Prologue
Angel Eyes
"Look into his angel eyes
One look and you're hypnotized
He'll take your heart and you must pay the price
…How can I forget that name?"
– Angel Eyes, ABBA
Cora Levinson feels her heart knock inside her chest as she walks the long hallway leading to the office of her boss. She's not entirely sure how this meeting is about to pan out, not really sure how it's going to go. Gwen, her boss' assistant, had called her from the office line and had politely told her that her boss had asked to see her.
She'd bit down on her lip in anxiety, but she knew. She knew what it was for.
It is, after all, a very clear cut what's about to happen, or at least, it's a very clear cut to her what needs to be done, or not be done anyway.
It's a waiting game at this point.
Honestly, it's all a very stupid mistake, after all. She'd not been paying attention, absorbed as she had been with the new project. As an architect, she had wanted to be hands-on. She hadn't wanted her design to be butchered by the hands of an engineer who did not consult her or didn't bother to consult her.
She takes pride in her work, on being hands on and available for her clients. If anything, she's reliable and competent, knows the in and out of her own design. She likes to see it first hand as it is built, having a say on how it is built. She's also known for being on time, on driving hard to get to finish projects on her given deadline.
And that is exactly what's gotten her in this mess in the first place.
It appears she is able to keep with her deadlines on all of her projects, but not in other things in her life - the ones that make it possible for her to even have projects.
Sighing, she halts her steps once she reaches the office. The door is closed, a heavy, dark brown surface - cherry wood, beautiful, she's always thought so. She isn't exactly excited about this particular conversation she's about to have, and is in fact dreading it. She raises her fist and knocks on the door lightly.
"Come in," she hears a muffled voice from the other side. Slowly, she opens the door and peers into the room, finding herself face to face with her boss. Rosamund Painswick is the Chief Operations Officer, an Architect by profession, with an MBA from Oxford. She ran the business with other members of her family — a brother, if Cora remembered correctly.
Cora noticed another strange face that is almost familiar, but she couldn't quite place it in her head. They were sitting on the couch on the other end of the room.
"Hello, Miss Levinson," Rosamund greeted with a terse smile.
Cora tried to read the room. Tense, that's all she can think about. She swallows and urges herself to come in, telling her feet to their part and move. Her legs are shaking but she tries really hard to notice, or let it give in.
"Uh, hello," Cora greets although it sounds more like a question than a greeting, and she fights a grimace as she pushes herself forward.
She watches her boss, and notes that the way her red hair glows in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window makes her beautiful, but decidedly scarier.
Relax, Cora, she tells herself. You are not here to be executed.
"Have a seat," Rosamund invites politely, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. Rosamund's piercing eyes are trained on her form – the blue orbs are icy as they are warm – and Cora has had first hand experience of the ruthlessness of the woman, as well as her generosity. Rosamund is known for her designs as well as her stance in the boardrooms.
Rosamund is only a couple of years older than Cora, but has already accomplished so much more than Cora could ever imagine. Rosamund Painswick is formidable and more than capable, of course, but she is also a member of one of the wealthiest and well-known families around.
Their family - Crawley - owns the biggest firm in town. They've built many skyscrapers around Grantham, which parts of had been - from what Cora has heard - owned by their ancestors in the early days. A good number of infrastructure in London had been designed and built by them as well, spanning decades and generations of Crawleys.
When Cora had moved to London to study Architecture - much to her mother's consternation and her father's concern - she had planned to move back to New York and work her way up in some other architectural firm there. She had been hopeful, given how well she'd been performing at her school and the series of internships she'd managed to get — it all looked very well in her portfolio. But then, she'd fallen in love with Grantham, one of the busiest, most beautiful places just outside London, when she'd managed to get an internship with Downton Designs.
They had offered her a position just before she finished her internship and before she graduated from her degree. The visa process had also been quick and easy, sponsored by Downton Designs themselves, and she'd worked for them right out of University – almost two years ago now. Going back home to New York with such a wonderful prospect in one hand had become such a far away dream, and it fell down on the list of her priorities.
After all, Grantham is just like New York, almost, with the added bonus of being thousands of miles away from her mother.
It's been a win-win situation for her.
Cora reminds herself that it's not going to be as bad as she fears. She already has a couple of contingency plans in place. She hears Rosamund clear her throat, effectively waking Cora up from her reverie. Cora looks up with wide, apologetic eyes.
"I'm sorry," she says, sitting up and straightening in her chair. She swallows the lump in her throat.
Rosamund nods and folds her hands on top of the desk daintily. "We seem to have a problem," she murmurs, and boy, oh boy, don't they. "What happened?"
Cora is certain her boss already knows exactly what happened, but launches into an explanation of her current predicament anyway.
It's a stupid thing really. A colossal mistake. An oversight on Cora's part. She had been so absorbed with her new project: the first really big one after almost two years in the company. She had, of course, worked on many projects before — big ones where she's the junior, or smaller ones where she's lead or working solo — but this is the first one she had worked on a really big one where she's the lead. She had wanted it to go so well and so smoothly, to produce great results. She'd been tied in meetings left and right, that she had forgotten the deadline for her visa application. Her best friend and roommate, Phyllis, had reminded her of course, but she still had forgotten. She had missed the extension as well, and had only realized with such a sense of dread, when she'd received the letter telling her that her failure to submit required documents and complete her application had now subjected her for reapplication, which means she has to go back home to New York.
It's a downright mess.
Cora breathes deeply as she finishes her story and looks up at her boss. The other woman's face is unreadable, and Cora feels her heart sink further into her stomach. She licks her lips and turns her gaze to the other man in the room. His lips are pulled down in a frown, and his brows are furrowed. He looks just about as readable as Rosamund Painswick is.
She turns her attention to her boss and watches her nod. "Alright we'll get back to you, Miss Levinson."
And with that, Cora is dismissed.
.::.
There are boxes everywhere.
In fact, their entire apartment is filled with boxes scattered in every room as she packs all of her things. It's been about a week since that meeting with Rosamund and she hasn't heard back from them. She only has a couple more days before she gets dragged by the ear and tossed out on her ass back to New York.
She's started packing up her things, knowing it's where it will lead to. There had been tears, a lot of regret and frustration. She has given all her endorsements at work, though she is still continuing to work on her project, still holding hope that Rosamund will come through with a solution. She's even drafted a resignation letter, in case Rosamund asks her to tender one.
She is in the process of shucking her shoes in another one of her boxes — she'll be shipping those home, and hope against hope that they don't get lost in their transatlantic journey — when Phyllis comes in her room and hands her a glass of iced tea.
What an actual angel.
"Have a break," Phyllis urges. "You've been at this the whole day. Your stuff will still be here tomorrow."
Cora makes a face. "I may not," she counters as she accepts the glass and welcomes the refreshing taste of the iced tea. She's exhausted , but hadn't realized how much until now.
"You don't know that," Phyllis says with a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. "They might have worked it out already. After all, you're spearheading one of their biggest projects this year."
"It's easier for them to pass it on someone else," Cora says with a huff. "Pretty sure that Bates can handle it. He has seniority anyway." And it's true. Not only that, Bates isn't half bad as an architect, has a lot of edifice under his name. "Or Barrow will. Since he's so good." She rolls her eyes at that.
Phyllis chuckles, aware of Cora's dislike of the young Architect, and shakes her head. "Alright, alright, but at least wait a little bit more or until Rosamund tells you something? You're not even sure and are already jumping into conclusions."
Cora sighs as she places the glass on her table and starts packing again. "I have waited. We both know I'm going to be shipped to New York, there's no point in sitting here doing nothing."
"You cannot be certain," Phyllis insists, repeating the words she's already said about a million times. "If push comes to shove, we can just always just get married."
Cora snorts at that and shakes her head. That's a thought, isn't it?
.::.
"You'll have to marry someone," Rosamund Painswick says casually as she leans back on her chair and looks Cora dead in the eye. It's like she is not joking, and for the life of Cora she can't figure out why she's not.
"All due respect, Mrs. Painswick, what do you mean I have to marry someone?" Cora asks incredulously, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Who on earth would even agree to that?"
Cora isn't sure this is the right way to speak to her boss, but she probably could get away on the grounds of her boss being insane, right?
Rosamund sighs, the first sign of emotion all day. "I'm figuring that part out. Someone we can trust and someone who has some vested interest in it, I suppose. Someone connected to Downton Designs definitely and can keep their mouth shut." Her eyes wander and she looks lost for a moment before she sighs. "This is the only way to ensure you stay in this country and that this kind of situation does not happen again."
There must be a joke. Cora must be the punchline.
However, Cora is logical enough to understand and accept the logic in the last part of Rosamund's statement. The first half? Not so much. It isn't like Cora is the best, or better yet, the only architect in the firm. It would probably be much easier to replace her than to go through all this trouble just to keep her in. She's grateful, of course she is, but she can't seem to understand the lengths they are going to just to keep her.
"You underestimate your value, Miss Levinson," Rosamund tells her, head shaking as if she can read Cora's thoughts. "Barely 2 years in the industry and you managed to bag one of the biggest projects of the company for the year. You've amazed them so thoroughly that the new museum specifically requested you. They, unfortunately, don't trust anyone else in the execution, and they're just unpredictable enough that I'm not sure they won't pull the project from the plug if they find out that you're not staying in the project." Rosamund's shoulder sags and she sighs. "And who's to say you won't be snagged by other firms once we let you go? You graduated from UCL, top of the class, with a dozen other accolades under your belt. I'm pretty sure you have already received countless offers as we speak. The business world is filled with vultures, as you might very well know. They will grab at the chance to get you, even with the added hassle of having to go through the eye of the needle with your visa and sponsorship. And that's nothing compared to the weight of your surname and where you come from."
Ah. Levinson and co., the biggest contractor in New York. They've had projects on this side of the pond too. Levinson and Co., ran and owned by one Isidore Levinson — father to Cora Levinson.
Of course, Cora thinks heavily. It's not her or her talent, it's the Levinson name. It's her money. It's her surname.
She should have stayed in her hometown and worked for her father. She had only been allowed to even leave because her brother had been there to pick up after her father. But her father had been very much clear when he'd told her that she had a place in their company, or better yet her place was in the company. She'd thought she's being smart and independent by moving here, relying on herself and her talent, when it had been her surname that's gotten her this job after all.
"I don't think I'd like to marry anyone I don't even know to just keep working in a company who only wants me for my name," she mutters with indignance, and if Rosamund wants to keep her even after a fantastic display of attitude, then Cora would have serious doubts.
"Cora," Rosamund starts, and it's the first time she addresses Cora by name. She pitches forward and rubs her temple. "I understand that you're doubtful. I even understand your hesitation because that is reasonable, but if I'm being honest, it costs me much less to clean up the mess that is your visa than to mop up the possible damage if I let you get deported and our client becomes unhappy because you're being replaced. Them being unhappy is the best case scenario. If I saddle this project to someone else, I'm not just losing an architect here. I know you're aware how much your project is worth, and I'm certain you're aware of how much I'm going to lose."
Cora swallows. She understands very well and she nods. No matter what made them do so, they are fighting to keep her here. "I know," she murmurs. She looks up. She's not sure what to say.
Rosamund smirks. "I know that with your experience here, you don't even have to work here in this country. You can certainly just get a high paying, high position job in New York." Cora nods. That's a very real possibility. Rosamund looks Cora dead in the eye, "But do you really want to go back," is the question that she leaves her with.
.::.
Cora wants to go back.
She really, really wants to go back, turn away, and maybe never, ever step in this damn country ever again. She wishes she could turn back time, enroll to MIT which still would have put some distance between her and her mother, and just never let herself be enticed by the acceptance to the best architectural school. Fuck University College of London. Fuck London.
She looks at the man who is sitting in front of her and fidgets. She worries about her bottom lip and tries to calm herself down. Relax, relax, count sheeps, count one to one million.
No . None of it is working.
He — the man with intensely blue eyes and mouth pulled into a semi-permanent frown — is looking at her intently, making her stomach contract in many different ways and making her squirm. Rosamund and her husband – apparently, the man behind this brilliant plan – are both at the side, watching them. It's as if they're waiting for something to happen, and honestly...what? What the fuck is supposed to happen?
Cora's mind flashbacks to her first meeting with Rosamund about this stupid mistake she's made – the same man had been sitting on the couch, unmoving, silent, observing. They had not been introduced then, but they're introduced now. He's Rosamund's brother, the CEO of Downton Incorporated, which owned Downton Designs and a bunch of other businesses in Grantham.
Cora could kick herself. If only she had been on top of her visa game. She wouldn't be in this predicament. It feels like sailing close to the wind - it is - it is ultimately a deception to get to their goal, and it's wrong, dangerous, barely even legal.
"Robert? Cora?" Rosamund tries to break the silence, and Cora stops her foot tapping for a second to look at Rosamund.
Robert seems to tear his gaze away to look at his sister.
"I apologize," he says with a sardonic drawl, his voice deep and tone a little bit more than just a little puzzled. He sounded down right questioning, perhaps her sister's sanity? That's a good place to start. "Did you say you wanted me to pretend to be her husband?"
And yes, if he puts it that way, then that is essentially what this is.
A/N: Edited for errors (4/15)
