A/N: I am BACK! Hello, my lovelies! I MISSED you all so much! Air hugs and kisses to everyone!
A/N2: I got stuck in Russia, can you imagine that?! Grrrr... First I got sick, then I had issues with visa. WTF? That is why I don't live in that country anymore!
A/N#3: I have TONS of stuff written. It's all in disarray, on my phone and iPad, and requires sorting out. But virtually every story I have will be updated, and there is so much new stuff, mostly about Thorin2 (the one from Ragdollprincess' story). The universe he and his Wren live in (including "Another Night, Another Path," which will now become a series of smutty one-shots) will now be called U2 (lol).
A/N#4: This particular story was born on my return trip on the same posh express train, but the mood is, as you will see, very different... It was to be a multific since I simply fell in love with this new OC I had in my head. But I simply couldn't go on... I bawled writing it (imagine the faces of Russian posh riches!) and then bawled rereading it. But worry not, if you liked Robin (yes, yes, bird name again:)! She will reappear in U2 and maybe will find happiness with another Dwarf *nudge nudge*
The first thing he notices about the new girl is her laugh. The second is that her behaviour is endlessly unprofessional. She is spinning on an office chair. He jerks the door to the analysts hall and is presented with the view of something bright purple swirling in front of him, melodic but somehow throaty laugh ringing in his department. Her hair is short and golden, styled in perky spikes on her head, and she is big. Not height wise, even sitting she is obviously a shortie, but she is round. Some might say she is overweight, but one thing for sure. That is a glorious chest. John freezes in the doorframe, and for a second he catches the look of a pair of dark brown, laughing eyes. And then she makes another circle, and this time the brown eyes he fixes his glare on are widened and stunned, and her arms flail to grab the edge of her desk. Then she stumbles, tries to stop her chair, and awkwardly lands on her table, her generous bosom bumping into her desk. She scampers and flails her arms some more. And then she jumps on her feet and tries to pull a polite smile on her face. And then scrunches and starts rubbing her chest. "Ouch, my tits!"
The sequence of these fast energetic actions leaves him staring at her agape. He is not used to people enjoying life in his department. Even less so he is used to people saying "tits" in it. She has straightened up finally and stretches her hand. "Mr. Thorington, I'm Robin Strike. Your new analyst." "Pleasure, Ms. Strike. Call me John." His tone is cold and grouchy. She'll get used to it. Her smile grows warmer and very friendly. "And you call me Robin." He hums nonchalantly. He'd rather die. A familiar dull pain clenches around his heart. What is it with Canadian parents and bird names? He loosens the fist he was not aware he was holding and passes to his office.
XXX
Robin likes her new job. It's closer to the field of her degree, she has nice workload, and there is way less stress here than at her previous place. She works in a team of three analysts, and the boss seems fine. Scary like shit, but fine. And the first time he saw her she was swirling on a chair. Alright, she was the first in the office, and she really wanted this job. What? She was celebrating.
She agonized about it at home for the whole evening, but soon enough she realized that the heavy glare and a wrinkle between his eyebrows is his usual facial expression. Everyone is super scared of him.
At least have been for the past five years. Since his wife's car plummeted from a bridge in the middle of a night. Her new colleague shared the story the very first day in the lunch room. She is married and chatty. Having decisively introduced herself, Nat announced, "Do not hope for anything with the boss. That is a deadend." Robin choked on her pilaf. "I wasn't even thinking about it!" "And don't start," Nat pointed at her with the fork, "Everybody starts really quickly. Let's face it, he is hot as hell. Has two kids by the way. Wonderful father too. My Will has lots to learn from him!" Nat's tone is dreamy, and Robin stuffs her mouth with her food. Perhaps, Nat is one of those who started hoping and then had to swallow the disappointment.
Robin gets it. The guy is very attractive. Large heavy body, quite obviously it's all muscles, massive arms, at least six three, and even Robin feels small and delicate near him. And the hair... It's hard to tell when one looks at her at work, all nice blouses and skirts, but Robin is metal. As in going to Germany and Scandinavia for concerts metal. And a luscious ponytail totally works for her. But then again, she is used to admiring men from afar. Her shape was popular in the eighteenth century. These days she is "an acquired taste," as her Grams called her when she was fifteen. Way to give a gal an incurable complex! One of her boyfriends, what a jerk, called her a "kink". He was obviously trying to hurt her, and she sent him packing. But it stang.
And she is really not looking for anything now. And especially not at work. And especially not with a widower whose wife, according to everyone's words, was nearly a saint. And skinny. And a sex goddess at the same time. The story of how her other boss walked on her riding her husband in his office has been told to Robin three times in the first five days at the new job. Mostly by female colleagues. That makes Robin conclude that all of them hoped and tried but failed.
Wren Thorington, and yes, Robin gets the irony of names, was also Canadian, but unlike Manitoban Robin, she sauntered in the life of the dark haired blue eyes Brit when he was reading a newspaper in the Toronto airport. The story was also told to her four times, some of their colleagues were present there too. Future Mrs. Thorington ran his foot over with her suitcase, and in four months they were married. She moved here for him, and nine months later Thomas Dane Oliver Thorington was born. Unna was born three years later. And then Wren didn't manage to keep her car under control on a slippery Minnesotan road. They say she died instantly.
Once some of these details are told to Robin, she understand why she is the only person in the office John doesn't address by her first name. She obviously doesn't insist. After a while "Ms" gets dropped off, and she becomes just Strike. She likes it.
XXX
The office door flies open, and one of the most gorgeous women Robin has ever seen in her life strides in. Luxurious chestnut curls, tight dark green dress hugging her minuscule waist, her bust probably Robin's size, the longest legs, and a Louis Vuitton in her hands. She jerks off giant sunglasses of her nose and yells from behind the reception desk. "Thorington, come out whereever you are!"
John's office door bursts open, and he steps out. Robin cannot breathe in. Because he is smiling. In the four months she has worked here she has never seen him smile. He is beautiful.
The gorgeous goddess squeals and clanking her Louboutins she runs through the hall and throws herself on his neck. She is only couple inches shorter than him. She presses kisses on both his cheeks and cups his face. "God, Thorington, you look like shit!" He guffaws. Robin has never heard anything more mesmerising and sexier that this low rumble in his chest, barking laughter, his eyes closed in unrestrained frolics.
"And you are as divine as ever, Ms. Martin!" Oh god, he actually has a flirty tone. "Well, yes, I am!" She throws a mass of her glorious waves behind the shoulder, and his arm encircles her waist. He is leading her in his office, and before the door closes Robin hears John's visitor's melodic voice, "Tell me all about my favourite kiddies! How are they?" John chuckles, "Missing you of course." The door closes and the lock clicks.
Robin screws her eyes on her colleagues. Everyone pretends that nothing just happened, but some of her male colleagues look rather dazed. Nat catches her eyes, "It's Thea Martin. She comes to visit from time to time. She was his wife's best friend. Married to some billionaire." Robin hums and goes back to her screen. She is scared. Because when the slender arms of Thea Martin wrapped around his neck, and Robin is a big girl, she is no coward to admit it to herself, she felt jealous.
And she tells herself that it is not romantic. In the past months she started feeling that John Thorington is hers. Like he is everyone else's in the office. Pained, brooding, never discussing anything but work, his eyes sometimes going blank during meetings. She feels protective of him. They hardly exchanged more than a dozen phrases that were not directly related to their work, but Robin has a big heart. John Thorington with all his reserve and haughty manners is one big bleeding wound. It is strange to see him talking to someone else, smiling for that matter, but then Robin remembers that he must have some other life there. Outside their office door he has two gorgeous children, she saw their photos, a separate shelf allocated specifically for them.
His wife's photos are there too. The first time Robin saw them, she was dropping off some reports, she froze her eyes glued to them. He lifted his face from his papers, and it contorted in pain. Robin jerked and scampered from his office.
Wren Thorington was nothing Robin expected. Skinny, angular, not a beauty in general understanding. Strange slanted eyes, freckled face, a mop of orange curls. In the central large photo on the shelf she is laughing, her mouth open, some green goo dripping from her hair, smeared over her cheek, and a chubby baby is her arms is swinging a plastic spoon. She had a wide mouth, lips red and curved. She looked like a woman who laughed a lot.
There is a photo from some formal event. She is pressed in John's side, smiling into the camera, her head set proudly, posture regal, and Robin thinks with envy that she probably can never hope to radiate such assurance and dignity. In his hand he is holding her shawl. On her Robin sees a mini black dress, tall strappy sandals, her feet are tiny, neck long and elegant. John's eyes are on his wife, as if no world exists around them. No one has ever looked at Robin with so much adoration.