Author's note: a shorter chapter, but the next one will make up for it (and it is almost done too).

I hope you'll still enjoy it=)

Stiles spent around 10 minutes just sitting there and feeling sorry for himself before realizing that wallowing in self-pity was not gonna get him anywhere. Derek gave him a clear task - to get shit done - and as doom and gloom as he felt right now, he knew that first, he should check just how bad the situation really was. After that, there will be plenty of time to despair.

In his experience, things were often quite not as bad as they originally seemed. In fact, stuff like this happened all the time, just on a lower level. That's why Stiles spent so much time on the site making sure everything was being done according to his instructions, because the sooner one caught the problem, the easier it was to solve it.

The difference now was that it was not a simple lack of supervision, but the instructions themselves were wrong and Stiles was the one to blame. But when it came to problem-solving - it didn't really matter much who was at fault. You just had to push the deadlines, butter up a few people, switch stuff around, etc. Nothing that Stiles wouldn't see his ex-boss Michael do time and time again in the past. Besides, with a measure of foresight, Stiles left himself some legroom both in terms of money and time, so now he just needed to stretch it a bit more, pull in a few favors… and maybe it could just work out.

As much as he hated Derek right now, he knew that Derek actually did him a favor by bringing it up with him and not going directly to Deaton, as many others would have. This allowed Stiles to at least attempt to solve the problem before coming clean to his boss about it. And if he ended up losing his job over this... well, at least he would know that he did everything he could.

It was ironic, that for all his effort to keep his distance and maintain a professional attitude towards Derek, he still somehow managed to fuck up and jeopardize his job. So what was the point in denying himself scening with the alluring Dom, if he kept aiming to please and was ready to fall apart when Derek got disappointed in him all the same?

...

As it turned out, Stiles was in no position to be pulling in any favors. That didn't mean that no one in the company was willing to help. It just came with a price. And seeing the state of despair which Stiles was unable to hide, the price was often disproportionate to the favor he asked. Well, he shouldn't be surprised, as he didn't really manage to make many friends at work. It was a competitive environment that didn't promote building real friendships. Stiles wasn't sure if it was just an Implex thing, a New York thing, or an industry thing, but he simply disliked all the opportunistic sharks around him and didn't feel particularly inclined to engage in the calculated quid pro quo office behavior.

Now he had no choice.

He whored himself, taking over hordes of unpopular paperwork just to borrow a couple of extra workers from the other projects for a few days. He pushed the electricians to Monday, giving himself a buffer, even though the extra workforce and the fact that some portions could be done simultaneously already gave him a lot of breathing room. Frankly, Stiles had more work to do to pay for all the favors than on his own project. He oscillated between site and office, paying his dues to the sharks in the office and catering to the needs of the workers who agreed to work overtime for some additional monetary and "free meals" incentives. Stiles was surprised how easy it was to persuade the blue collars. In fact, many of those who overheard his dressing down felt kinda sorry for him and were ready to pull a few extra hours for free even. As opposed to those douchebags in the office using the opportunity to milk him dry.

Derek called in the evening as usual. Stiles was too busy and only noticed the missed call a few hours later. He figured that Derek must have been just checking on him like he always had around that time because if it was work-related there would have been more than one missed call and probably a message or two regarding the problem. Since it was not the case, Stiles didn't feel pressed to call back. And if it sent a clear message that Stiles was sulking... well, so what?

He realized that it made him kind of a hypocrite since he kept asking Derek to treat him as a business relation when at work, and when Derek did exactly that, Stiles was suddenly butthurt about not being treated as something more. But he still felt absolutely justified to give Derek a cold shoulder after the way he yelled at him.

Stiles hasn't been home for 3 days straight. He dozed off for a few hours at the office here and there and otherwise worked like a machine. It was a lot, and he was exhausted, but it wasn't the first time and it probably won't be the last. He was so out of it, he completely forgot about the 20-year Implex anniversary party. He contemplated just not going, but that wouldn't bode well for his career since everyone was expected to show up at least for a few hours to prove their dedication to the company. Though he should probably shave first… and take a shower. One of his colleagues told him she could smell him all the way from the other room. She was joking of course, but there was a grain of truth to it, so Stiles decided to take a break and went home to freshen up.

...

The party was held in one of the Midtown hotels that Implex built a few years back and it was quite a grand affair. Stiles was glad that he opted for a bowtie and a black suit since the event was as posh as they got. The shower certainly helped with getting some color into his face, he even used a bit of make-up to cover the dark circles under his eyes, but his bloodshot eyes were still giving away the severe lack of sleep.

The plan was to greet as many people as possible, eat some canapes and go back to the office. He didn't know most of the faces and the first two he had recognized he didn't particularly feel like joining… unfortunately they saw him too, so now there was no escape.

"Stiles! There you are. Come here," Deaton beckoned him over. Stiles put on his polite face and went to greet his boss, who was currently talking to - you guessed it - Derek.

"Mieczysław," Derek smirked at him and Stiles nearly snorted in response.

"Mr. Hale," he replied coldly.

Deaton didn't notice anything off about their greeting. "Derek has just been telling me how satisfied he is with your work," Deaton said cheerfully, patting Stiles on the back. He was holding a glass of wine and already seemed quite a bit tipsy. Which was good since Stiles had a hard time keeping a polite expression.

"Oh, did he," he deadpanned, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Yes," Derek confirmed, ignoring Stiles as he kept crying him up to his boss, "I was particularly impressed with his problem-solving abilities when given the right nudge. I've just been to check on the site today and everything is going great."

Stiles wanted to punch him. Fucking sweet talker. The right nudge? Pat yourself on the back some more, asshole. He forced a smile to hide his building irritation. "I'm happy to hear you are satisfied with how things are progressing. Now if you'll excuse me." He nodded at them and made a hasty retreat to the bar.

It was a shame he came by car since he could really use a drink right now. Derek's fake praise rubbed him in the worst way possible. Though it was probably still better than if he told Deaton the truth. Stiles ordered himself a soda and nibbled some peanuts, thinking about all the places he would rather be right now. Namely, a bed.

"If you walked any faster I would think you were running away from me."

Of course it was foolish of Stiles to expect Derek to take a hint. The Dom planted himself on the barstool right next to him and cast him a playful look as if the fight between them never happened.

"I'm pretty sure only the top management received invitations," Stiles jabbed. "Where's Finstock?"

Derek chuckled, not at all offended. "He is not the one dealing with your sorry ass."

Stiles bristled. "My sorry ass has been sleeping in the office for the past 3 days."

"Oh you poor thing, how dare anyone hold you responsible for your own fuckups."

That condescending ass!

Without a word, Stiles grabbed his drink and walked away. He wasn't sure what made him so butthurt, whether the lack of sleep, the overall exhaustion, Derek's derision, or the fact that deep down Stiles agreed with him.

He always believed that people should own up to their mistakes and do their best to amend them. In fact, if he could detach himself from the situation, he would have probably scoffed in the same way if somebody started complaining about the extra work that came about as a direct result of their own doing.

Still... it didn't make it any easier.

...

After an hour, Stiles figured that he had brown-nosed enough people and was now free to go. He went to check on some food, but as usual, anything of substance was first to vanish from the trays. He glared at the ugly, half-crumbled egg roll sitting there in complete loneliness, but since beggars couldn't be choosers, he scooped it on his plate, adding some leftover breadsticks and decorative vegetables, and went to find an empty table.

He was examining a couple of business cards he managed to exchange when a plate filled with meatballs, eggrolls, sandwiches, and a couple of cupcakes landed in front of him.

"Peace offering?" Derek smiled, sitting down next to him.

Stiles hid the business cards in his wallet and gave Derek a suspicious look. "Where did you get it?"

"Charmed a waitress," Derek replied, winking at somebody behind him. Stiles turned around and saw the young girl smiling shyly back at him.

"Of course you did." Fucking womanizer.

"I like to make them flustered," Derek said as if reading Stiles's mind.

"I'm sure you do."

"Blush looks particularly good on you."

Stiles snorted, shaking his head. "You don't fluster me, Derek."

Derek didn't reply, though it was obvious he didn't agree. He pushed the plate closer to Stiles. "Eat. You look like you could use a proper meal. And some sleep."

In other words, I look like shit while you are sitting here all smug and handsome, flirting with the staff and charming everyone around you. Stiles didn't voice any of his bitter thoughts. Instead, he eyed the food hungrily and then picked up the meatball on a stick since they smelled too good not to try. "I need to go back to work," he said in between bites.

Derek frowned. "Why? The situation seems handled already."

"Different work," Stiles replied curtly, keeping his eyes on the plate. He heard Derek sigh and slump on the chair, but still refused to look at him. He was aware that he was acting like a sulking teenager and that this was no way to behave towards one's clients, but he couldn't help himself, he wanted Derek to feel his anger.

"Look, I appreciate you going far and beyond for this, but you shouldn't be doing it at the expense of your wellbeing. And you shouldn't take everything so close to heart. It's just business, Stiles, it's not personal."

Stiles knew what Derek meant, it's just that in practice separating personal and professional when dealing with the same person was not as easy as one would think. He took another meatball, letting Derek's words hang in the air.

"I don't want us to be at odds."

Yeah, right. And yet you still refuse to do something as simple as apologize. Though it was probably useless to expect Derek to show remorse since he obviously didn't feel like he did anything wrong. He certainly didn't feel bad about snapping at Greenberg, so why should Stiles expect better treatment?

Perhaps because he deserved better treatment!

"Well, there's a very simple solution for that," Stiles said, still sulking into his plate.

"Oh, is there?"

Stiles's heart skipped a beat when Derek suddenly leaned forward, breaching his personal space with a look that could only mean one thing. That was most definitely NOT what Stiles had in mind, but what the hell, he would take it. His eyes closed on their own, his whole body buzzing in anticipation of the kiss… that never came.

He opened his eyes again and watched Derek put a straw in his drink, that he was apparently reaching for from behind Stiles.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Way to misunderstand it, Stiles!

Blood rushed to his face even before he saw the sadistic smirk that was tugging up the corners of Derek's lips. Stiles wished the floor would just swallow him. What was he thinking? Well, clearly he wasn't! And why didn't he simply push Derek away? Oh God, this was so embarrassing!

"You should see yourself right now," Derek commented, looking obnoxiously smug. "Gorgeous."

Oh, he totally did it on purpose! Motherfucker! Stiles jumped from his seat gasping for air in indignation. He wanted to yell and run and beat Derek up and then possibly fuck his brains out. Or the other way around. Whatever.

Playing it cool was not an option anymore. Not when his face went fifty shades of red and Derek called him out on it. The asshole was totally getting off on his humiliation. Sadist. So much for not being flustered… Stiles turned on his heel and stormed off.

"I guess I still have it in me, huh?" he heard Derek call after him, laughing.

Dick.

TBC

Before you hate Derek too much, remember that everything is written from Stiles's POV, and he is tired and stressed and keeps purposely misinterpreting everything Derek says. (although the last bit was definitely a Dick move;))