Chapter Text
You take a deep breath in. You need this job. The doors to the office are all glass, then another set of doors of solid dark wood lead into the open lobby. There’s a desk where you’re hoping you’ll be sitting, and a man is hanging up three big gold letters, BBC.
“Hey, you must be…” you hear the voice recite your name, probably reading it from a paper, you turn to see a tall man, “right?”
He’s pretty, and about the same age as you, maybe a year or two older. He gives you a smile and extends a hand, moving the small piece of paper into his pocket.
“Joe Hunt.”
You take his hand and introduce yourself. “Could you tell me what exactly BBC is?”
“Would you like the whole sales pitch, or just a summary?” Joe gestures for you to walk with him.
“Summary will do for now,” you follow him, passing a few more boys, surprisingly, all about the same age. As he tells you what exactly they do, you see another boy on the phone. His polo collar is popped and his jacket’s sleeves are pushed to his elbows.
“You know that’s worth way more than 50K. I can guarantee y-- No, I can give you a small discount, 80K.” He’s frowning, but then when he catches your eye as you walk by, he smiles.
Your heart skips a beat and you feel your lips go dry.
“That’s my partner, Dean Karny. He’s making a sale right now, so I’ll introduce you later,” Joe tells you and opens a door to a big office. One you can only assume is his. He takes a seat behind his desk and gestures to the seat in front of him for you to take a seat.
“So. Have any experience being a secretary?”
“Yes, Mr. Hunt. I--”
“Please, call me Joe.”
“Joe,” you correct yourself. “I brought my resume with me. As you can see, I’ve done some secretary work for a hair salon.”
“You’re from the Valley?”
You nod, knowing this was probably the warning bell. They wouldn’t want a girl barely scraping by to work in an upscale financial firm. Joe nods and you’re bracing yourself for the polite rejection.
“I’m from Van Nuys.” He reads the rest of your resume, silence filling the room for a moment. “You went to UC Berkeley? What did you major in?”
“English,” you mutter. “I know, a silly major, I don’t know what I was looking to get out of it.”
“Well,” he sets the paper down and looks at you. Here comes the rejection. “You’re qualified. How does eight an hour sound?”
You can’t stop your jaw from dropping slightly. That was well above the minimum wage. You had been expecting a few dollars less, but instead you lick your lips before nodding.
“That sounds great,” you tell him and watch a smile grow across his lips.
“Excellent! I’ll have Kyle show you to your desk, your paperwork should be there but no rush. Have a good first day.”
“Thank you, Joe, I’ll see you later.”
Your head is down, eyes frantically reading over the paperwork that Joe had instructed you to complete. You anxiously tap your pen against the desk, mentally kicking yourself for seeing this simple task as something monumental.
You need this job , you think. Don’t stress about something so trivial, and make yourself look foolish.
“You really look like you’re going through something there, princess.” You lift your gaze to find Dean sitting in a chair beside your desk, grinning widely at you. Immediately, you feel your cheeks flush — damn, he’s gorgeous. “My name’s Dean,” he says, rolling his chair closer and holding out his hand. “Dean Karny.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dean,” you respond, telling him your name as you take his hand. Dean grips your hand more firmly, raising it to his mouth so he could press a soft kiss to the back of your hand; he repeats your name and you swear you have never heard it sound so good.
“Believe me when I say, the pleasure is all mine,” he says, smoothly. You bite your lip, retracting your hand from his and you look back to your paperwork. “Joe told me a little bit about you,” he says, relaxing back in the chair enough to make the springs squeak as he rocked thoughtfully. “Said you’re from the Valley.”
“Well, I would hope that there’s more to me than my zip code,” you say, not looking up from your paper. When Dean does not respond, you cut him a glance to see an amused grin on his face. “I’m sorry,” you say, hurriedly. “That must have been...I’m sure I sounded rude.”
“No offense taken, princess,” he grinned. “I know that there’s much more to you than where you’re from, and we have plenty of time for you to tell me all about it.” He stands from his seat, straightening out his jacket and running a hand through the wave in his hair. “I’d like those on my desk by the end of the day,” he says, pointing to your papers before he turned and left you to yourself once again.
You watch his retreating figure, the way he walks with such confidence, spouting quick riffs at each person he passes. Ordinarily, you would find nothing appealing about someone so arrogant, but you remind yourself that he is your boss and you are meant to respect him. In the back of your mind, however, you feel the urge to get to know everything you can about him, in all of his cocky, status-obsessed glory.
You finish your paperwork about an hour before you were to leave for the day. You organize them before standing to go to Dean’s desk. Your heart is racing, and you’re not sure why you’re so nervous. It wasn’t a big deal.
Standing outside his office, you pause to study Dean for a moment. He’s pouring over some papers and writing some notes every so often. His lips are pressed in a tight line, and his jaw is set. God, he’s so gorgeous . You can just imagine running your hands through his hair, his hands pulling you close and leaning in with a smirk, ready to kiss you...
You knock on the doorframe before he catches you staring.
“Hey,” he smiles when he catches your eye, “come on in, princess.”
“I finished the paperwork,” you tell him, crossing to the desk and holding them out.
Dean takes them and flips through them, furrowing his brow. “You forgot something.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, what did I forget?”
He looks back up with a smug smile, “your phone number?” You don’t reply right away, trying to refrain from rolling your eyes at him or blushing and giving away your attraction. He sets the stack of papers down. “Or, if you’re not busy tonight, I’d like to take you out.”
“Dean, I’m flattered.” Your heart is racing again and you can feel your palms begin to sweat, you have to take a deep breath to keep your calm and collected act up. “That’s probably not a good idea though. It’s very unprofessional.”
He purses his lips, nodding once, you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he thinks. “We don’t run like other businesses, it would be okay if you do decide that it’s a good idea. It’s definitely a fun one.”
“Sorry, Dean.” You take a step back, “anything else?”
He shakes his head, “no, you can go back to your desk. I’ll see you later, princess.”
You remind him of your name, firmly. But instead of saying anything, he winks at you and looks back down at his work. You quickly walk back to your desk, trying to wave the image of his wink out of your mind. But any time you close your eyes, you can see it. And you blush.
You’ve been at BBC for a week now. It was an easy job and you really enjoyed every moment of it. Though it had become clear to you that the boys really liked having some eye candy around. It didn’t bother you too much, the only one who would actually hit on you was Dean.
He had switched the nicknames up, not only ‘princess’ anymore. You were able to ignore most of them, but there was once that he called you ‘sugar’. It felt like a punch of arousal in your lower stomach. You were sure he’d seen your reaction because his smugness seemed to double.
You’re reading through a book you brought with you to lunch. You had decided to treat yourself with a lunch away from the office instead of warming up leftovers. You hold a fork to your mouth, but try to keep your eyes on the words.
“Hey, doll, fancy seeing you here.”
You look up to see Dean smiling at you and standing behind the chair opposite from you.
“Why are you here?”
“Well, that’s not very professional , sweetheart,” he teases with a toothy grin.
You give him a smile back and mark your place in your book, “would you like to join me?”
“I don’t want to impose,” he tells you but is already pulling the chair back and setting his bag down. The waitress walks over to hand you your water refill. Dean smiles at her, “could I order something please?”
“Of course,” she smiles at him and takes out her notepad. She was checking him out unabashedly, “what would you like?”
“I’ll have whatever my lovely date is having.”
You roll your eyes. The waitress is gorgeous, so you’re surprised he wasn’t flirting with her instead. As soon as she walks away, his attention is back onto you.
“Did you follow me from the office?” You narrow your eyes at him.
He shrugs a shoulder and bites his lip, looking down to your lips and back to your eyes. “How are you liking BBC so far?”
“I like it,” you answer and take another bite of your salad. “I enjoy the company.”
“You flatter me.”
You blush and look back down. You can’t figure why Dean would be interested in you, why he’s flirting with you. “You’re welcome.”
“So I know where you’re from, but not much else about you, princess. Joe told me you like English?”
“It’s what I majored in, yes.”
“And I can see your book is well loved.” He leans across the table to squint at the title, “ Catcher in the Rye ?”
“It’s good,” you tell him, “you want to borrow it?”
“I’ll let you finish it first.”
You feel your heart soar a little, “I’ve read it before.”
“I’d love to borrow it, then.” He reaches over to take it from your outstretched arm.
For a brief moment, you become distracted by the way his fingers brush over the worn edges of the book, flipping it over in his grasp to study the back cover. You are enamored by the way his face scrunches as he reads the back cover, lips moving slightly as he does so. With a sharp inhale, you break your gaze from him, and quickly take a sip of your drink -- for some reason, you find yourself oddly parched.
“Sounds like a riot,” he says, finally, setting the book down onto the table. “Can’t wait to start it.” You nod, forcing a quick smile onto your lips, just as the waitress returns with Dean’s order. It surprises you slightly that he still does not give a second glance to the girl as she walks away; it was plain to you that she was beautiful, yet it would appear that Dean was oblivious to her. “So, tell me about yourself,” he says, taking a bite of his food.
“Like what?” you ask with uncertainty.
“Anything you want,” he says. You notice it more now than you have at work -- Dean’s voice is intoxicating. His tone is somehow simultaneously assertive and inviting, with a distinct rasp that draws you in more. Something about his voice is so inviting that you do not realize that you are staring at him, thinking deeply about the way he speaks. “Ground control to Major Tom,” Dean says, with a laugh, pulling you back from your thoughts “I know I’ve got a pretty face, but if you keep staring, you’ll make me blush.”
“S-Sorry,” you mutter, closing your eyes and shaking your head. “I got lost in my thoughts for a minute. That was rude, I’m so sorry.” When you look back to him, you notice a small smile on his face, something different this time -- far less smug, and more genuine.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, princess,” he says. “I interrupted your lunch. I should have let you be alone with your thoughts.”
“Not at all,” you reply, hurriedly. “I enjoy your company.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he grins.
You push your food around for a moment before speaking up again, “I collect classic books. That’s something you wouldn’t have known about me.”
“Like this one?” He gestures to the book next to him.
“Yeah, that one was given to me as a high school graduation gift from my dad. I didn’t really know him, he left me and my mom when I was about three. He came back into my life around the beginning of my sophomore year, and he realized I really liked the book.”
Dean seems to hang on to every word, eyes never leaving yours as you speak, really letting you feel at ease and trust him. He nods as you’re done speaking, and notices your gaze shift slightly to the book.
“I promise to take care of it,” he tells you in a soft voice.
“I have no doubt about that.”
He smiles again and takes another bite of his food, “where’d you go to high school?”
“Nowhere special. I went to a regular public school in San Fernando.”
“I bet it was at least a little special.”
You shake your head, electing to not respond to that and instead continue to tell him about yourself. Only child, having to babysit the awful neighbor kids to save up for college, working extra hard on homework and writing essays for scholarships, feeling so accomplished when you graduated, and finally moving out on your own.
“You live on your own? In the Valley?” He frowns, “and you leave the office how late?”
“I, uh, I leave around 5:30 or 6 every day.”
“That’s terrifying. Ya know, there are some creeps out there, princess, you gotta be careful.” He looks concerned, actually, genuinely, concerned.
“I look out for myself, usually,” you nod. “Though it does get worse closer to winter since the sun sets earlier.”
“I’m gonna drive you home tonight.”
“Oh, no,” you protest, “it’s so out of the way, isn’t it? I’ll be fine on the bus.”
“I insist.” His tone shifts slightly more to the assertive side, and his eyes are pleading you to just let it go. You find yourself nodding, and he smiles.
“Thank you, Dean, that’s very kind of you.”
“You’re welcome, doll.” He takes a sip of his drink and as he sets it back down, he quirks an eyebrow at you. “How did you hear about the BBC anyway?”
“There was an ad in the newspaper.”
He nods, “and you just thought you’d go for it?”
“I needed a job.” You try to relax, he’s not asking you anything strange. He just seems to have a genuine interest in you.
“I’m glad you did.”
“You know, so am I.”
The smug smirk returns to his face as he flags your waitress down and asks for the bill. She slips away before you can correct him about the separate checks. He’s already pulling out a wad of cash from his bag, and you’re a little stunned at it.
He catches you staring and lets out a chuckle, “don’t worry, doll, it’s on me.”
“No, you don’t have to—“
“Really, it’s fine. I can write it off as a business expense if it means that much to you.”
You bite your lip, not sure what his plan is here, but you just mutter a thank you. The silence seems to be too much and he begins to talk about how he met Joe for the first time. The way he sets up his story has you mesmerized, wanting to hear every word.
You soon find out that it’s impossible to completely listen when you notice how fixated you are on the way his lips move. You can tell they’re nice, soft. You wouldn’t mind tasting them.
All of a sudden, you notice he’s stopped talking and he’s just watching you, fascinated almost.
“Way to keep it professional, princess.”
You can’t control your blush, you have to turn your head, “I, um, I’m s-sorry. Um. I didn’t mean to stare.”
He doesn’t respond, just turns to hand the waitress the money. He stands and tells her to keep the change, then picks up his bag and your book.
“See you back at the office, sweetheart,” he tells you with a wink before he’s off.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had started to hold. You know you’ve gotten yourself into trouble now.
At the end of the day, you start picking up your desk, cleaning up to leave for the day. Suddenly, two arms drape over the desk and you look up to see Dean smiling at you.
“Ready to go, doll?”
“Almost,” you smile back at him. “I just have to grab my coat.”
He watches you gather your stuff and gestures for you to walk out the door first. You can almost feel the stare on your ass, but when you turn your head, you don’t catch him. Perfect gentleman.
“Which one is your car?”
He points to one close to the front of the lot. A shiny green convertible waits for the two of you. You think about how typical it is for Dean to have such an expensive car, but you keep the thought to yourself as you both enter the vehicle.
Most of the ride is quiet. After giving him directions to your home, the two of you exchange idle chitchat; the conversation is very pleasant, as you expect and as you near your apartment, you find yourself saddened at the thought of him leaving.
“That’s it right there,” you say, gesturing to the building.
When Dean pulls into the parking lot, you feel slight embarrassment at the sight of the rundown apartment building. Ordinarily, you would not mind the area you live in, but since you started at BBC, you could not help the inferiority that you felt.
“Thank you so much for driving me, Dean,” you say, as he parks. “I know it was completely out of your way, so it was very kind of you.”
“Don’t mention it,” he grins, shifting to face you and places his arm on the back of your seat. “Couldn’t have you taking the bus home alone; my mother raised me better than that.” You chuckle at his statement, but when Dean smiles, your gaze becomes fixated on his mouth. Again, you think about how soft his lips look, and how much you want to feel them on yours... and on your neck.
When his smile fades and he traces his tongue — so pink and intoxicating as you think about it dragging over your skin — over his lips, you swallow hard, and make eye contact with him again. The desire to kiss him is becoming unbearable, and his eyes give it away; he knows what you are thinking.
“Okay,” you gasp, looking away from him and gathering your belongings. “Thanks again for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow.” As you reach for the handle of the car door, you pause and give him another look, finding another beautiful grin on his lips.
“Sweet dreams, sugar.”