Captain Strafford, or anyone else will complicate that.”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 12-29-2016
“You forgot desperation.” Owen added to the list of descriptions for men, like he and Sanders, who chose to live out dangerous professions. “Some are simply desperate.” It was unclear whether he spoke of himself or his friend anymore. And that was the point, Owen wanted to blur the lines for Drusilla. He liked speaking behind a veil. It made sharing tough feelings easier. Indeed, he had been desperate when he chose to enlist with the Covenant. Desperate for purpose and direction. Desperate for a vehicle for his desire for revenge. These feelings Owen perhaps would never convey to Drusilla. How could he? He turned his head away and grabbed his Blackberry that rested on the bedside table. Checking for messages just for something to do with his hands and mind.
Owen nodded slowly. “You always leave me with the impression that you have your head screwed on straight, Miss Haven.” He complimented her judicious assessments of juggling personal and professional lives that were determined to mix together. She went on to reassure him of her commitment to continuing as his assistant. This drew a hard gaze from Owen. A challenged from the eyes. After a brief silence, he set his cell phone back on the bedside table. A sharp ‘hm’ resonated behind closed lips. “We will see.”
She seemed to be expressing a lot of faith that he himself would not complicate their working relationship. Owen wasn’t so sure. One way or another, for better or worse, he could sense that this arrangement would be complicated. Sans phone or anything else to draw his attention Owen was left sitting with an eery stillness as he continued to observe his assistant. He seemed to be looking for something in her face.
“Well, I hope you enjoy your date with Captain Strafford.” He said as if her conclusions on her ability to maintain a balance between personal and professional had been an admission that she had a date with his friend. He made this comment as if it were a closing to their conversation. As if to dismiss her. Hardly a comment to end on, but such was Owen’s way. He loved dropping bombs on people.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 12-29-2016
Drusilla didn’t ignore the comment about desperation, she just didn’t respond to it. She stood by the side of the bed patiently and watched him talk; watched the movement of his hands when they went to emphasize a point. Truth be told, she didn’t know what he was trying to do. Keeping her from pursuing Sanders seemed the obvious choice, but she didn’t know why he would bother. Unless he cared more about the aforementioned mingling than he would let on. Which only led to more questions in her mind. It was certainly within his right to voice his displeasure with the potential of the situation. He was her boss, and he did not usually have problems voicing his displeasure. “Thank you Lieutenant Colonel,” she replied pleasantly to what sounded like a rare compliment. Drusilla held his stare for a moment until she faltered beneath the weight of it and looked away. Green eyes swept left to follow the path of the phone back upon the table. We will see. The phrase made her frown an imperceptible fall at the corners of her mouth. There was a strange finality to it. As if he expected her to fail, and would be patient in waiting for her to do so. Alternatively, she could have been misinterpreting the purpose of that small hum. Her own determination to please him adding hidden meaning to the conversation.
Her brow furrowed as he wished her well. She pursed her lips as if she would contradict him, but ultimately chose not to. They pressed together in a thin line. A date with Sanders didn’t seem like a real thing that would really happen to her. The Captain was just being polite, wasn’t he? Attempting to make up for his part of getting her in trouble. Small part though it was. Drusilla wasn’t actually expecting a call from him, didn’t think they would actually go out anywhere together.
Drusilla leaned forward suddenly. Bending slightly at the waist, just enough to unlace her fingers and gently push golden blonde locks away from his forehead. She inspected the wound there, or at least she seemed like she did as she used it as an excuse to touch him. Just once more. The cut was healing fine, scabbed over and slightly red around the edges, but cool to the touch. She removed her hand and watched the hair fall back into place. “Why don’t you rest for a bit,” she suggested, straightening her posture. “I will bring you those files a little later, hm?” Drusilla didn’t wait for an answer, or an agreement before she was skirting around the edge of the bed and disappearing out of the door. She closed it gently behind her.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 01-05-2017
The wound had healed but the feeling of her hand along the edge of his hair lingered for days and days. He kept remembering that brush of fingers as she leaned over him. Somehow that perfunctory action to move his hair so she could inspect the wound that marred his hairline had felt like a caress. It certainly had that effect on him. Sending a tingling through his scalp, leaving him hungering for a little more. And yet, then again, Sanders had taken her on that blasted date. Sanders was open with Owen about the fact of his get-together with Drusilla. Owen’s pride kept him from asking for details, and Sanders didn’t offer any freely. After their little tete-a-tete, Drusilla had seemed, to Owen at least, mighty concerned with messages that lit up her phone. He’d observed her more than once with delicate fingers flying across keys and a little smile on her face. Smiling at her phone. And smiling, he assumed, at Sanders.
His pride, once again, kept him from asking any questions. He’d merely snapped at her a couple of times that he hoped it was work that she found so amusing on her phone.
His rumination over Drusilla touching him and an undeniable jealousy over whatever he had imagined was blossoming between her and Sanders left Owen with the painful ache of loneliness. After she left for the evenings, the large house felt emptier and less warm. It was quiet without her movements. Nothing made a sound if he didn’t. Once his injuries had healed and Owen couldn’t bear the growing longing feeling, he made the executive decision to cure his loneliness at a favorite strip club.
__
It was the weird oxymoronic sort of sensation of being completely dehydrated while simultaneously needing to urgently urinate that woke Owen. A dryness in his mouth. And burning tension in his abdomen.
There was something exacerbating the pressure in his lower stomach. It was an arm slung across his belly adding pressure to a full bladder. There was a head belonging to a dark-haired girl nuzzled comfortably against his bicep. He exhaled, sighing at himself and his decisions, as he pushed the arm away. Having fallen asleep after sex that left their skin gleaming with sweat, her arm sort of stuck there forcing him to peel her off. He carefully moved his arm dislodging her head from its makeshift pillow. She didn’t stir and sunk easily into the pillow he abandoned.
He felt sticky. His mouth was sour tasting. And a dull thrum hammered rhythmically behind his eyes.
Owen relieved himself of the pee that had been begging to get out. Legs spread wide and head thrown back. A strong stream of urine made deep splashing sounds into the toilet. Afterwards he moved to the sink to vigorously brush away the stale acidic taste in his mouth. An elliptical shaped purpling on the side of his neck paused the brisk brushing and drew a mortified ‘fuck’ whispered from his lips around the toothbrush. Owen held the brush between his lips and traced the ugly mark with his fingers. It was a deep enough bruising to be tender to the touch. The moment that this particular mark had been made came back to him and he regretted that he’d been enthusiastic about it in the moment. Lifting his chin to give her more clearance. Holding the back of her head in insistence that she not stop. That was how the whole night had gone. He had been driven by a sort of dire need for sensation and blind passion. Something to fill in the hole that loneliness and a sense of rejection left him with. He pushed the thoughts away and resumed his regimented oral hygiene.
When he was finished, Owen bent low over the sink to gulp thirstily at the water, using his hand as a makeshift cup to redirect it from the faucet into his mouth. His stomach flipped over when Owen changed orientation to bend down. It angrily reminded him of the abuse it had taken the evening prior and demanded penance. Something greasy, something hearty. His head demanded water and caffeine.
Owen dressed in a black ribbed tank top and sweats and shuffled his way downstairs. Drusilla, he knew, would already be there, so he put on his best stony face as he made his way through the house to the kitchen. In his mind, he was planning some activity for Drusilla to get her out of the house while he sent the other woman home. He didn’t recall the string of clothing - notably a red lace G-string - that had been left strewn across the couch which would give away the presence of his female guest.
“Miss Haven.” He greeted her in his typical way as he entered the kitchen. Suddenly he was painfully aware of what a mess he was comparison to her impeccable appearance. Blonde hair stuck out having been mussed by hands that raked at it during sex, a sort of sheen remained on his skin from the sweat, and his baggy sweats. And that dreaded mark. As he maneuvered towards the coffee pot, Owen kept Drusilla on the side farthest from the mark. He didn’t know why he thought he could hide it from her or even why he even felt the need to.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 01-06-2017
Drusilla was unaware that her date with Sanders had put the Lieutenant Colonel out of sorts. She didn’t know that her touch and her attention had left him in some sort of spiral. This was extremely due to the fact that Owen didn’t act any differently around her than he had before. He was still as professional and aloof as ever, and Drusilla did not think anything of it, because he was her boss and she was simply his assistant. She also went about her duties much as before, but now her day was interrupted by wildly more text messages. Her date with Sanders, could it even be called that, had not gone the way she had expected. The cowboy had taken her out, they had talked and had a good time. Or so she thought. At the end of it all he had expressed that he was only interested in being her friend, because, according to him she was ‘Owen’s girl.’ This statement had caught her off guard, and if honest it had made her a bit salty. She'd protested and he didn't relent. In what universe was she ‘his girl’? She worked for him, nothing else, and on top of all that he was not remotely interested in her. Drusilla had been positive that this excuse was Sanders’ way of telling her he wasn’t interested in her either.
She could have handled the rejection. He could have just gone about it normally, but no. He didn’t. And now he continued to insist through his numerous messages that he was correct.
Drusilla let herself into the house with her own keys, and stopped just inside the doorway. She had stepped on something strangely soft. She looked down, to find a pair of jeans trapped beneath her heel. She dropped her things on the catchall by the door and reached down to pick them up. She folded them over her arm and then she noticed the trail of clothing that littered the forefront of the house and disappeared into the living room. She was almost certain that Owen did not own a tight red dress.
Drusilla went about picking up all the clothing, and separating it into what was Owen’s and what...wasn’t. She followed the trail into the living room where she discovered black silk boxers and a red lace bra. She assumed the tiny scrap of lace slung over the back of the couch was the matching thong.
The clothing she could handle. She was a professional after all and discarded undergarments weren't going to scar her for life. It was the coffee table that gave her pause. She expected the empty bottles and the half finished glasses, it was the other paraphernalia that disgusted her. Drusilla wasn't an expert on illegal drugs, but she was almost positive that she was staring at cocaine. Or what was left of it.
Drusilla turned and left the room, her heels sharp on the tile as she moved through the house. She folded the wasn’t pile and took it upstairs to leave it in the second bathroom. Then she trotted back downstairs to the laundry room to dump the was pile in the hamper.
When her hands were empty she sent a text Sanders.
>> Should I ask the woman who spent the night here if she thinks Hart likes me?
Even in text messages she couldn't bring herself to use his name.
She didn't know why she was angry. Chopping peppers and onions in the kitchen with more force than necessary. Perhaps, she was disappointed. She may have slammed around one too many cabinets as she worked to prepare breakfast. Her ears twitched to the sound of movement upstairs and she had no sympathy for potentially having been the cause of his waking. She dumped the vegetables in with frying sausage before scrambling eggs.
By the time he appeared in the kitchen she had already rolled hefty breakfast burritos and left them at the nook. “Good morning Agent Hart,” she replied, glancing at him briefly. He usually didn’t dress down unless he was feeling the same way. Good. She hoped he felt like shit. She was wearing a fitted dress that hit just above her knees in deep purple. As usual her heels matched the ensemble, and her stockings had a floral pattern to them. Her straight hair fell neatly across her shoulders. “Breakfast is on the table. Will your guest be joining you?”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 01-09-2017
> Hahaha uh...> Whatever he did….I wouldn’t worry about it.
Sanders was quick to respond, Drusilla’s phone buzzing with new messages before Owen even left his bathroom. He had no idea what he was excusing his friend from but Sanders was willing to give his best friend the benefit of the doubt for better or worse.
Before moving to sit at the table, Owen helped himself to fresh coffee that she’d already set to brew. He breathed in the steam and drank the hot liquid deeply with both hands surrounding the cup. Aside from the usual hangover symptoms, he felt a bit achy and run-down, which he assumed was from the cocaine they’d shared the evening prior.
She had barely looked at him and addressed him rather cooly. Owen could use his context clues to gather she wasn’t pleased with him. He surveyed her over the rim of his coffee cup and found himself distracted by the silhouette of her figure emphasized by a tight purple dress.
He snorted in surprise into his cup of coffee when Drusilla mentioned his house guest. “What? No.” He mumbled before moving to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. He situated himself at the breakfast nook in front the plate made for him with the supplies for his recovery in tow.
“She won’t be staying.” He responded in more detail before biting into the breakfast burrito. Those were the exact words he’d told himself as he walked his drunk companion into his home the evening before. And yet, somehow, she had. A bad omen.
The pressure from the bite and his clumsy hands spilled some sausage and peppers onto his plate. Owen gathered the droppings with his fingers and dumped them into his mouth with his head held back. A swig of coffee and water washed down the food.
“I’m a bit hungover.” He admitted after another bite was washed down. “Was there a mess? I’ll get it in a minute.” Owen couldn’t remember in good detail what had really transpired but he imagined that there was evidence of their … partying … to be found in the house.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 01-10-2017
Drusilla’s response to Sanders had been a series of questions marks. The message did well to convey both her confusion and her insistence that he was wrong. Her phone locked with a click and she set it face down on the kitchen counter as Owen entered. For the most part she kept her gaze fixated on the filling she was lazily pushing around in the skillet to keep it from burning. She was aware of his eyes on her. She thought she looked quite fetching so, let him look. She switched off the stove and bent to retrieve a lid for the pan. Covering the food she finally turned to look at him. Just her head in his direction as one of her ears fell lopsided. A brow disappeared behind her bangs as he explained that his company would not be staying. Her eyes dropped to the bruise visible just above the collar of his tank. Her second brow disappeared behind her bangs, and she looked away again without responding.
Drusilla moved her dirtied dishes to the sink as he settled himself into the nook. Her tail swayed in a gentle rhythm near her feet. Ears pricked to attention to the sound of movement on the upper floor.
She hummed in response to his admittance. As if she hadn't known he was hungover. “A mess,” she parroted as she retrieved a glass from the cabinet and set it on the counter. Her slow repetition of the phrase implied that his words were an understatement. Heels marked her movements as she walked to the fridge and pulled a pitcher of water from within. Sliced fruit danced in suspension behind the plastic. She poured a serving and returned it to the fridge. “The mess is in the living room,” she explained, before a small sip of the infused water.
Owen’s guest had different ideas on whether she would be staying for breakfast. She woke slowly to find that she was alone. A flicker of disappointment as she had been hoping for morning sex. For a moment, she was content to lay in the bed. Enjoying the feel of his sheets on her bare skin. She considered finding out what material they were. Eventually, she popped up, kicking her legs over the side of the bed and lifting her arms in a stretch. She looked around for something to wear. She hadn’t been wearing much when she’d undressed the night before, and it appeared that all her clothing had been long gone before they’d made it upstairs. She spotted a shirt, at the end of the bed. The black button down he had been wearing, slipping it over her head she claimed it for herself. She stood, the hem hit just below her butt and it would do in a pinch. She mad sure to ad few buttons done as necessary.
In the bathroom she relieved her bladder and helped herself to his toothpaste. A generous dollop on the tip of her finger that she scrubbed across her teeth with little enthusiasm. She washed her face, and fixed the remnants of her makeup, having no problem accommodating for herself.
She figured her way back downstairs using hazy flashes of memories from the previous night. What a fun night, indeed. She smiled to herself and ran her fingers through long brown hair to straighten it out down her back as she appeared in the kitchen.
“Good morning, oh-” she said by way of announcement, but paused in the entrance. She had not been expecting another person. Let alone a woman. Let alone a woman that looked better than she did, if only for the moment. They regarded each other in the small space between them. Drusilla looked away first. She recovered from her initial surprise quickly and crossed the threshold. Easily, she walked past Drusilla and seated herself across from Owen at the breakfast nook as if she’d done so a thousand times. “Is that your wife?” Her question was posed shamelessly, as if this was not the first time she had slept with a married man. Or made herself comfortable in a couple’s kitchen.
Drusilla’s tail stopped moving. Silently, she grabbed a second coffee mug and took it to the table, along with the pot of coffee.
“Coffee, Ms…?”
“Kingston,” she replied without missing a beat. She turned her head to smile brightly, if not somewhat mockingly at Drusilla. “Sophia Kingston, and yes please.”
Drusilla filled the mug for Sophia and set it down, and she refilled Owen’s before she walked away.
Catering to Sophia would be a decent way to add to his suffering, and the ‘mess,’ he didn’t know he was being punished for.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 01-11-2017
Owen had been aware of the movements of her gaze over him and the way green eyes had hesitated with disapproval upon a certain spot on his neck. It was stupid to think he could have hidden it from her. She didn’t comment - verbally, at least - so he didn’t either. Not that she had the right to judge him for a hickey. And not that he needed to justify allowing someone to mark him. The mess clearly bothered her more. Owen didn’t take Drusilla for the type of person to get worked up over seeing discarded undergarments so he was left to conclude evidence of their more elicit festivities had earned him her ire. “Right. The living room. I’ll take care of it.” He promised tensely.
Owen had the chance to mentally prepare himself somewhat for the entrance of his house guest into the kitchen. It wasn’t enough. He almost didn’t register anything but a pair of long, attractive legs, a snide remark, and a sense of entitlement to breakfast and service. Owen rubbed his middle finger along his eyebrow and sucked at his cheek before answering.
“No - she’s my -” his eyes leveled on Sophia, and he finally noticed that she had put on his shirt from the prior evening with just enough buttons secured to avoid a nip slip or flashing what she had between her legs. Not that either would be news to him. He was acutely aware of Sophia's state of undress underneath his shirt and acutely aware of the risk of exposure to his assistant. “-Drusilla.” He faltered with the strange word choice. His Drusilla? “Miss Haven. My executive assistant.”
His burrito no longer interested him. Maneuvering out of the current situation became his top priority and he knew that Drusilla knew that he wanted his houseguest to leave and yet there she was forced pleasantries and serving coffee. His nostrils flared and he tried to catch her gaze when she refilled his cup. A gaze to convey the question:what the fuck are you doing?.
Since she gave him no slack, Owen made as if to look at his watch, but he didn’t have one on. “What time is my conference call this morning, Miss Haven?” He knew full well he didn’t have one, but was desperate enough to see if his haughty assistant would take the bait and help bail him out.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 01-12-2017
A sharp flick of her tail was the only indication that she’d noticed the way he’d accidentally claimed her as his own. Sophia’s had been a short chuckle as he stumbled over an explanation. Owen’s heated glare was met with a gentle smile, as Drusilla pretended not to notice that nostril flare that was the subtle indication of his annoyance with her. Let him be annoyed, it only added kindle to her growing negativity. She retreated to the refrigerator for a small carton of cream, which she brought back to the table along with the sugar for Sophia to use. The unwelcome company was continually more than happy to help herself to both, stirring the contents before a blowing at the steam.
“Executive assistant?” Sophia rolled her eyes upwards to observe Drusilla before she brushed away from the table again. Drusilla remained, expecting that the brunette would have more to say on the matter. She nodded once. “Isn’t that just a fancy word for, like, maid?” Sophia took a delicate sip of coffee. She shifted on the bench, the collar of the shirt she had borrowed pulled slightly off one shoulder, she didn’t seem to notice. Or care.
“It’s an assistant.”
Sophia scoffed a laugh. “Okay, sure, but you still cook and clean and-”
“Sometimes even take out the trash,” Drusilla concluded for her. "I do everything that the Lieutenant Colonel requires." A tight smile remained on her features, and she held Sophia’s gaze as if to challenge her to continue her mocking. This time it was Sophia who looked away first, hiding a frown behind her coffee mug. Drusilla left her table side position, this time to the sink. She began rinsing dishes and stacking them neatly in the dishwasher. She glanced at the nook where she’d abandoned an uncomfortable Owen. The remainder of his breakfast remained untouched and she could see the careful way he was trying to abandon his predicament. Sophia seemed content to take her insult with brooding silence.
Drusilla’s ears pushed towards the sound of his voice as he addressed her. She stood for where she’d been bent over the dishwasher and made a show of checking her own watch, seeing as she actually wore one. It was silver with a deep purple face that matched her dress. She decided that he’d endured enough of her penalty for now. “In ten minutes, sir,” she informed him which prompted another giggle from Sophia.
“Sir,” she repeated. “How cute and submissive,” her tone turned teasing. “I bet she’s fun in the bedroom.”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 01-17-2017
Owen watched Drusilla with growing mortification that she was set on serving Sophia though he had expressly told her she wasn’t staying for breakfast. She seemed intent on humiliating him. Or forcing him to endure the humiliation of forced breakfast after a one-night-stand. He preferred mumbled excuses and never-kept promises to ‘do this again sometime.’His eyes remained fixed on the wall behind Sophia’s head in a sort of detached stare as he listened to the women verbally abuse each other in not so subtle ways. Maid. Trash. He couldn’t believe Drusilla had essentially called Sophia trash. He might have been proud of such a bold statement from his rather obedient and almost timid assistant, if not for his annoyance with her.
He snapped back to attention when Drusilla confirmed his fake phone conference. He was unable to fake an apology and excuse for Sophia before she was making another snide remark. He felt his eyebrows creep towards his hairline before he smoothed his expression into something more dead. More detached. A this-isn’t-happening-to-me kind of face.
He smiled at Sophia, and it didn’t touch stony eyes, “I wouldn’t know.” He responded curtly before pulling the sleeve up to cover her shoulder. In another context it might have seemed like a caring gesture, but not this time. He pushed himself up from the table, “All of my subordinates refer to me as ‘sir.’” He didn’t know why he offered the explanation. Perhaps because he liked, too much, being Drusilla’s superior and having her remind him of that. All of which aligned too closely with Sophia’s suggestion.
He picked up his plate to dump the rest of the uneaten burrito into the trash and moved to the sink. His free hand touched Drusilla’s side. Familiar touch pressing a firm insistence of the direction he wanted her to step, guiding aside for him as he placed the dish into the sink. He rinsed his hands in the running water and dried them on a dish towel freeing the space for her again.
He steeled himself and turned back to Sophia. “I have work. Miss Haven will show you to your things…I'm sure I'll see you around at the range." He added out of politeness. He hesitated remembering that he had drove them both to his place. “Can I get you a cab?”
Somehow, a previously remorseless man was standing before his one-night stand and assistant feeling quite guilty and exposed. At both their mercy.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 01-18-2017
Brown eyes watched his hand as he adjusted the shirt across her frame. Sophia laughed behind her coffee when he expressed that he was unfamiliar with Drusilla’s sexual behaviors. It was a pleasant sound for what seemed to be an unpleasant woman. Sophia wasn’t usually so catty, but something about his assistant had rubbed her the wrong way. Even before their double-sided faux pleasantries. The brunette turned in the booth to watch Owen cross the kitchen. She surveyed the way he placed a hand on his assistant's side, noticed the way it filled the curve above her hip as if he had done it many times before. Her brow furrowed as her mood darkened in what could have been jealousy. She sipped her coffee, watching as Drusilla easily moved out of his way with that one touch, and stepped back into her previous position just as he left it. For two people that weren’t fucking they seemed awfully comfortable with each other. Her sour expression faded when he turned back to her and she was all smiles again. She shifted in her seat in such a way that had the shirt riding higher on her legs. A subtle reminder of what he’d had, and could easily have again. “I’m sure your assistant can do it for me,” she replied sweetly. Another sip of coffee. When the mug was removed her smile had shifted into a smirk. She seemed to enjoy the idea of being able to boss Drusilla around.
The ears of the assistant in question twitched as she finished loading the dishwasher and snapped it closed. She dried her hands and smoothed out the wrinkles of her dress. “I will certainly ensure that Miss Kingston is attended to,” she expressed in that melodic tone of hers. She glanced down at her watch for the effect of the ruse, twisting the face of it back into place with her other hand. “Your meeting, Lieutenant Colonel?” she prompted. Her hands fell to run over the fabric of her dress again, a nervous habit. She was slowly realizing exactly what she had done in the haze of her disappointment with Owen. Her tail was still at her feet and she thoughtfully forcing her ears to attention. Her gaze moved from him to Sophia, still perched like a queen at the insistence of her insubordination.
“I’ve left your things in the guest bathroom,” she explained, lacing her fingers together to keep them from making another pass over her clothing. “If you’d like to follow me?”
Sophia shrugged and drained the last of her coffee, leaving the mug on the table as she hopped off the stool. She was able to tell when she had overstayed her welcome. Well, overstayed more than she had by staying. “See you on the range,” she repeated with a wink to Owen as she followed the sound of Drusilla’s heels out of the kitchen.
“You two seriously aren’t fucking?” Sophia’s voice rang out behind Drusilla as she led the other woman down the hall.
“He is my boss.”
“Sure sure, but I don’t know how you could work with him everyday and not want to fuck him. Like he's so hot.”
Drusilla’s ears pinned backwards. Her tail shifted uncomfortably. She pushed the door the bathroom open for Sophia, but instead of entering and changing so Drusilla could get rid of her, she stopped before the threshold and watched her expectantly. "And his dick is seriously-"
“I am aware of the Lieutenant Colonel’s attractiveness, yes.”
Sophia was smirking again like she had won some sort of victory over the other woman. With pleased shimmies of her shoulders, she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door on Drusilla.
Drusilla returned to the foyer to wait for Miss King. After she had called to secure a cab, she quickly typed out a text to Sanders.
>> I'M GOING TO GET FIRED
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 01-22-2017
Owen waited for the women to leave the kitchen before he did. Drusilla lead Sophia to the guest bathroom leaving a trail of women’s voices in conversation. The sound of those voices together made him uneasy for some reason. Though he couldn’t hear what they were saying he could imagine - if their earlier interactions were any clue - that they weren’t being pleasant with one another.He refilled his coffee cup and moved into the living room to clean up whatever mess they’d left behind. Some bit of shame washed over him as he erased the residue of the mini cocaine party they’d had together. Implements were tucked into a leather case that had been left there. He wondered if Drusilla had seen it and gathered that he used regularly enough to have such a case. A hand scrubbed over his face and he took the case into his office to tuck away in the back of a desk drawer she would never open.
The sounds of Sophia’s departure kept Owen locked up in his office. Once he was sure she was gone he peaked his head out and listened to the quiet in the house. Drusilla rarely made much noise.
“Miss Haven.” Though normally he would say her name softly as if in a private conversation to beckon her to his office, this time he barked the name harshly and left the door cracked open before he returned to his chair.
When Drusilla came to him, he didn’t look up from the file on his desk. “Sit.” He ordered as his pen scratched out something across the paper with aggressive strokes making havoc of his already scrawling handwriting. Moments passed in silence while he finished writing, and finally he set the pen down and leaned back in his chair. Owen folded his hands over his stomach and stared hard at Drusilla.
“You’ll recall our interview.” He started while the index finger of the top most hand tapped agitatedly against the knuckles of his other. “When I warned you that your position as my assistant would place you at the crossroads of my personal and professional life one day. I don’t think I need to explain to you that today is that day.” He let a brief pause take place before he continued on once more. “I made my expectations of your discretion in honoring my right to privacy and dignity in conducting my personal life as I see fit. Evidently, you have a strong opinion as to what you witnessed here today. So, I am giving you the opportunity now to express yourself freely. By all means, Miss Haven, pass your judgment that we both might get back to our normal work.” He gestured for her to speak.
Sanders received a desperate text message from Drusilla in all caps following the one concerning a certain female guest at Owen’s house. He couldn’t begin to imagine how her loss of employment would follow a meeting with Owen’s one-night-stand so he replied back:
>>What’s going on! What happened!
>>I don’t think you need to worry.
>>he wouldn’t fire you
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 01-22-2017
Drusilla punctuated Sophia’s eventual departure with a sharp snap of the door. Her phone buzzed in her hand, but she didn’t have time to review Sanders’ responses. The way Owen barked her name from his office made her shoulders tighten and her ears fell backwards to press against her hair. He had never called for her in such a way before. Drusilla sighed, blowing a breath upwards that disrupted her bangs. She smoothed them out with the flat of her hand as she walked to Owen’s office. She slipped through the crack that had been left in the barrier, just barely pushing it open wide enough to allow her entrance. She closed it behind her, a much more gentle sound than her treatment of the front door. She watched him work as she crossed the room. Drusilla perched herself in the chair at his order. One hand smoothed the back of her dress down her legs, as she occupied the edge of the chair. Legs crossed at the ankles were tucked beneath her. She appeared calm, but also like she could flee at any moment. Her tail was still and her ears were forced into an attentive upright position.
Her face was neutral as he spoke, but not so neutral as to seem defiant. Her eyes flickered from his face to the tapping of his fingers. She cleared her throat gently, looking away from him when he began to speak of their interview. She remembered every detail of their interview, but she seemed to have forced herself to forget them in the face of her disappointment.
One of her ears fell lopsided, her tail picked up and curled into her lap. Hands that had been folded against her thighs moved mindlessly to make room for it, settling on the arms of the chair. “It is not my place to pass judgement,” she replied diplomatically, even though she had done just that with her previous actions. Petty and punitive as they had been. “I will admit that I did not know how to handle Miss Kingston’s presence. I was aware that you were not interested in her staying, but she seemed more keen on making herself comfortable. I did not want to seem rude. I am, in a way, an extension of yourself, after all and there are only so many ways I would choose to represent you. Though, I did my best to make sure she was removed as quickly as possible.” Drusilla intentionally made note of the way she had played along with his fake meeting.
“If you are asking if I wish to make comment on your other...recreational activities, I do not. I’m only caught off-guard that you would endanger yourself and your position in such a way. You can trust my discretion on this matter, and now that I have been acclimated to the prospect I will handle it more gracefully in the future.” Her own finger had taken up to mimicking the rhythm of his tapping against the arm of the chair. She wasn’t aware she was doing it.
“Is there anything else, sir?”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 01-29-2017
Owen kept steady eye contact with his assistant as she spoke in turn. From the bottom of his vision he noted the protective way her tail curled into her lap as if to make the frame of her body smaller. She even seemed to grip the chair arms as if bracing herself for whatever impact would come from him. Silence fell between them while she waited for his response. He leaned slowly back into his chair, his hand lifted to rub idly at the day's’ worth of unshaved hair that had sprouted along his jaw. He seemed, if anything, even more disappointed by her response.
All of a sudden the thing that she had braced herself exploded from him. He moved forward suddenly in his chair and brought his open hand down on the desk with a loud clap. “That is bullshit.” He yelled at her punctuating the sharp noise made by his hand. Owen shoved himself out of the chair.
“I indicated to you very clearly what my wishes were for that encounter and you willfully disobeyed me. You were dangling my bad decisions over my head to humiliate me. And now, here you are pretending at diplomacy, with me, alone, when I have offered you an open forum to express whatever grief you have with me that has caused your misconduct.”
He bent down to press his hands against the desk and loom more effectively over her where she sat across from him. “You are suddenly so keen on saving face, why? Because your job hangs in the balance?” He scoffed and moved aggressively away from the desk, Owen picked up a stack of heavy files from behind his desk and moved next to her. He dropped the stack of files on the edge of the desk in front of her and folded his arms across his chest.
“You are not excused from my employment, Miss Haven. You are however free to go if you find the conditions of your employment under me unpalatable. Otherwise, your duties for the day await you.”
He moved away from the pile of files, leaving it for her to collect. On top were his written instructions in scrawling and aggressive handwriting. Owen plopped back down into his chair and scooted it forward again. He lifted the screen to his laptop and pressed the power button. A whirring of fans started up.
The white anger that had taken him faded somewhat. He was no longer sure whether he was angry that Drusilla had disobeyed him or disappointed and hurt that she refused to be honest with him or embarrassed at the state she had caught him in. All the emotions blurred together beneath a searing headache. He rubbed at his temples and trained his eyes on the computer screen trying to ignore the woman he had so aggressively excused from his presence.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 01-30-2017
Drusilla had not been prepared for his anger. Perhaps, she should have been. The unpleasant way he barked her name should have clued her in that he was less pleased with her than she had originally assumed. She flinched when his hand met the desk. A visible startle in her chair, a shrug of her shoulders, a sharp gasp that hitched in her throat resulting in a small squeak of a noise. She seemed to fold in on herself, tail curling tighter in her lap as her ears pinned backwards. Her chin dropped towards her chest and she looked away from him, especially when he leaned against the desk to accentuate his towering and authoritative presence.
A panic was rising in her. It wasn’t his fault, not entirely. The situation was too similar to a moment in her past. Being scolded from the other side of a desk, raised voices, sudden and loud noises. Her hands gripped the chair more tightly, knuckles white with the effort as she tried to control her breathing. To stay in this moment and not fall into another. Even though neither was ideal. Slowly inhale through her nose, slowly exhale through her mouth. The fur on her tail bristled.
The appendage fell from her lap when he rounded the desk and dropped the files on the desk. It twisted back and forth awkwardly, still all fluffed up. She looked up at him when he categorized the status of her employment. Her ears remained backwards, green eyes were too wide around the edges. When he retreated behind the desk again, she released the arms of the chair, flexing her fingers. She cleared her throat and pushed herself out of the chair.
Drusilla smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress with shaking hands as she watched him settle behind the laptop. Visibly trembling, she moved close enough to the desk to gather the files up and shove them into the crook of her arm. Lips parted as if she would say something, but they pressed closed once more. She bent slightly at the waist, pressing the fingertips of one hand against the wood. She slid her hand forward until it fell into the shadow cast by the top of his laptop. From within it she retrieved a rattling bottle of pills, painkillers, and set it upright from the space she’d emptied by taking the files.
“I’m..” she paused, straightening, casting her eyes sideways. “Sorry,” she finished, knowing it wasn't really enough for her behavior. He had asked her for honestly, to open up to him, but she wasn't ready to let him in. That aside, the truth was she was jealous and there was no forum in which she could admit that to him. Turning on her heel she crossed the room and slipped out of the door.
She retreated to the kitchen, somehow the room had become a comforting space for her. Regardless of if she had just been scolded. She dropped the files on the breakfast nook table and then dropped herself into a booth. She crossed her arms over chest, rubbing hands over arms to settle her nerves as she attempted to swallow past the lump in her throat. A small part of her wanted to curl up in the booth and cry; she had never very good at getting yelled at. She resisted, slumped in the seat and staring off into the distance out of the window, instead.