1. Pouring her coffee

Oliver Warbucks frowned at the sheet of figures in front of him. Mathematics had some basic laws that couldn't be broken, and yet he felt sure that there must be a way to make these numbers work. To make this project viable. It wasn't as though he was short on resources, after all! It would just be a matter of shuffling those resources around, and perhaps calling in a few favors. He felt they had actually been quite close to a breakthrough the night before, when they had turned in at one in the morning. It was nine A.M. now.

He put the sheet down again, and rubbed his eyes. It was as he was reaching for his coffee cup that his eyes caught on Miss Farrell. Sitting across the desk from him, she was copying out a letter he'd dictated. And if he felt tired, she looked exhausted. Not disheveled – Miss Farrell never looked anything but neat and nicely put-together – but simply worn out. There were shadows under her eyes, and her usual air of competence and composure seemed to be flagging. While Oliver watched her, she accidentally blotted her copywork, and gave a frustrated little huff.
"Oh…drat!" Miss Farrell murmured, under her breath. Mild though it was – and actually quite charming, if he was honest with himself – Oliver reflected that he'd never heard her use anything even close to an expletive before. That helped him make up his mind.

Discreetly, he pressed the button on his desk that would ring a bell downstairs for Saunders. Barely a minute later, his manservant appeared.
"A fresh pot of coffee, Saunders," he instructed.

When the man came back carrying a silver coffee pot and fresh cups, he made to pour a cup for his employer as usual. But Oliver put a hand out to prevent this, and sent Saunders on his way.

He poured the coffee himself, the rich warm smell of it filling the office in a comforting way. He then leaned across his desk and held the cup and saucer out to his secretary.
"Miss Farrell?"
"Yes sir, I'm nearly…done…"
She looked up from her letter, in expectation of a new task. What she had clearly not expected was to see her employer extending her a cup of coffee and a thoughtful look. Miss Farrell blinked at the cup in amazement.
"Oh…thank you, sir. But…isn't that for you?"
"I am quite sufficiently caffeinated for the moment, Miss Farrell. I think you need this more than I do."
"Thank you…" she repeated, rather dazedly, with a little smile. Oliver couldn't tell whether she was bewildered, or embarrassed, or simply pleased. It occurred to him that his secretary really shouldn't be this shocked to receive a bit of consideration. Was he usually so thoughtless?

Oliver looked away as she took her first sip, shuffling the papers on his desk. When he spoke, it was in a calm and steady voice that brooked no opposition.

"At ten o'clock, Miss Farrell, you will be finishing up for the day. Take what remains of the day as leave. You have plenty accrued."
She looked truly horrified. "But sir! The deadline, and-"
"I will manage, Miss Farrell. This is not, in fact, a suggestion: I insist that you get some rest."
His secretary's brow creased, a fretful look coming over her face.
"If the quality of my work has declined, sir, I-"
Oliver shook his head, feeling a mixture of exasperation and…yes, fondness come over him at her characteristic diligence.

"I do not doubt your ability, Miss Farrell, not one bit. But I would doubt my own good sense if I allowed my most valuable employee to work herself ill."

That was apparently enough to render Miss Farrell speechless. Her blue eyes were wide, and unless Oliver was seeing things, she was actually beginning to blush. Again, it occurred to Oliver that she really shouldn't have been so surprised. Did she not know he valued her so highly? Was he so inscrutable? So ungenerous with his compliments? He probably complimented her five times a day inside his head, Lord knew – but that did little good if she had no idea of the fact.

She was fiddling with her notepad, looking down at it.

"Well…sir, if you insist…"
"I do. Finish your coffee, and those two letters, and then the rest of the day is your own. I'll want you back – energized – bright and early tomorrow morning, to run the numbers from Pennsylvania."
Miss Farrell's smile at that was eager, and gratified, and damn near radiant. "Yes, sir."
Good Lord, she was worth ten other secretaries put together.

When she departed, and he was left alone with his work, Oliver noticed himself feeling quite unreasonably satisfied. It was the kind of feeling he usually had when he had just taken care of some financial or logistical problem. He realized, after a few more seconds, that the reason he was feeling so foolishly satisfied was because he had taken care of her. And that felt better than anything.

Oliver Warbucks didn't often make allowances for himself. He didn't like to waste time. He worked hard, staying up all hours, and only let himself rest when he was really seriously ill. It had gotten him to where he was today. Therefore, he was surprised how good it felt to show someone else the kind of gentleness he would never offer himself.

He smiled to think of Miss Farrell, at that very moment, retreating to her rooms. Taking off those treacherous-looking heels she wore, and letting the tension ease from her shoulders, and allowing herself some proper sleep. Of course, he wouldn't go so far as to actually think about Miss Farrell unpinning her hair…or rolling down her silk stockings, before falling into bed. (Although the image did occur, for one brief and quickly-banished instant.)

Oliver shook his head. Perhaps he needed more sleep, to be having such inexplicable thoughts. But no, he would push through. And anything he hadn't resolved by the end of day, he and Miss Farrell could tackle together the next morning. They were, after all, a winning pair.