A/N: So…this has been an idea that I've been messing around with for a while. I really love the movie The Proposal, and I was thinking how it would be funny if the story was matched up with GoT and SanSan. As I couldn't see Sansa as being a bitchy boss that everyone hates and Sandor being a likeable assistant, I switched the roles: Sansa is the assistant, the Starks live in Alaska, and Sandor is the boss from hell, who is about to be deported. The general storyline will be followed along with many quotes from the movie, but I have tweaked it for the obvious reasons of fitting in the characters and reversed roles.
I hope you like it!
Chapter 1
Sansa wasn't sure how it was possible that she slept through her alarm. It was something that she had never done before, something that she trained herself not to do. But for whatever reason, this morning she rolled over, squinted at the sunlight creeping through the blinds, and blearily glanced at her clock. Her alarm had gone off thirty minutes ago.
With a jolt of fright, she catapulted from the bed, almost tripping and falling on her face as the sheets tangled around her ankles, and stumbled to the closet. "Crap!" she cried, digging through her outfits. "Crap, crap!" Hurriedly, she pulled on a silky white blouse and a high-waist black skirt. In the bathroom she brushed her teeth and applied just enough makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes and bring attention to her long thick lashes. Her wavy hair was a mess, but there was nothing to do but comb it quickly. If she had time, she could finish getting ready at her desk. If he managed to be late as well. Which he probably wouldn't be.
Grabbing a trusty pair of heels, she ran to the kitchen and popped half a bagel in the toaster, checking her watch and groaning at the time. "Ugh!" Not bothering to apply jelly or cream cheese to the bagel, she placed it between her teeth, picked up her purse from the kitchen table, and rushed out the door. She was already running late, and she still had to run to Starbucks.
Cursing the heavy morning traffic of New York City, Sansa chose to run rather than hail a cab to the coffee shop, which was luckily positioned halfway between her apartment and work. There was a large line, as expected, but one of the baristas, a rather attractive young man, waved her over and handed her two steaming cups of coffee. "The usual?" he asked, taking the exact amount of cash from Sansa's hands and ignoring the looks of hate they were receiving from the other customers. "Yes, thank you so, so much! I'm running behind this morning," Sansa explained as she carefully balanced the coffee in a to-go holder. "You're welcome!" the barista called back as she flew back through the door and out onto the crowded sidewalk.
It was a miracle she made it to work without getting run over. Sansa almost wept with relief when she saw the tall tower of Baratheon Book Publishing, Inc., looming before her, the gold letters gleaming. She followed some business men through the spinning doors and maneuvered to the elevators, choosing one that would take her up the back way, flashed a thankful smile at a man who kept one of the doors open for her, and pressed the button for floor 10.
The doors opened, and she walked into the busy area filled with cubicles and other employees, using the last minutes of freedom to converse and laugh with each other over the dividers. Momentarily feeling triumphant, Sansa found her way to her desk, set the coffee down, and booted up the computer, her blue eyes scanning the hallways. It was five minutes until 8 o'clock.
Her email popped open, and a little notification appeared from Jenny, the front desk girl in the lobby. "He's here." Sansa quickly forwarded the email to every other employee on the floor. At the other end of the room, where the main elevators were, she could see through a thick shield of glass that one of them opened, and a tall, heavily muscled, suit-clad man walked out. She quickly typed out another email: "The Devil has emerged from hell." And she was lucky enough to be his assistant.
Instantly, the happy-go-lucky atmosphere of the office floor turned on its head, and every employee instantly rushed to their desks or to other occupations assigned to them. The air emptied of idle chit-chat and instead filled with the sounds of copying machines and fingers clicking busily on keyboards. Sansa sunk behind her divider, watching the boss blaze his trail through the office; anyone in his path had to either move over or be trampled. As soon as his foreboding figure disappeared inside his office, Sansa sprang up, grabbed one of the coffee cups and her notebook, along with a stack of papers, and headed for his office as well, only to be slammed into by Jessica, who was carrying a pile of folders. The folders went everywhere, and so did the coffee…all over Sansa's blouse.
"Oh no! Sansa, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you!" Sansa gaped at her ruined front, her mind already racing with excuses to give her boss. No, he would not tolerate a messy appearance… "It's fine, Jessica, but quick, give me your blouse!" "What?" the other woman gave her an uncomprehending look. "Just do it!"
Two minutes later, Sansa was wearing Jessica's blouse, which thankfully fit and was rather cute, and carrying her own cup of coffee into the office marked "Sandor Clegane: Executive Editor in Chief". Taking a deep breath, she approached the large, simple oak desk, behind which sat her boss, looking every bit as intimidating as he had every day for the past three years, bent over a manuscript. "Good Morning, sir," she greeted, placing his coffee on the desk along with the papers. "Sansa," he rasped shortly, barely giving her a glance. "What's today's schedule?" Right to the point, as always, Sansa thought. She flipped her notebook open. "You have a meeting with Richard Perkins at 9," she read, clicking her ball-point pen. "A meeting with Stanford at 10, and another meeting with the board at 2." She placed her pen to the paper, ready to take notes.
Mr. Clegane tapped a few fingers on his desk methodically, thinking. He would be handsome if he didn't have permanent glare and expression of indifference on his face, like everyone and everything annoyed him. Dark hair that was parted over to one side, stormy grey eyes, a strong jaw complimented by a short beard that was borderline scruff. The scars that covered the right side of his face weren't so bad, thanks to skin grafts, but they were enough to add to his fierceness. Plus, his size and dark demeanor were enough to frighten anyone. His personality wasn't a redeeming factor, as well. As far as Sansa was concerned, her boss had the personality of a stump.
"Sounds good," he grunted, and Sansa made check marks next to the scheduled items. "Oh, and when Trant comes in, remind me to fire him." Sansa had been scribbling down his order but she paused. "You're firing our editor? Why?" she asked in surprise. Mr. Clegane arched a dark eyebrow at her question. "Yes, I am. He has failed consistently in the last few months to finish the work and close the deals he is assigned to. And he's always late. And I really despise his taste in ties. Does that answer your questions, Miss Stark?" Sansa swallowed. He only called her "Miss Stark" when he was in a more sarcastic mood than usual. Hoping to avoid spurring him into irritation, she simply nodded. "I will make a note of that, sir." "Good. You're dismissed for now," he said with a brief wave of his hand and reached for his coffee, settling back in the leather chair.
Sansa turned to leave when he spoke again. "Who is Michael, and why does he want me to call him?" She whipped her head around, puzzled, and saw him gazing at the coffee cup. On the side, written in black marker, was a name and phone number. Mr. Clegane shot her an inquisitive look. "Oh...um…" She sighed. "Well, that was originally my cup."
"And I'm drink your coffee why?" he questioned. "Because…yours spilled."
He nodded slowly, then brought the cup to his lips to take a sip. "So…you drink unsweetened cinnamon light soy lattes?" He enjoyed this, Sansa knew. He enjoyed making people feel uncomfortable. "I do. It's like Christmas in a cup," she replied, hoping the answer was neutral enough to dismiss the subject. "Is that a coincidence?" her boss continued.
"Incredibly, it is. I mean, I wouldn't possibly drink the same coffee that you do in case yours ever spilled," Sansa responded, becoming more and more nervous by the second, "that would be pathetic." Mr. Clegane's grey eyes looked her up and down for a moment, then nodded his head in dismissal. Sansa fled from the office, flopping back into her chair at her desk with a sigh. The phone rang, so she tossed down her notebook and answered it. "Good morning, Mr. Clegane's office."
Another, normal, frantic day had begun…or Sansa thought.
A/N: The chapters will get longer, I'm just testing the waters.
