A:N: This chapter has it all: "uptempo song to ballad song" trope, a flashback, angst, comedy, Roman, Gerri, muppet!greg, and elevator motifs. As always, thank you for your support, patience, kudos and comments!

Jess sat in the waiting area of the Waystar Royco executive suite. The third interview. She couldn't believe where she was—the opportunities, the career path, the compensation—were all within her reach now. This was a known, coveted position—surely there were hundreds of applicants. She couldn't blow this. The stakes were too high: if this job didn't come through, she'd go back to California and get a job at a winery. Help her mom out at the food co-op. Open a dispensary.

Why would they want someone who had only ever been an executive assistant at Sotheby's? She held her attaché case close to her chest and smoothed her hair once more. She made sure her grandmother's cameo earrings were secure. Jess felt like she was wearing a costume.

Dress for the job you want…?

Her heart pounded. The first and second round interviews had been with HR executives and other executive assistants. She'd met Joan, Logan Roy's longtime secretary, who had seemed more of a government interrogator than anything, and Taylor, Kendall Roy's primary Executive Assistant. The interviews, held in a stark white windowless conference room, provided the perfect environment for a full out-of-body experience for her. It seemed foreign and enticing—a galaxy away from NorCal and the auction house where she'd cut her teeth after college. She felt like an anthropologist. And told her mother as much, who declared Logan Roy to be the devil incarnate.

But the starting pay was triple her current salary.

There she was, for the third interview? Jess knew what came next: meeting and being interviewed by Kendall Roy. She'd deep-Googled him and read all the profiles. Caught up with some of her meager connections around town, tried to get the tea. Still, she had no idea what to expect. A public persona was one thing—who was the person? The human? Was he human? Maybe too rich to be? Maybe a complete, utter, privileged white asshole? Maybe she should bolt to the elevator and—

"Ms. Jordan," an assistant appeared before her, vaporizing Jess' internal chaos.

"Yes," Jess rose and smoothed her skirt. "Jess, please."

" Ms. Jordan, follow me," the assistant said.

Jess did as she was told, trailing the woman at her heels as they coursed through the executive suite. Everything was gray, metal, and glass. Computer keys clicked, hushed voices murmured. No color. No contour—it was quite different from the worlds Jess had been accustomed to. She logged everything into her 'first impression' data bank.

They stopped at a line of glass-walled offices, and Jess recognized him immediately from the Time profile. She hung back behind the miserable assistant.

He sat behind his desk, but rose, and buttoned his suit jacket as the assistant popped her head in to let him know Jess had arrived. Jess observed another man sitting across from Kendall Roy. Another interviewer.

The assistant held the door open for Jess and slipped into the room behind her.

"Mr. Roy," she said, "this is Jess Jordan."

As he'd done for three other third interviews the previous day, Kendall emerged from behind his desk with a quick step and extended his hand with a stock brand of aggression that instantly struck Jess as insincere.

"Kendall Roy," he took her hand and met her eyes.

For a moment Kendall forgot his schtick, and his façade threatened to fall.

Oh no.

She'd been the first candidate—in this round or the rounds five, ten years prior-who'd held his gaze, to meet him exactly where he was as his equal. She was someone who didn't need his façade to fall to acknowledge him for who he was—in the first five seconds of their meeting.

She'd been the first one to see him.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Roy," Jess pressed her fingers against his hand as they greeted one another with a warm, even pressure that Kendall took silent note of.

"Kendall—please," he said after a short pause, "this is Frank Vernon, our CFO."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Jordan," Frank returned with a handshake.

"Mr. Vernon," Jess offered a closed mouth smile.

"Please—" Kendall gestured to a seat and Jess took it.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Kendall struggled for a moment as he decided which way around the desk he should take to get back to his chair. She picked off an imaginary piece of lint from her suit jacket sleeve, pretending not to notice him as he settled.

More data for the data bank.

The interview was of the corporate boilerplate kind—and Jess had anticipated that. The questions consisted mostly of hypothetical scenarios regarding discretion and confidentiality. They were probing her to see if she could handle the level of tact required to be Kendall Roy's assistant. And the long hours.

She knew how to navigate the interview; interviews were where she shined, where she set herself apart from the crowd. Jess knew how to manipulate prospective employers by speaking in a low, even voice and making just the right amount of calculated eye contact. She also understood that nonverbal signals played a large role in first impressions and leveraged that knowledge expertly.

And she had not been wrong in any of her calculations or assumptions. She observed something of a close relationship between Mr. Roy and the CFO—why else would a CFO even be in her interview? Frank seemed to be the guiding hand for Kendall Roy.

More data.

Kendall, meanwhile, hoped the words coming out of his mouth were making sense. His voice seemed to be coming from elsewhere as he presented questions to the candidate before him, and he found he didn't want her to stop talking when she answered. She spoke in a low voice and answered all the questions in a measured tone; everything was exact. Her presence in the room was quiet but consuming. He watched as she pulled her gaze away from him to look at Frank as she spoke, and Kendall exhaled as she then focused back on him. He blinked as his heart began to pound as she spoke about handling confidential issues at Sotheby's.

Kendall cleared his throat maybe too loudly, hoping to get a hold of himself. God, he was so fucking stupid.

"Mr. Roy," Taylor popped her head into his office, "your next appointment has been waiting—and the meeting—Taiwan—"

"Great, fantastic," he said as Taylor disappeared back to her desk. Where had the time gone? Had he been sucked into a black hole? Were they now in an alternate timeline? He didn't even realize they'd gone thirty minutes over. Frank, knowing the time, had indulged him.

"Thank you so much, Ms. Jordan," Frank edged in as Kendall's silence for a moment made the room awkward.

Jess nodded politely. Another closed lipped smile.

They all rose from their seats together, and Jess and Frank shook hands. She extended her hand to Kendall, who immediately went to the door.

"Let me walk you to the elevator," he said.

"Uh—sure." On no planet would Jess ever decline.

Frank watched them as they walked in step to the elevator bank. He sighed. Kendall never did realize he was the common denominator in the perpetual revolving door of executive assistants. This one, Frank knew, would be good for him. But he'd thrown the interview, sitting silent while Frank asked most of the questions.

The CFO sighed again and sauntered back to his own office.

"So," Kendall stuck his hands in his pockets, hoping to convey a casual coolness for her, "the art world to the media world…?"

"Uh, yes," Jess struggled to make small talk. What was happening here? This was not at all protocol.

They approached the elevators. Jess reached for the button at the same time Kendall leaned across her to hit it. He reeled back quickly and emitted a small laugh.

"Hah—uh," Kendall stepped back a bit, horrified that his closeness might imply anything. She didn't seem offended, and he breathed. "Thank you for coming out today."

"You're welcome. It was my pleasure. Thank you for the opportunity."

"So—on Monday you can come on in—and—"

"Oh—I—"

"Oh—right—um," Kendall stammered, "you've—you've got the job."

Jess pointed back toward the executive suite, "didn't you have another—interview-?"

"Oh yeah," Kendall shrugged, "but, uh, you've got the job. I think you'd be a good fit for me—us. Us. Us. You'd be a good fit for us."

Jess' eyes widened for a split second before she reassumed her neutral face that she wore in professional spaces. This guy—this guy who had completely zoned out during her interview—who, if quizzed on what she said, would have no recollection of any topic she spoke on—was just off the cuff offering her the job? Just like that? This must've been a joke.

"Um—Mr. Roy—"

"Kendall."

"Kendall," Jess said. He inhaled as his name fell across her lips; he could get used to it—but he swiftly made his back rigid, scared to absolute death that he would seem pathetic or needy or desperate—or any of the things that he actually felt at that moment; his public image was hard to uphold in front of her. It was humbling, but welcoming.

Don't scare her. Don't scare her. Don't disappoint her—

"So—um," he said, "of course. You can take the weekend—"

"No, I accept."

"Oh—" Kendall burst in a moment of surprise and then swallowed it, "oh. Fantastic. Cool, cool."

The elevator opened, and Jess stepped on. Kendall weighed whether he should ride down with her. Grab coffee—

"So—Monday?" she asked as she pressed the lobby button.

"Monday—yes. 8 a.m." Kendall returned, "and—uh—"

The doors began to close, and Kendall lost his train of thought.

"Welcome—to the—family," he managed clumsily as they shut.

He was thankfully alone in the elevator bank.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispered to himself. Kendall put one hand up against the wall to prop himself up from the embarrassment. It was consuming.

"I think you'd be a good fit for me…?" he closed his eyes for a moment, drowning in humiliation.

"I think you'd be a good fit for me…?" Jess guffawed into her palm as she held her hand over her mouth.

Perhaps this guy needed more help than she could give. She laughed to herself all the way down to the lobby, dreaming of the compensation package and the Tudor City apartment she'd been looking at. And the student loans she'd pay off. And how much shorter he seemed in person. And, in spite of everything about him, how much hotter.

"I mean," Kerry muttered as they headed up to the lobby from their glorified basement rooms, "who knew tonight that we'd be partying with Evil Mr. Tumnus and Eeyore."

"Goddamn, Kerry, you are brutal," Mitch commented, in awe.

The trio met up with their bosses in the hallway outside of what was supposed to be the club. Kendall hung back, pretending to be on his phone while Roman surveyed them with an appraisers' eye. Kendall needed time to compose himself from the looks of Jess' outfit.

"Hmmm," he said in an exaggerated tone, "don't you all look mighty pretty?"

He wondered, later on in the night after Gerri's inevitable rejection of him, if any one of them would drunkenly agree to smack him around for a while. He wasn't picky.

Kendall narrowed his eyes at Roman's comment, thinking this whole night would be an enormous mistake. Kendall's hunch was right, but the mistake would manifest in an entirely different way.

"Shall we?" he asked, hoping the loud music would deter Roman from ending up as the subject of some lawsuit. The presence of alcohol and drugs, however, did not seem promising.

"Fuck yes," Roman said, pretending to be tough, "turns out getting a tooth knocked out hurts like a motherfucker."

They plied the assistants with thirty-dollar cocktails and some light, stilted conversation around the club table. After two drinks, Roman linked arms with both Kerry and Mitch and escorted them off to dance. Much to Kendall's endless gratitude, Greg appeared alongside him and Jess.

"Hey, man! You made it," he declared as he hugged Kendall awkwardly; Jess was reminded of Big Bird and Grover as she observed them.

"Hey, Jess!" Greg did not forget her, giving her something of a half salute, something he thought conveyed a sense of solidarity between executive assistants. Jess smiled and received the actively adorable message loud and clear with a slight nod. In that moment, Jess decided that Greg was the purest Roy.

"You gonna…?" Greg motioned to the throng of people.

"Go for it, man," Kendall patted Greg on the back.

His cousin gave him a thumbs up and bounced into the crowd.

Jess watched from the side of the action, biting down on her straw, as Roman plied Mitch with fifty-dollar vodka shots on the other side of the room. Kerry danced in the crowd and found Greg. "Come here often" threatened to cross Kendall's lips, but it miraculously died in his throat. Jess ignored the glass of whiskey in his hand and pretended to be mildly amused by the scene unfolding before them.

"Poor guy," Jess commented, nodding her head toward Mitch.

"Yeah," Kendall responded, "they brought Mitch in after they decided Roman would be better with a male assistant—but as you can see…"

Jess sipped her drink without comment.

"And then there's these two," Kendall indicated Kerry getting close to Greg, who remained oblivious, "when executive assistants are on a business trip—"

"It's like you're narrating a nature documentary," Jess smiled, "'nocturnal activities of corporate EAs…"

Nocturnal activities… Kendall's mind ran wild, and he cringed at himself.

He didn't know what to do with this Jess. Was this the true Jess? Was she going to be sassy Jess forever? Was this real life? This would surely drive him completely, irrevocably insane.

They stood-him awkward, her silent-off to the side, observing the group before them dance haphazardly, and pretended to claim some sort of superiority as the nondancers. Kendall didn't want to talk about work; the latest fire to put out with cruises seemed insurmountable, especially if no one shared his view about how to proceed. But if there wasn't work to discuss, Jess' presence threatened something real, something unfinished. And confronting that reality at the generic mountain-core billionaire dance party made him shudder. As he watched the executive assistants, Kendall felt stupid, quiet.

"I'm thinking of doing a rap," he blurted to her, "so…yeah."

Jess blinked and raised an eyebrow. "Like…now…?"

"Oh! No—for my dad's fiftieth anniversary gala thing," Kendall huffed with a tired laugh, "you know—do a thing…for him."

"Sure."

"So…"

"You need to find someone who can write a rap?"

"I mean, I have ideas but…Yeah."

"On it," Jess replied smoothly and took a sip of her drink, sucking it dry.

"And there's the Dundee trip—"

"Yeah—I—I think they have me meeting with counsel—"

"Wait—already—"

"They're going through the whole executive floor apparently," Jess said, wishing for another drink, "for cruises. I got the email today. I think Tony might be free to go with you, though. He has his meeting set for this Friday."

"Oh—um—" Kendall blinked, "but you—you weren't involved in—"

"Yeah, but since I am essentially you—"

Kendall blinked again.

"—they need to ask," Jess finished. "So, I think it's best if I stay."

Jess didn't mean to imply anything more or less with this, but the reaction on Kendall's face told her that he was indignant—hurt?—about her not wanting to go to Scotland with him. Why did he need her there? There had been many trips he'd gone on without her—what was it about Scotland that made things different? She noted, incredulously, that he seemed almost frightened by it.

Kendall was terrified of confronting what he had left hidden on the other side of the Atlantic. He had been holding it inside of him and the burden was growing too great to bear by himself; at least he wasn't going back to England, he told himself. He held Jess' gaze for a moment in that crowded, noisy club, filled with the uber wealthy who could not begin to know how to dance to the music, and considered confessing. He parted his lips, ready, and then sealed them closed again; to expect Jess to carry that secret was too much to ask. She did not deserve it. And he did not deserve her. He deserved someone flawed—like him. Or maybe she was exactly the person whom he needed. He had no idea.

They stood there, with empty drinks, and Kendall surveyed the bar at the far side of the room: an impossibly long line. The cocktail waitresses were busy: Roman was pouring tequila down their throats. So much for table service.

"You want another?" he asked, "let's go up to the lounge."

Jess shrugged, fully embracing her burgeoning "fuck it" mentality. She had to stop worrying and learn to love the bomb. She had already agreed to drinking and clubbing with her boss—and it hadn't been the first social outing they'd had. Why stop at one drink?

Upstairs, the lounge had been the de facto hangout for the billionaire boomers, whereas the wunderkinds and millennials were downstairs in the makeshift club outfit. There was a live band where the comedian had been just a few hours before. A singer was belting out some 70s standards with a band behind her. For $10,000 an hour, they weren't bad.

The line was long for drinks there, too. Given how many CEOs there were, it was a wonder the logistics weren't better. Jess and Kendall waited in the line, silent.

She had a creeping, vague feeling welling inside of her, like they were drawing to the close of something, as if their window had passed. She couldn't quite articulate it—nor did she really want to; the emotions were always much too heavy to unpack. And much too knotted to make any sense of. Still, that valedictory feeling began to grow. Should she lean into it?

"Remember my interview with you?" she asked.

He did. "Yeah, I do." Kendall replied, immediately wondering where her question would lead them.

"And remember you said," Jess had a hint of a smile on her face as she directed her gaze away from him, "that this would be a 24/7/365 job?"

He didn't remember anything he said—just what he felt. And how she looked. And smelled. How she had been the only candidate unafraid to meet his gaze with the most devastating brand of cool confidence.

"Of course," Kendall cleared his throat, "you asking for time off?"

"No—no," she emitted a small laugh, shaking her head of the memory of that time she tried to ask for time off—back in the desert, "not this time."

"OK…" they stepped closer to the bar as the line moved.

"For the past …nearly five years," she said, "you've been my job. And, whether you like it or not—"

Jess had chosen quite a topic for the drink line at the billionaire retreat.

"—I've gotten to know you."

Kendall let the words fall to him; her eyes flashed with the implication of him unconscious on his bathroom floor.

"Yeah…" he said softly, "listen, I'm moderating—"

"No, no," Jess furrowed her brow, "you misunderstand me. I just—"

She stopped, and they stepped toward the bar again. Only two people ahead now.

"I just want you to be OK," Jess finished, her brow heavy.

"Uh—" Kendall felt like running. Away. Far. The mountains. Freezing to death.

"Something's—something happened—"

Kendall's heart began to pound.

"I don't know—back in England—" Jess stammered, "but something—changed. But whatever it is—"

He breathed deeply, but his shoulders stayed tense.

"—I just want you to be OK," Jess said again, "above all else."

Kendall felt relief—relief that, despite her heartfelt declaration of knowing him, she didn't know the terrible truth about what had happened. And he thanked God for that, if only to keep her safe.

But his relief was short-lived. This was an end, he figured. The end of a possibility. The end of that feeling they shared the night before Shiv's wedding.

But for now, he needed Jess to stop talking.

The singer did a cover of a song Kendall loved, but never played.

Though nothing, will keep us together

We could steal time, just for one day

"What do you want?" she asked him.

You, he thought in a daze.

I, I will be king

And you, you will be queen

Though nothing will drive them away

We can be Heroes

Just for one day

We can be us

Just for one day

"What do you want?" Jess repeated, "a bitters and soda?"

Kendall shook his head, jolting himself back to reality. They'd made it to the bar.

"You know," he said, "fuck it. Let's dance."

"Wait—what?"

But Kendall paid her no heed. Instead, he put out his hand in a stilted ceremonial manner and Jess took it, bemused.

He led her to the middle of the dancefloor where some boomers were bopping around, drunk on $50,000 champagne and slid his hand around her waist, pulling her close to him. Jess watched, part horrified, part immensely entertained, as he placed one of her hands on his right shoulder and clasped the other in his left hand.

And they danced.

Jess twisted her mouth into a smile in spite of herself, "Why, Kendall Roy. You—dance…? Like…actually dance…"

Kendall shrugged a little, leading her in a simple basic cha cha/hustle hybrid, "growing up, I was convinced I'd need it a whole lot more than I actually do; I'd convinced myself I'd have to know how to dance with the crowned heads of Europe. I did impress a Belgian princess with this once. Shiv felt the same way about dressage. But she stopped as soon as Dad let her."

He spun her out, and then back in. Jess laughed out loud. Here was fun Kendall again—weird timing, but she could take what she could get.

Oh we can beat them

For ever and ever

Then we could be Heroes

Just for one day

They spun together and laughed, forgetting who and where they were—almost completely.

Roman had found his way up to the bar with the shorter line.

"Oh fuck, look at these two," he muttered to no one in particular.

He didn't see Gerri behind him, perched at a table, enjoying the vintage music selections. She sipped her martini with an arched brow and a garnish of cool judgment.

"Predictable," she said, making him jump.

Roman whipped around, barely believing his luck.

"A tired cliché-am I right?" he breathed, validated, as he jabbed his finger back at his brother. He vaguely remembered Kendall, age twelve, getting private dance lessons for a summer from a retired Russian champion. Roman, nine, would hide Kendall's dance CDs so he couldn't practice, but Kendall would always find them and say nothing.

"Could see it coming from a mile away, really," Gerri rolled her eyes flippantly and took another sip. "We both saw what was happening at Shiv's wedding."

"I mean," Roman slid over to her and took a seat across from her, "he's fucked if—if anyone found out."

"Well," Gerri countered, "not really. If anything happens, it'll just be swept under the rug. No HR anything."

"…No?"

"Roman," Gerri fluttered her eyes as she grew impatient at his denseness, "we clean up Kendall's messes daily. He will see no consequences for anything—if anything happens."

"Oh, come on," he gestured to them, "if?"

Gerri took another sip of her martini and considered ordering a third, "mmmm. Judging by their…demeanor…I don't think anything has happened."

"Oh yeah?" Roman took a breath.

Gerri's eyebrow twitched, "not a chance."

"So, no HR consequences," Roman was kind of hoping for some epic takedown.

Gerri exhaled, exasperated, "no, Roman. With the Roy name, he can get away with anything."

"Yeah, we do get away with a whole lot of shit," Roman edged closer, "you want another?"

"I do," Gerri rose, "but it'll be in my room."

Roman rose in kind—barely believing what he was hearing.

"I'm sorry—did I say you were invited?" Gerri blinked.

"No—" Roman got small.

"Exactly. I did not," Gerri began to go out and Roman trailed her; she spoke in a loud whisper against the music. "You will stay here and lick the fucking brine out of my spent martini glass."

Roman's eyes grew wide at the prospect as he watched her leave. He dashed back to the table before it could be cleared and hungrily dragged his tongue across the lip of the glass.

"What—what is your brother doing…?" Jess squinted, craning her neck to see what was happening across the room.

"Searching for attention," Kendall said not unkindly as he glanced back at Roman, who righted himself and slunk out into the lobby. "He's…had a day."

The pair were ready to continue dancing, but the song ended, and the tone immediately changed; a ballad began. They paused for a moment, standing in front of each other, both unsure of what the other wanted. Kendall and Jess glanced at each other and came back together again, hesitantly—and closer—for this song. She tried not to listen to the lyrics—or feel the pressure of his palm against the small of her back, guiding her as they moved in a small space amongst the crowd of people. This song was slower, sadder, than the last. Jess slid her hand from his shoulder so that it circled around his back. An embrace. They swayed to the music still, but Jess laid her head in the crook of Kendall's neck, her cheek against his skin. He took a deep breath. Maybe this was his second chance.

Jess held her arm around him and knew this would be it. One last time to be reckless and stupid, to push herself up against imperfect love. And then to resist it.

The song still played, the singer still sang, but they pulled back from each other for a moment. Kendall studied her and entertained a misguided sense of confidence.

"Come on," was all he said, but the implication hung heavily in the silver of space between them.

Jess' face fell.

It was not the reaction Kendall had anticipated. He blinked rapidly and straightened.

"What?"

She was silent.

"You said—in England—" his tone bristled with a scrap of desperation.

"I know," she whispered, "but…"

"But…" Kendall repeated, his heart racing. His calculations, it seemed—yet again—had been wildly incorrect. Goddamn, she was impossible to read.

"But…" Jess shook her head and struggled to string words together."This…"

"What? Why don't you want this?"

Jess shook her head again, this time slowly.

Kendall set his jaw and fought back the hurt in vain, "Look, I'm not perfect—"

"Kendall, I'm not asking you to be perfect—"

"Yeah, but I think you are."

"That's… unfair."

"Maybe, yeah," he nodded, the anger now hard to contain, "but if you're looking for someone as perfect as you are, you're just gonna be—fucking—disapp—"

"Kendall—" Jess stepped back from him, glanced around, and put her hands up to him, "just—"

"I mean, what the fuck are we doing?" his voice was hushed but he spat the words out with an intensity that startled her. "I mean, that night—in the castle—"

"I think I need to go—" Jess pushed his words away; she didn't want to tell him what she really felt—not there, not at that moment. Too much.

"Yeah—just—" Kendall's brain no longer made sense to him—maybe it never did, "stay in your…fucking ivory tower—"

"Oh, I'm in the ivory tower?" Jess was done. She pursed her lips to keep herself from saying more, and her mouth contorted into a pained frown. She shook her head once more and turned her back on him, making her way through the crowd.

The song finished, and Kendall was left alone on the dancefloor, watching her go. He was frozen for a moment at the wrenching failure of what had just occurred, and he snapped himself out of it, jogging out to the lobby, but all he saw was the elevator doors closing. He cursed at himself for running after Jess—and hated himself for not rejecting her before she could ultimately reject him. Denied the upper hand, Kendall created his own narrative in that lobby: Jess could stay on the pedestal—and he'd find someone, anyone, else. Maybe he'd already had.