(hi, hello, how long has it been since I've written for CoLu? *checks archive* Ah, CoLu Week 2017. Excellent time to drop back into this fandom with a story based on a movie I've seen once and written in four hours. *finger guns away*)
Her cuffs are slowly fraying.
Just like the tenuous grip she has on her patience, her sanity, and her coffee cup. Oh and her sleep schedule. The loose hanging threads of the secondhand White House/Black Market jacket, bought with such excitement upon landing a job as a personal assistant to Loke Regulus, are the perfect representation of her lost dreams.
Fresh out of school, bright-eyed, and hideously optimistic (something not even her multiple breakdowns over the years and crippling student debt could kill), coveted English degree in hand, Lucy Heartfilia had applied to any and every writing gig she could find. With mixed results.
Okay, with horrible, terrible, no-good results.
Oh, how quickly did that hideous optimism die a brutal death.
Plagiarism and ghostwriting for desperate college students seemed to be popular genres on Craigslist. Too principled by half for that, she turned to other avenues. Teaching doors were quickly slammed when she didn't have the required teaching degree, libraries scoffed at her lack of master's in library science, and any tutoring position made more demands than an angry middle-aged white woman in a coffee shop.
Her desired field, journalism? Not one of her highly skilled and professional professors had informed her that she would also need a journalism degree. What did she pay those fuckers literal thousands of dollars for again?
At this point in her months long job hunt, begging and pleading to the gods for any sort of lead, anything at all relating to her major, Lucy was almost ready to give up and take one of the dozens of retail positions hiring. Until one night, halfway through her third bottle of Muscato and second season of The Great British Bake Off, she spotted an ad for 'An Executive Assistant to the Editor of Culture Journalism at Lamia Scale Publishing Company'.
There wasn't a single moment of hesitation in her application.
Cana helped her fill out the application, dictating what to say in a slurred voice. Binging alcohol and silly cooking shows was a now nightly routine for them. Should they have had someone more sober than them read over it before hitting send? Probably. Did either of them care? Not really.
Lucy had almost forgotten that application in her recovery from the brutal hangover (there was so much crying), when a week later, she received a very official-sounding phone call from a rather pissy woman. She and Cana had frantically hit up the higher end thrift stores in an effort to find something interview worthy in a day but was also cheap, because hello Magnolia rent prices. The blazer and pencil skirt combo had been $8, fit her like they'd been tailor made for her, and most likely landed her the job.
That had been four months ago.
And her damn cuffs are fraying almost beyond saving. Along with her sanity.
Loke Regulus is gorgeous, witty, well-articulated, a workaholic and a complete pain in the ass. Oh, and the Editor of Culture Journalism at Lamia Scale Publishing Company. What an absolute dreamboat and fucker rolled into one.
No, literally. If Lucy had to pencil in Visit from Hot Blonde #8 into his schedule around Meet with Investors and Review L. Vastia's column one more time, she was going to….to….not quit her damn job and pencil in what her boss said to pencil in.
This fucking job.
And Loke, bless him, couldn't see past her tits long enough to recognize that she had asked on four separate occasions to be allowed to cover exciting art events in Magnolia. Nope. She just wrote out his schedule, fetched food for him and coffee for the entire office, answered the phone, and looked the other way when one of his blonde 'sources' spent a little too much time in his office.
She does not get paid enough to stick her nose in that mess.
(But Lucy certainly has enough time to look them up on social media with Cana's help. You know, for professional...reasons.)
Honestly, is her boss an absolute skirt chaser or is he just really good at pretending? She can't tell. She doesn't get paid enough to tell. Besides, he keeps her here for hours on end and makes ridiculous demands of her. She really doesn't get paid enough to care.
Tapping out the start of yet another article about the recent gallery opening of one Gray Fullbuster in a document, Lucy flinches out of her haze as Loke's smooth voice comes over her intercom.
"Lucy, be a darling and order some food for me. I'm thinking lobster mac & cheese from that one restaurant we went to last week."
Sighing inwardly at the playboy act he keeps up in front of her (because what else could it be but an act, honestly who does he think he's fooling), she presses the button to respond.
"Oh, add a side of truffle fries. Can't forget those."
"Of course, Mr. Regulus. Would you like me to order a bottle of wine tonight?"
"No, that won't be necessary."
"Right away, sir."
Lucy got up from her desk, grateful for the chance to walk around. The heels and hose are a sacrifice she'd learned to make early on, even if they made stairs a total bitch.
Her calves had never looked better, though, according to Cana.
Making the phone call to order food, she made a few laps around the completely deserted halls of the office. Sexy calves, Lucy, sexy calves, she reminds herself, grimacing in pain. In what has to be record time, her phone pings with a notification about the food arriving. Praising the gods she doesn't actually believe in, she hustles down to the elevator, waving at the janitor as she goes by. He waves back, far too used to her late hours to be fazed.
She bursts out the doors, spotting the delivery guy and another guy pacing and yelling into a cellphone? Nevermind, he doesn't matter. Lucy hurried over to the delivery guy, eager to get the food upstairs to her boss so maybe she can have a chance of getting home before midnight tonight.
"Hi," she says breathlessly. "Is that for Lucy Heartfilia?"
The delivery guy, a kid who couldn't be more than 17, nods tiredly. "Yep, lobster mac, truffle fries, and spaghetti. That's gonna be $50, ma'am."
Lucy nods, patting her blazer pockets for her wallet. Then pats them again, growing frantic. Then one more time for good measure. She looks up, desperate pleading on her face. "I, uh, I don't have my wallet on me. Can you wait for like five minutes so I can grab it?"
The other guy who'd been waiting, and she'd ignored up until now, butts his way into the conversation. "Hey, I'll give you $60 right now if you give me that food." Lucy whirls on him, agitation bubbling to the surface. She's momentarily taken aback by the maroon hair and scarred-over eye (fuck he's hot), but her fury overrides the sudden horniness.
"No! You can't take that! It's mine!"
He ignores her, already counting out bills and handing it over to the kid. Who passes the bag with Lucy's precious dinner over to him. The kid vanishes like he has winged feet, leaving Lucy alone with Mr. Meal Snatcher, who's looking much too smug. He starts walking toward the door she'd emerged from, and she's right behind him. He might be hot as fuck but no way in hell is she letting him steal that food.
"Hey, please give that back! I need it for my boss!"
He doesn't even look over his shoulder. "Sorry, dollface, but this is mine now. I need it for my boss."
"Dollface?" Lucy stops, outraged. But quickly starts after him again as he shows no signs of stopping. She catches up to him, snagged a sleeve of his rather nice jacket. Armani knockoff, no doubt. "Listen, please." He stops with a gusty sigh, angling his good eye towards her.
"What."
"Look, I really, really need that food for my boss. If I don't get it to him soon, he will fire me. Please. I'll...fuck, I don't know. I'll pay you back somehow. Do you have a cash app or something?"
He looks down at her, amusement glinting in his eye. What a sight she must be, clutching at his arm; Lucy can feel her hair falling down out of its tidy bun, she's panting with exertion and anger, and she knows there's a run in her stockings. "Please," she whispers.
Something in her exhausted plea moves him. There's a minute relaxing of the lines around his eyes and he sighs. Shaking her off his arm, he digs around the bag for a minute. "Here, lobster mac. Maybe your boss won't fire you, blondie." He raises a finger at her sudden hopeful face. "You're still gonna owe me for this, got it?"
"Of course, thank you so much!" Honestly, Lucy couldn't care less what this crazy guy wanted from her. Firstborn child or her soul, she'd hand it over in a heartbeat if only to get Loke his food. "Just let me know and I'll repay you."
He smirks. "Oh, I don't doubt you will." With that menacing and baffling response, he leaves her standing in the entrance way.
And her godsdammed cuffs are still fraying.