A/N: For new and returning readers, heads up in case if you don't remember this a REMAKE of my original story by the same title and same premise. Now for those who are returning you must be wondering why remake a story when I hadn't even finished it? The answer to that question, after rereading my work, I had written myself into a rut. Like it was 10 chapters and I still hadn't properly introduced the big bad and because I feel like left so many of my original ideas. Now in order to prevent the same thing from happening again I will be pacing myself better. Also I may not be able upload every two weeks like I had before, but I will make an effort to at least upload twice a month. With that said let's go!
There is nothing remarkable about the ballroom C of Magnolia's ritziest hotel, the Magnolia Bloomfield. The decorations were lackadaisical like every other fundraiser or charity gala held in Fiore. It was like the upper crust in the kingdom all used the same event planner, for their tax-deductible events. The walls were eggshell white, the tables adorned with silver tablecloths with a black table runner in the center, and the staff all dressed in black from head to toe with red bowties or ties as a splash color for their uniforms. Then there were the flower arrangements with exotic-looking flowers that were not native to the kingdom and were mostly uprooted from their flora to make a three-hour appearance only to be later thrown away in a large dumpster with all the other decorations. Lastly, the attendees were all dressed in a sea of pure black for the black-tie event.
She stands in the corner of the room, a glass of champagne in her right hand, and a look of boredom she hopes hasn't reached her eyes.
She lets out a small sigh.
"Long night?"
A man, most likely around her age, dressed in a black tux and white tie stands beside her. She supposes that if she were to see the man out of the ridiculous gaudy-looking tux, she would have thought he was handsome. But after sliding into her personal space and the smell of alcohol in his breath any kind of physical attraction quickly dissipates.
"I suppose." She takes a sip from her drink.
"And it just keeps getting longer as the hours pass," He smirks. "I don't understand the gist behind these sorts of events," he says coolly.
"Really?"
Her response of boredom is lost on him as he continues, "Well I do." He backtracks, "But I am the type of person who prefers to be in a place that creates an ambiance, a place where people get to know each other."
"And here I thought the best place to "get to know" someone was here at a gala for impoverished children of Fiore." Sarcasm is hidden in her tone.
He lets out an awkward chuckle, "To the children…I suppose." He raises his glass.
She tries her best not to roll her eyes as she raises her glass, "To the children."
"So, what brought you here tonight, aside from the children."
"A duty, I suppose." Hoping her tone of disinterest is enough for the buzzed man to take a hint.
"Ah, mingling. Or as we in business like to call it, social networking." He slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a small wallet, handing her a business card. "Feel free to keep it."
"Weston Ada," She reads. "Sales department head for Heartfilia Industries. Does that mean you work at the tower?"
"Sometimes," He humbly brags. "But my offices are located near the Heartfilia estate, you know in Acalypha Town, that's where the bigwigs do business."
"Really?" She takes a glance at her wristwatch and then to the stage. "But I thought all major businesses had moved to the Heartfilia Tower, except for certain subsidiaries that are to be sold off, of course."
"Of course," He downs his drink. "Between you and me, that's just hot gossip that old man Heartfilia sold to the public to make the Heartfilia Tower famous but in reality, it's not true."
"Do tell." She sees a woman with a high ponytail walk up the stage.
He gives her a quick look over. "Say you seem to be very smart, young, and very attractive" his eyes linger on her chest. "You look like you graduated…what three years ago, maybe?" He cockily raises an eyebrow, "Must be difficult working, so many hours, for so little pay. Then having to pay student loans and whatnot. I get it."
She turns to him. "You do?" Her interest peaked for the first time in the five minutes since he started to speak.
Weston nods. "Absolutely. I don't do this often but, hold onto my business card, and maybe." He shrugs his shoulder. "I can find you a job with the Heartfilia."
"You could do that? For me?"
"I know people and high places, not to mention I am the head of the financial department for the Heartfilia Industries. My job is to move the money. I have some influence in certain matters," he smirks. "Hell, with my power I could even put you on the front page of the magazine. Centerfold and all."
"On the cover of "The Source?" Her eyes go back to the stage.
"Sure can. Like I've said, I don't do this often," Weston, takes something out of his other pant pocket, a cell phone. "Here, give me your name and number and maybe we could start talking business once we're done here."
She looks at his business card and then at him, "I don't know."
He cockily grins, "Think it through."
She checks her watch. 8:25 p.m. "I will." She begins to walk away when she feels someone grab her hand.
"I'm sorry." Weston quickly apologizes. "This might be abrupt." He smooths his hair.
Had she been ten years younger and naïve, she would have fallen for his "nervous, down-to-earth act," hook, line, and sinker.
However, she was never naïve to begin with.
"And now to share a few words." The speaker says from the stage. "Everyone please put your hands together-."
Weston lets go of her hand, "I can't let you leave without you telling me your name."
On cue, Rena walks over to them. "It's time." She whispers.
"Thank you." She begins to walk away when she stops, looks over her shoulder, and says, "Rena, please hand the gentlemen, Mr. Ada, my business card."
"A big round of applause for the fashion editor of "The Source" and tonight's host-
Weston reads the card. "Lucy Heartfilia."
Lucy Heartfilia smirks as she hears the cocky man curse under his breath. And here I thought I was easily recognizable. Oh well, she thinks to herself as she climbs the stairs up the stage.
Not a second later, at nine in the morning sharp, the elevator announces its stop with a "ding," on the 17th floor.
"Good morning, Ms. Heartfilia." The floor's receptionist rises from her and greets her with a small bow.
Lucy Heartfilia acknowledges the sentiment with a nod.
Walking a few steps behind her is her secretary Rena, a mousy-looking woman with a green bobbed haircut, and a very noticeable limp.
Unbeknownst to her, Rena holds two fingers behind her back, signaling the receptionist to alert the workers behind the black doors of the tower's princess's arrival.
Spines straighten, lax behavior and casual conversations come to a halt as the sound of high heels begins to clack against the black marble floor.
First were the cubicle workers, who stood up from their desks and bowed. A right turn leads to a hallway where the leads of each department have their desks. Going past the glass panel doors are the executive offices. A small standard waiting room layout, with blood-red walls, black loveseats surrounding a glass coffee table, and a water dispenser in the corner of the room. Lastly, beyond the oak double doors is the secretary floor leading to four offices for each of the executives and a meeting room.
Closing her office door behind her, Lucy Heartfilia throws her purse onto the crème-colored chaise lounge chair and plops onto her desk chair, a sight that would make her etiquette teacher call her "uncouth."
Three weeks of sleeping less than three hours each night and caffeine running through her veins give her the literal shakes. She quickly balls her fists to keep her hands from shaking.
'Deep breaths,' She thinks to herself. 'Get through this day and tomorrow you shall know.' Just one more day till her father releases her from the hell that is waiting to know the results of his competition for editor of next month's magazine issue.
The phone on her desk rings, startling the blonde and releasing her from her thoughts. She sits up straight in her chair and takes a deep breath before she answers the phone.
"Hello, Ms. Lucy." Through the open blinds of her office windows, she can see Rena talking to her from her desk. "Last night I received an email and forgot to forward it to your inbox. I am sorry, but another shareholder meeting is scheduled held on the eighth floor at 3:15 pm, and your attendance is necessary."
She logs in to her computer and pulls up her email tab, a grin forms on her face, "Please let them know I will be there."
'This is my chance' Acting with decorum overcomes the urge to gleefully spin in her chair. 'I wonder who our big fish is?'
In the last three weeks Jude Heartfilia, CEO of Heartfilia Industries and as of six years ago the current Editor-in-Chief to Ishtar's number one fashion magazine, "The Source," a monthly fashion magazine, and Lucy's father has had the shareholders, including his daughter on the edge of seats.
"Before we close this meeting, I want to make an announcement." Her father says from the head of the table. "To begin with, as of now, I see a lack of progress in both Heartfilia Industries and our magazine. We are far from falling now, but who is to say that we won't within in weeks or daresay days."
Jude pauses, "As we know that nothing is permanent, I have thought of a way to counteract our lack of progress. With much consideration to everyone present, I want to announce that I will be selling stocks of Heartfilia Industries and "The Source" Magazine."
The shareholders begin talking amongst themselves.
If Lucy could get her hands on more magazine stock it would make a difference in her plans of becoming editor-in-chief in the future.
Jude looks around the room with an all-knowing smile, "Before getting excited there is a catch."
The room goes silent.
"Which brings me to the clause that I have implemented within the stocks," He checks his watch. "Any second now, you shall be receiving an email, providing all the information of the clause and its restrictions."
Like something from a movie, laptops, tablets, and phones begin vibrating or making notification sounds.
Not sparing a second, Lucy presses the refresh button on her tablet and reads the email.
"Lastly," He continues. "The number of stocks that are to be sold off or the amount will not be disclosed."
"What the hell is this, Jude?" Board member, Shuji, slams his hands on the table.
"Have you been fishing recently Shuji, it is—?"
"Cut the bull," Shuji retorts. "What do you mean "no one who owns stock in either company can buy stocks until a brand-new investor—."
"If you'd let me finish my fishing analogy, perhaps you would have understood better. Nevertheless, to put it into layman's terms, new investors get first pick."
"Jude. You're leaving us with the scraps—the crumbs?" Board member, Octavio adds.
"Suppose I am," Jude smirks. "What difference would it make if I give you a "crumb" as you've said when you have already accumulated a good amount of stock and have yet to prove what you bring to the company."
The man cursed him under his breath.
"If anyone else has any questions, comments, or concerns feel free to direct them to my secretary, with that said meeting adjourned." Jude walks out of the room, leaving the occupants in panic and anger.
She sighs.
If her father had a motto, it would be "competition is healthy for the mind and body."
Leave it to her father to make this into another one of his mind games.
Natsu Dragneel takes a seat at his usual spot near the window, that faces the door. The sun spreads its rays out warming him to his core as he sits in the air-conditioned room. His stomach grumbles, prompting him to bring out his convenience store sandwich from the plastic bag.
"Whatcha reading?" He says with a mouthful.
Mavis Vermillion smiles as she bookmarks her page, "Of Love and Laced Dreams."
She shows him the cover, causing him to choke on his sandwich. In the many years, he's known the petite-sized woman, he's never seen her read a romance novel, much less a raunchy one. The cover features a red bikini-wearing woman waist down as she straddles some guy in a black business suit with a blurred face.
She gives him a look, "Get your mind out of the gutter it's not what you think."
"The chick looks like she's giving him a lap dance," He swallows hard. "Didn't know you were into that kind of stuff."
Rolling her eyes playfully she puts the book down, "Believe it or not the book is about politicians."
He laughs, "Okay that makes more sense. But I mean out of all the pictures…."
"So, how have you been?"
He catches himself before his shoulders drop, faking a small smile. "Since the last three days that I saw you…good. Same old same old."
"What's wrong?"
"I," He lets his head fall into his hands. Can't look her in the eyes, knowing she would read him like one of her books. Natsu adjusts his position and sits up straight. "Just some stuff at work that I'm dealing with."
"Natsu."
He could hear her removing the heavily weighted covers off herself.
He balls his fists. "I'm fine." He gives her the biggest grin he can muster. "Just having to deal with a bunch of assholes."
"You broke a customer's nose!" His boss Bora scolds him. "Holy fuck. We're gonna get sued," he says under his breath.
"He was going too far," Natsu vehemently retorts. "He was trying to start something with her!"
"She's a fucking dancer, it comes with the job!"
"I was doing my job!" Natsu spits, jabbing his finger into the taller man's chest. "The same security job, you fuckin' hired me to do."
"No," Bora shoves him away, "Your job was to make sure that no fights start—not start one of your own." He crumples his cigarette with his finger, throwing it to the ground. "You— you caused a fucking problem that's what you did, you're fired!"
CLICK!
The sound throws him back to reality and he jumps from his seat, his eyes scanning his surroundings.
He turns to find the blond-haired woman opening the blue suitcase that rivals her in size. "Mavis!" Natsu runs to her side. "Don't!"
Natsu stops her hands, but she swats his hands away.
He takes three steps back.
"You don't want to tell me what's going on, that is fine." She coughs. "But I told you the second you start leaving me in the dark, I walk." Her legs wobble as her hand clutches to the suitcase handle, lowering herself to the ground. "It's time that I went home."
"Stop!"
"I," She puts a hand to her chest and takes a deep breath. "You promised me that you wouldn't hide anything from me again while I am —." She stops looking around the room with disdain. "Here."
"I'm telling you everything," With cautious and light steps he approaches her, carefully lifting her by her arm. "There's nothing left to say."
"Something is off—I could see it in your eyes," She cries. "I am tired of everyone treating me like I'm going—like I'm going to die," Her voice cracks. "I know that I already am. So…."
"Mavis." He facepalms. I'm such an idiot, I can't even control my face.
"I need to go, g—." Mavis falls to the ground. Her eyes roll to the back of her head. She coughs out giant clots of blood.
"Nurse!"
The doctor speaks, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he can't hear or feel anything. It didn't matter how many times this had happened before; it was something he couldn't or never wanted to get used to.
Walking past the doors of the medical facility always reminded him of how harsh reality was. Mavis was dying a slow, prolonged, and painful death and there was nothing he could do except provide her with the best attention he could afford. His salary was peanuts, but at least with the facilities' special payment plan, he was able to ensure she stayed comfortable for another week.
It was the least he could do.
"Promise me Natsu."
He kicks at a nearby recycling bin, sending the thing rolling down the small hill, its content spilling out forming a trail of trash. "SHIT!" He looks both ways hoping to not have been seen. He can't afford to get a ticket.
He begins to hastily clean up the trail of trash.
There's not a single can or bottle in sight that he can recycle and make a quick jewel.
He needs money.
He needs a job.
If only he hadn't screwed up his "security" job at the "Red Room." Sure, it was not family-friendly, and he had to toss out creepers on a nightly basis and Bora was an asshole, but as long as he kept his nose clean, it was okay for the most part.
Why did the chick have to choose Wendy for a stage name?
He knew it wasn't his cousin, but just the thought made him angry. On one hand, Natsu is glad he chose to defend her, the creep wasn't taking the hints, so out with the trash. On the other hand, maybe breaking the shitbag's nose was too much.
A man jogs past him, "Thank you for keeping our parks clean."
"Yeah." Natsu gives him a thumbs up. The irony of it all is not missed.
Something caught his eye, a black business card with gold letters.
"S-Class Security Services," He turns the card around, and a small handwritten message is on the back "Call Gildarts Clive for a job."
Could it be?
He pulls out his phone and calls the number on the card.
"S-Class Security Services, Gildarts Clive speaking."
"Gildarts!" Natsu smiles from ear to ear.
"Who is this?" He could hear the older man leaning back into his chair. "It sounds like it's either Natsu or Gray?"
A vein pops on the side of his forehead, "What the hell old man!"
"Natsu Dragneel." The red-headed man laughs. "How have you been kid, how'd you get this number? Only my clients have this number, unless—. You're not calling about the llama in the hot tub, are you?"
"Llama, hot tub? What are you talkin' about?"
He sighs in relief, "It's been…what fifteen years since I last saw you. Scrawny-looking sixteen-year-old playing baseball at Magnolia Field with the local kids."
The best time of my life. Things were so much simpler back then. "Yeah, good times."
"How are you doing, how's everybody doing, Erza and Gray?"
"I'm doing fine," He forces himself to say. "Everything is great, never better. Erza is a principal at the local high school and snow cone is doing some type of modeling I guess."
"What about you, did you manage to get into the boxing leagues?"
If only. "I wish," He tries to mask the disappointment in his voice. "Guess my right hook wasn't as good as everyone thought," He lets out a small laugh. "What have you been up to coach?"
"Aside from aging like a fine wine, nothing much." Gildarts laughs. "I started my own private Security Services, wanted something to keep me grounded and near my Cana while having the excuse to get out of the office now and then."
This was the perfect segue he'd been looking for, "Really?"
"And I get paid good money to knock some teeth in here and there," Natsu could already imagine Gildarts doing some shadowboxing. "I think it'd be the kind of job you'd be into."
"You said good money, right?"
"Really good money. I send my guys to different places, some for specific clients, and some for agencies. You interested?"
"Sounds like a nice gig,"
"Are you still in Magnolia?"
He nods, "Yeah."
"That's good to hear. Listen, kid, I got another call on the line, some yappy customer chick that I gotta deal with. But if you're interested in a job, I'll transfer you to my secretary and she'll set you up with a meeting, then we'll see how things go. Sound good?"
"Yeah, it does." Natsu throws the last piece of trash into the bin, making a basket.
"All right then see you soon."
"Lucy."
Her father calls on her as she is close to exiting the meeting room. She turns on her heel and walks towards him.
"I have someone I would like for you to meet; this is the man of the hour, Ignia Spriggan Chief Operating Officer of Spriggan Pharmaceuticals, our newest investor and board member."
He's of average height, dressed in an all-black suit, and his hair is spiked with a unique color of red-orange, that looks like an open flame when hit at a certain angle by the light coming through the windows. Then there were gold eyes that made her do a double take.
"A pleasure to meet you Mr. Spriggan." She extends her hand.
"I believe the pleasure is all mine." He smirks, shaking her hand. "And please Ms. Heartfilia, just Ignia is fine."
She returns his smirk with one of her own, "Very well then. Though I do have to ask why is it that you a man of science, is keen on investing in technology and a women's fashion magazine."
"This might surprise you Ms. Heartfilia—."
"Lucy." She corrects.
"Lucy," He repeats. "I have many interests outside of medicine."
"Really. Do tell?"
He pulls her by her hand into his chest. "I can, over lunch. It's a long list of interests."
She places a palm on his chest. "Okay."
Her father clears his throat, making the two of them take a step back from each other with embarrassed faces.
"I understand that you two are in the "honeymoon" phase of your relationship, but please have some decorum when in the workplace."
They both nod.
"Excuse us Mr. Heartfilia." Ignia takes her hand in his and walks out of the office.
"Kids," Jude says under his breath, a small smile forming on his lips.
"I wish you would have told me you were going to invest—."
"I wanted to, but your father insisted that I should go through the proper channels, so it doesn't look like he's favoring his daughter's boyfriend."
"Boyfriend?" She stops, her heart pounding in her ears. She squeezes his hand as they continue walking, "I thought you weren't one for labels Mr. Spriggan."
"I am when I am seeing an heiress."
Her smile falters.
"We should get going, I have lunch reservations at our favorite place," He smiles. "You okay there Lucy?"
She nods, "I'm fine."
What was that?
The first thing he sees after waking up is the digital wall clock above the television, it reads 5:30 am.
He closes his eyes and sits up on the sofa bed, stretches his arms and back, takes the blanket off himself, puts on his boots, and makes the bed.
At 5:40 am after folding the sofa bed into position. He kneels on the floor and begins doing his daily routine of one hundred push-ups and sit-ups.
By the time it's 5:50 am, he takes his ten-minute shower, his eyes never leaving the bathroom door. One minute ahead of his schedule, he brushes his teeth and spits into the toilet instead of the sink.
When it is 6:05 am he is dressed for the day and is standing in front of the stove frying an egg while taking the slice of toast out of the toaster. Once done with his breakfast, he washes his dish and puts it away, locking the cupboard behind him.
Something catches his attention making his spine straighten, his stomach drops to his feet and his breathing turns quiet. A gurgling noise coming from inside of the bathroom.
He grabs a plastic knife from the top of the fridge and balls his fist, as he takes careful steps towards the bathroom.
He knocks three times on the door.
No response.
He swallows hard and kicks the door open. He dashes towards the shower, yanking the shower curtain hard with a squealing sound.
Nothing.
Everything is still perfectly in place. He turns, keeping his body turned to the door as his eyes scan the room.
The noise repeats itself.
The toilet tank.
He breathes a small sigh of relief, stuffing the plastic knife into his pants pocket.
Thirteen months since he was released, and a normal— peaceful life was still out of reach.
Time has stopped.
The only sound in the room came from the man sitting behind the desk as he skimmed through the pages of the mockup magazine.
Each second that passed made Lucy even more nervous than before. Her heart beating in her ears, her fists clenched from holding in her nerves, a shiver that ran up and down her spine, and a knot in her stomach. Yet, the blonde fashion editor's outward appearance seemed calm, collected, and composed.
To her right sits, her fellow co-fashion editor, Irene Belserion who exudes discipline, coolly she crosses her arms with an expressionless face to match.
Her father finishes reading, placing the mockup magazine on his desk.
Maybe it was a pause for effect, but he looked between the two women that sat before him, studying their different faces, "Lucy gets September's publication. Congratulations."
She restrains herself from jumping out of her seat. "Thank you."
"Congratulations, Lucy." Irene hides her look of discontent with a small smirk. If eyes could speak Lucy would've self-combust in her seat, "I shall take my leave." She excuses herself and exits the office.
Waiting till the two are alone, she smiles. "Thank you, fa—Sir." She clasps her hands together, trying to retain the mock composure she had before. "For giving me this opportunity, I won't let you down."
Jude leans into his desk, "May I remind you that although you are my daughter, I do not condone nepotism of any kind, not only is it unbecoming but insulting to everyone here." He looks both ways and smiles, "However, as your father, I was very impressed, especially with your recent piece for the magazine. I look forward to seeing great things from you."
"Thank you, Father." She whispers back.
He clears his throat. "Lucy," Her father stops her before she reaches for the door. "I hope you haven't forgotten that tonight we're to attend the DeCarte's annual charity gala."
The third event of the week. "Of course not." She feigns a smile.
"Very well then I will pick you up at seven."
She closes the door behind her, and looks around, noticing that there's no one in sight, she relaxes her shoulders. Lucy lets a small whoop with her fist in the air. Those three weeks of late nights and no sleep had finally paid off.
Echoes of heels clicking against the floor, makes her stop and compose herself.
Lucy walks down the hall to her office, six-inch heels clacking against the marble floor.
Seeing the blonde fashion editor coming her way, an intern stops dead in her tracks, "Good morning Ms. Heartfilia," She greets. "I—I mean afternoon." The poor girl looks like she wants the floor to swallow her up.
She smiles politely, as she continues to make her way to her office.
Her phone vibrates in her purse, she takes it out and it reads, "Magnolia City Hall." Knowing her father this site was what sold her father on her magazine mockup. Now all she needed to do was secure the location. Hopefully, this is about City Hall permitting them to have a photo shoot on the Magnolia Bridge.
To make this possible, she'll have to have Rena screen the calls or reschedule meeting dates till she gets this done.
"Rena, I need you..." She looks up from her phone. "To…."
Her green-haired assistant was not at her desk or in sight. The very visible pink bunny-eared cellphone case lies on her disheveled desk. Pens and notebooks are on the floor, with Rena's nameplate hanging by the edge of her desk.
"Where could she-."
CLASH!
The sound of shattered glass comes from one of the offices.
She feels a shiver run down her spine.
Doubt comes crashing down like an anchor to the sea, "No." She didn't want to think—to believe that history was repeating itself. "Oh no," She turns the corner and stops before the office door, "Please let me be wrong."
Lucy grabs the door handle and turns it, opening just a sliver.
A moan escapes the room.
Her face turns red.
Dressed in just a pair of grey boxer briefs, Advertising Director, Loke Lion grinds into Lucy's green-haired assistant back. Equally dressed or in this case, dressed down to a purple matching bra and panties set, the woman lets out a breathy moan, as they both white knuckle grip the sides of his desk.
Loke is grunting into her shoulder blade, his hand sliding down her back till it reaches the side of Rena's panty. Slowly he begins to pull down—
"Loke!" Lucy shouts.
"…he should be fired!" She growls as she paces in her office, her hands starting to ball up into fists, while Lucy's friend and writer for the magazine, Levy McGarden, eats a piece of mango from her fruit cup.
"This is the fifth time Levy. Not one, not two, three or four, but five!" She counts with her fingers. "How many times does a man have to have—have…intercourse in the workplace before they are fired?" She slams her hand on the desk, making her yelp in pain from her stupid action.
Levy stifles a small laugh, trying not to choke on the piece of fruit she threw into her mouth. "I'm sorry Lu."
"Of course, my father won't fire him because "he's exceptionally talented at his job, and that advertisement and corporate sponsors love him," Father's word, not mine," She sighs. Gods knew if the roles were reversed her father would fire her in a heartbeat and probably send her off to who knows where.
"Can't you talk to H. R?"
"The worker's handbook doesn't have much of a policy against colleagues dating, you need just to report it to Human Resources. However, Irene and I are not allowed to date any of our co-workers due to our positions in the company as we are supposed to stay impartial and retain the highest degree of professionalism."
"And Loke?"
She rolls her eyes. "I don't know Levy. Maybe it's due to him not interacting directly with others aside from his assistant that he could somehow be the exception to those rules." Though she wouldn't be surprised if he negotiated some kind of dating leeway into his contract. She had to admit he had a way with words.
Levy laughs. "Maybe you tell H. R to hire someone who is old and unattractive."
"Yes, we will do exactly that, stop hiring attractive women who may be capable of their job because the advertising director is uh—" A... She couldn't think of a word without it being vulgar. She pinches the bridge of her nose. "…I thought of it, believe me."
"Well, at least he isn't hitting on you as frequently." Levy optimistically adds.
Lucy makes a swatting motion, "He still does, but I ignore him by treating him like a pesky and annoying mosquito." She takes a seat at her desk and begins jotting down notes. "Loke aside, I have many things I need to do, like getting started on September's publication. There's also the meeting with the writers. I should talk to Reedus about the color scheme for fall.
"Word on the street is that the Mr. Dark and Mysterious man that you are seeing has become a new investor—."
"A model from the upcoming fashion show has to be in September's issue." Levy's comment fell on deaf ears. "If only City Hall would respond faster…no, maybe I should send—I have no assistant." Lucy face palms.
Rena was her best assistant and the one who lasted the longest at four months. Not only was she professional and kind, but at some point, Lucy was starting to consider the green-haired woman her friend.
"Loke." She growls.
It wasn't like she was against workplace relationships; she just didn't like what followed afterward and how it interfered with the environment. Especially what happened between her first assistant and "The Source" magazine's resident playboy. To this day she flinches when she hears the sound of the paper shredder.
"How does it feel knowing you'll be able to work—."
"On the bright side, while Loke is "suspended" I get to have Aries as my assistant." If only she could keep his assistant for good. With the way things have been going, it would be a fitting compensation.
A few days later.
Cana Alberona is not and will never be a morning person.
So, when she receives a phone call promptly at 7:00 am, she curses whoever disrupts her sleep to the seven winds.
If it was her father again, she was going to send him straight to voicemail and then block his number…again.
She could already imagine her father's call, "Hey Cana, it's me, papa," The red-haired man would smile. "I am at (insert location) and I thought I would call you to see how my special little girl is doing today."
She is thirty-three and a habitual drinker.
"I hope you are doing well, and whenever you need something—anything your old man is here for you. Whatever time or hour. Anyway, I'll let you get on with your day. Have a good one, eat your veggies and all," He would laugh at his joke. "I'll call you tomorrow, darling."
Rather than seeing her father's picture on the screen, it was her co-worker, Kagura Mikazuchi. Regardless, whoever it is, she wants to bash their head for waking her up this early at this ungodly time.
"What do you want?" Cana yawns.
"Cana," Kagura says in a low raspy voice. "I know this is the very last minute, but I'm calling to inform you that I will not be coming into the office today."
Cana tucks the phone under her pillow, "Fuck." she says under her breath.
"I think I ate something that upset my stomach and I am very nauseous."
Cana facepalms, so much for calling out herself and sleeping in. "Alright."
"Also, I know you hate conducting interviews, unfortunately, I scheduled the interviews to take place today, so they will be coming in for positions that need to be filled as soon as possible."
"Okay."
"Lastly."
Cana groans into her pillow.
"You will also need to file another incident report for Loke Lion, he will be coming into the office today to sign some paperwork?"
"Anything else?" She hadn't even started, and she could already feel her head starting to hurt and her back muscles starting to tense up.
"I believe that is all for—." Kagura hurls into what sounds like a toilet.
Not wanting to hear the other woman spill her literal guts on the phone, she abruptly says, "Okay then, feel better and whatnot."
Ten minutes into her work her headache became worse. She was contemplating throwing her work cell phone against the wall because the damned thing wouldn't stop vibrating on her desk. Then there was Kagura who when she was not seeing her dinner make a reappearance was texting her every fucking five minutes.
Even when sick her fellow Human Resources co-worker was still efficient. Too efficient. Not even her morning Iced Irish Coffee could put her in a good mood.
"Shut up!" She chucks the insufferable thing into her desk drawer and slams it shut for good measure.
It continues vibrating.
A knock on her door makes her drop her forehead onto her desk, "Door is open."
"Uhh, good morning."
A man?
Not rare, yet not exactly common in her workplace.
She looks up quickly, her sight blurred. She presses her fingers to her temples.
"Cana?"
She closes her eyes, hoping that it stops the room from spinning.
"You, okay?"
She opens her eyes slowly finding a familiar-looking pink-haired man standing in front of her, a look of visible concern on his face.
She only knew one guy with pink hair, but it had been years since she last saw him, "Natsu Dragneel?"
"Hi." His voice echoes in her head, as he grins.
"Lower your voice will you."
"You look bad," He wrinkles his nose, "and you smell like cheap booze."
No tact, it is Natsu Dragneel.
"What the hell are you doing here?" She closed her eyes to shield herself from his bright pink hair.
"I'm here for a job."
"Great," She groans. "I take it you're my 9:20?"
He takes a seat, "Yup I—."
"Save it." She cuts him off. "You may not know this but before you came in foryour interview at the worst, I was supposed to come at one in the afternoon. I was going to work a half day. Meaning that instead of my regular eight hours, I was going to work for four hours.
"I didn't—."
"I'm not done talking." She smiles, though her eyes are shooting daggers at him. "Instead, I am here. At nine in the morning. Why would you schedule an interview for nine in the morning?
"I'm sorry," He scratches the back of his neck. "If this is a bad time, should I come back…?"
Too late for that asshole. "No. You're already here." And you already woke me up.
"Okay."
He hands her a black folder, the kind that is sold at the one thousand jewel store, cheap and seconds from falling apart.
Usually, the people who came in for an interview came in with imported leather briefcases or leather binders that reek of "old money and nepotism." There were a few stragglers, but it was very rare to see them make it this far into the tower.
As long as she knew Natsu Dragneel he didn't fit the straggler category, much less being of old money. Then there were the clothes he had most likely chosen to come to the interview. God, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Sure, he has a white dress shirt on, but it was wrinkled and not in the "I have been wearing it all day," more like "I rolled it up into a ball a long time ago and just remember I had one." The obvious black clip-on tie. Wasn't the point of a clip-on, not to know that it is a clip-on? Black jeans, that on a good day could pass for dress pants. The worst offender though was the black boots. She didn't consider herself a fashionista like her co-workers, yet even she could tell it was bad.
"Let's get this over with," she says under her breath with a frown.
Having to ask questions and hear the answers is a very mind-numbing process. Damn, Kagura and her flu.
If only she had someone good-looking, at least it would make this manageable. Natsu is cute, but after knowing him for years, she can't think of him any other way than as the annoying kid brother that you purposely leave at the park and hope a pack of wolves raise him.
"Cana, Cana." He waves his hand in front of her. "Ya there!"
"What!" Why does he have to be so loud?
"You've zoned out. Again."
She looks at the documents, "Sign and date."
"I finished five minutes ago."
"Shit," She sighs. This is so exhausting. I am so tired. "You know what let's make a deal, I pretend that I read you all the necessary documents, yada, yada, reviewed your resume" She furrows her eyebrows towards the stacks of paper, wishing they could self-combust. "And then you sign, initial, and date the pages and we move on with the rest of our horrible lives."
"What about the interview," He asks. "Aren't ya gonna ask what position I'm going—."
"We aren't hiring pyromaniacs at the moment."
"Security." He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, "I spoke to Gildarts and—."
She cringes at hearing her father's name. And that's another thing that makes her head want to explode.
This must be another ploy of his, to get closer to her. They were already neighbors in the same building, how much closer does he want to get?
"Security." She repeats, downing her coffee. "I'll put you into security."
"So, no interview, no background checks—."
The ice in her coffee gives her a brain freeze, and Natsu not shutting up makes it worse by the second. "Do you want the job or not!"
"I do but—."
This guy can't take a hint. She slams her hands on her desk, "Then shut up and don't make me repeat myself. Okay?"
He gives her a thumbs up.
"Good now sign the documents and wake me up when you're done filling out the papers, Till then no talking." She pushes the pile of papers toward him. "Enjoy." Cana lies her head down on her desk falling asleep in seconds.
Just like before, Cana wakes up, this time by the sound knocking on her desk. She feels the vibration in her temple and its sound echoes in her head.
"Cana!"
She grabs his wrist and clenches her jaw, "I'm awake."
Cana releases his wrist.
He grins, crossing his arms. "That was a lot of paperwork, like a lot. I thought I was never gonna finish…."
She sends him a look, hoping he will take a hint. Why is he still talking? I think I'm going to be sick. No. Being hungover is not real, it's a state of mind. She repeats her mantra.
"And that's why I don't drink during the day." He laughs to himself.
"Natsu." She says dryly. "Congratulations you got the job."
"That's it."
She nods, feeling her breakfast, wanting to make a reappearance. She holds her stomach.
"Okay," He stuffs his hands in his pocket. " Cool. Awesome. I'm all fired up now!"
"Lower your voice!" She snaps.
"Sorry," He grins. "I'll get going then."
Seeing the pink-haired man leave her office, makes her sigh of relief. I don't want to be here right now. Maybe if I throw up, I could go home? She looks at the pile in front of her. "And I still have to submit this monster of a packet." Looking at the pile, she was very tempted to end it all and throw it into the shredder.
Better yet, spill coffee on it then set it on fire.
No.
Even if she found Natsu annoying, he was an okay guy.
Damn her and her sober consciousness.
Then again Kagura does owe me one. Cana is after all going to be conducting interviews all day. The least Kagura can do is submit the paperwork. It's a win-win situation.
An email pops up on her computer, she lazily opens it, feeling her eyes open and close as she reads the email.
"Looks like the princess needs a new secretary," She snorts. What was it… the third this year?
"Okay." She chugs down the rest of her coffee, feeling the caffeine kick in. What was I doing again…. Oh right. Scribbling a quick note for her co-worker she puts the sticky note on top of Natsu's mountain-like packet, grabs the accursed thing, and lets it fall with a thud onto Kagura's desk.
"Now you can deal with it."
Mornings in Upper Magnolia were lively, streets filled with pedestrians walking on the sidewalk to or from work, the tempting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods from local bakeries, and cars of all kinds filled the streets to the brim with skyscrapers towering the city, and in the center of it all was the Heartfilia Tower, home to the richest and most powerful companies in all of Fiore. Crocus may be the capital, but it had nothing on Upper Magnolia.
"Ms. Lucy, we've arrived," Her chauffeur Taurus opens the door. "And must I say you look utter-ingly beautiful today?" His eyes solely focused on her cleavage.
She snaps her fingers in front of his face and motions him to look up at her face. And to say that she was wearing a turtleneck as opposed to her more revealing tops, "Thank you Taurus."
"The pleasure is all mine." He winks and drives away.
She waves him off.
Her phone rings.
"Hel—."
Someone bumps into her back.
A man dressed in all
black takes her purse and starts running.
"Hey!" She starts running, her high-heeled boot making clacking sounds against the pavement. Damn, these super cute knee-high stiletto boots. When planning her outfit in the morning, chasing down a purse snatcher was not on her to-do list. "Thief!" She shouts. Through the corner of her eyes, she can see a crowd form, standing and staring at her. One man takes out his phone and begins filming.
"Police!" A little old lady yells. "Thief."
At least one person is trying to help.
She sees two police officers leaning against their squad car. A gush of wind passes on her right side…no a person. Like something out of a movie, a man with a red motorcycle helmet, passes her by, on the heels of her purse snatcher.
The thief throws a trashcan down. Red helmet man leaps over the trashcan, flipping in mid-air and rolling onto his back. Getting closer to the robber, the red helmet man jumps up delivering a roundhouse kick to the back of the thief's head. The purse snatcher falls unceremoniously onto his face. The helmet man picks up her purse from the floor.
Waiting till she catches up he hands it to her. "Here you go." He lifts the face shield of his helmet, and the only thing visible is his beautiful dark green- almost black eyes.
Her breath catches up to her, "T-thank you." She swallows hard, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes begin to scan his form. Average height but is surprisingly bulky from the way the black tank top inside of the distressed or vintage-looking black leather jacket outlines the muscles on his chest. The fashionista within her wanted to cry out, her eyes taking in his old, unaesthetic-looking ripped black jeans and the overly scuffed leather combat ankle boots on his feet. He was a walking fashion faux pa.
Though the helmet covered his mouth, she could tell he was smiling at her through his eyes.
"You're welc—"
A police officer tackles the red-helmet man to the ground. "Freeze." You're under arrest—."
The color drowns from her face.
"What the hel—." The officer, a lanky man with a man bun, handcuffs red helmet guy. Pinning him to the ground with his knee on his neck. Another officer, one who was surprisingly big, quickly catches up to them.
"Good job Jet," The black-haired cop pants in between breaths as he kneels next to his partner. "Let's see who we got here." He removes the helmet. "Dragneel?"
Pink spiked hair. Sweat mused bangs sticking to his forehead. Tan skin that disappears into his jacket and a scar on his right cheek, with a white scaly-looking muffler around his neck.
She felt her cheeks become warm all of a sudden.
Oh.
"I didn't do anything." Her hero growls.
"Yeah right, we saw ya running with the purse Dragneel," The officer named Jet tightens the cuffs. "You're coming with—."
This can't be happening.
"Wait!" All eyes fell on her.
"He's not the thief. That man is." She points to the unconscious man lying on the floor a couple of inches away from the man named Dragneel.
"Him?" The officer named Jet points to her the purse snatcher.
"Yes. Him." She reiterates.
"You sure?" He looks between the two men on the ground.
She crosses her arms. "Positive."
"Okay then," Officer Jet shrugs and takes the handcuff off the man wearing a red helmet. "You're a…free to go…I guess."
"Geez." Dragneel dusts himself off.
"Let's uhhh…get this guy to…the department Droy," Officer Jet scratches at the back of his neck. "Dragneel. Ma'am." He awkwardly bows his head and walks off with his partner.
"Those two are still idiots," he says under his breath.
"Thank you by the way—."
"Don't mention it," He gives her a fang-flashing smile. "And thanks for uhh…." He combs his hair with his hand. "With the officers and…the you—"
"Yeah."
"Dragneel!" Officer Jet stomps across the street, "Move your bike!"
Dragged back and out of her little world she realizes all the cars honking at an old-looking black motorcycle left lying in the middle of the road.
"I should…." He motions with his thumb.
She nods.
He picks up his helmet from the ground, and runs, giving her an over-the-shoulder wave of goodbye.
Dragneel.