sundown | FRABLE

FRABLE | CEO AU

[Nathan has a reputation, like most men in his position. He's ruthless, he's strategic, he makes risky moves and he fucks his assistants. They rarely leave on bad terms. Normally it's a promotion that takes them away from him. He likes to build them up and set them free.

It's how his executive officer won her position. They don't fuck anymore. She's married now, those days are in the past. All that's left of that relationship is an unwavering loyalty and a very careful approach to how she staffs his office. Thus far, she's been incredibly adept at securing women who are ambitious, clever, productive and very interested in casual sex. It's all he has time for, so in his view it makes sense to combine the role of assistant and fuck-buddy. So long as he's only furthering their career and not dragging them down with his proclivities.

What he has yet to realise is that he doesn't have as good a sense for it as his E.O does. Increasingly, he's interested in women who are harder to win over. Increasingly, his interviews are about grilling girls to see how they respond. He's a lawsuit waiting to happen, so he's been quietly left out of the process the last few times. Perhaps that's why the position is open once more.

He's not supposed to be in the office for this round, so both he and his E.O share a confused look as he strides past unfamiliar, nervous women. He quickly evaluates the situation, then the girls. Then he's taking his E.O's notebook from her and reading it. He disregards the running order, he beckons for the pale girl with the long legs.]

You're up.

[He holds open the door of his office for her. He'll shut it before the E.O can join them.]

What's your name?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The silence is a weight on her chest while he reads over something, her hands in her lap.

She begins to smile when he reaches across the desk. His hand does engulf hers. His palm is decorated callouses; hers is soft. She notices.

Francesca blinks, further thrown by the query, but forces herself to roll with the punches. ]

Sorry, my hair ... ? Erm. Yes.

[ Her brow is lined by a furrow, baffled, the same hand he shook reaching to brush a lock behind her ear. It's enough to make her self conscious, at a loss as to what he's doing.

Maybe he's trying to ease her in by small talk. She hates small talk, which prompts her to lightly clear her throat. ]

I know I lack experience in this industry, but you will find I am a quick learner.

[He finds her interesting already. She's discreetly self-conscious and she doesn't take the question as a compliment. Someone else might giggle, might get annoyed. She's bold, she cuts through to make her point.

Even so, he immediately looks bored when they shift into typical interview talk. His eyes shift back to her CV, not looking up at her when he speaks.]

Why do you want it? The experience. [His eyes dart up to her, searching without furrowing his brow.]

Normally I wouldn't ask, since it's usually the same answer. Money. Influence. You've already got both, so why?

[ Francesca isn't aware, yet, that she's being interviewed on her fuckability. On that score she's oblivious. Naive. The world of dating and romance has always been one she navigated uneasily and almost unwillingly.

She does note the beginnings of boredom to his expression. There comes both panic that she's losing him already, and the sense of being uncomfortable when he picks at something that is ultimately personal to her.

A breath escapes her. She looks down when he looks up; she hates eye contact as much as she hates small talk. Maybe more.

Considers just saying something, anything. But she doesn't. Ultimately, she makes the choice of being forthright with him. It usually works in her favor. ]

I have something to prove. [ Her hands have begun to move in her lap, twisting a band on her ring finger, the light catching a diamond so that it glints. She glances up. ]

To myself. Not to you, or anyone else, for that matter.

[He immediately clocks the glint and its source. A ring. That's a shame. His eyes briefly start to wander to the door but, unfortunately, he still finds her very captivating.

And it looks like it's just an engagement ring. At her age, he doesn't feel that's a strong indicator of anything other than caving to societal norms.]

Well, I hate to break it to you, but not having industry experience isn't really an issue in this role. [What he's saying should be encouraging, but he delivers it as if he's letting her down. Almost.]

It's not the industry you need to know, it's me. And if you want to prove anything, to anyone, right now-- it's me.

[He raps his knuckles on the desk, for emphasis.]

But I'm interested, so, elaborate on that.

[ Oh. Well. He's not wrong, but her mouth twitches and she has the sudden urge to make a face. It might be attributed to simple brutal honesty, given the nature of the role she's interviewing for, but she detects a hint of self-importance. And difficulty. She's been around enough of that genre of person. She might have become so herself, but seven siblings keeps you unsurprisingly grounded. ]

Well. I don't want you to hire me based off of my family name or my money. I'm not responsible for either. Only my own academic and professional achievements.

[ She frowns. ]

Is that sufficient?

[He is self-important. He's known for a long time that he's got big things in his future, beyond what he has now. Something like intuition, or a sixth sense. He's good at predicting outcomes and he feels someday, somewhere, she'll be receptive to him and they'll fuck. And it'll be good. The idea really tantalises him, enough to overlook the ring, the lack of experience and the faces she pulls and doesn't seem to notice. She's very cute.

Increasingly, he looks taken with her. As if complying with her wish, his eyes scan down the page to her existing achievements.]

Moving from the arts to this seems like a leap.

[It's a very neutral remark, he doesn't sound sceptical. Just curious.]

Is that part of what you're proving? You're not a one-trick pony?

Was that an intentional horse pun?

[ She looks amused rather than discomfited and vexed by the prodding about her ambitions, as she did earlier without her knowledge. It's the first time she seems to relax an ounce, as if sensing he's warming to the possibility of her in kind. Maybe that's why she makes such a bold move. Strategic, if you will. ]

Perhaps. I suppose you will have to hire me for the full answer.

[Nathan briefly looks confused, then huffs out a soft laugh at her question.]

No. I don't make puns. [This is a trap and he will trick her in the future with it. He feels like she'd fire up if someone teased her, so he intends on it. Once he's eased her in.]

How soon can you start? Positions open. Needs filling.

[ Oh. It worked. She wasn't entirely sure it would work. Actually, she rather doubted it would. She's unsure how much he favors boldness. Seems like he appreciates it, if not puns.

She sits a little taller, her chin lifts a little higher, hands smoothing over her lap. ]

Tomorrow works for me.

[Tomorrow it is.

She's there before him, he looks at her from her feet to her eyes. Taking in her outfit, her perfume. But he's not a complete dog, so he doesn't ogle her any further.

Over the next few weeks, he's more subtle. Little looks, little smiles. Remarks that are a little vague, up for interpretation. He pays special attention to her. He listens to her, he asks about her. He's particular, but he's not rude about it. His praise isn't always overt, but it's there. He seems to enjoy teaching her.

But sometimes he oversteps. Sometimes the comments aren't subtle, it's only her visible discomfort that makes him reel it back in.

They seem to be on the wrong foot with each other lately. Something is different for her, because nothing has changed for him. He's not above using good timing to his advantage. When he gets good news about something they've worked on together he immediately uses it to spend some time alone with her. Everyone else has gone home, the rest of the office is dark. Just the two of them in his office.

When the call ends, he stands up from his chair to stretch and walk toward his drink cabinet. He holds up a glass, raising an eyebrow.]

You've earned it.

[ Fran isn't a complete stranger to male admiration, but she's somehow thrown when it comes from Nathan. There are good and valid reasons for this. Chiefly, he's her superior. There's an obvious line that she is not willing to cross -- that she has not so much as considered crossing. The idea is not remotely on her mind.

Not only is he her boss, he's also around thirty years her senior. Comparatively, she is younger than the others on his payroll. Naturally reserved, this adds to a sense of unease she has when she first enters the workplace, but that's quickly smoothed over. Not simply by her coworkers, but by Nathan himself. She appreciates his attention and praise when it's organic.

One might even say she's begun to crave it. She has very few father figures in her life, with the exception of Anthony, and none of them close to the age her own father would be were he alive. It's nice.

Which makes the occasional unsubtle comment from him extra uncomfortable. He's attractive, but he's far too old, and she's very taken. So taken, a line appears on a test one evening.

Albeit thrilled, the first few weeks are rough on her emotions and her body. She's less likely to brush away the unsolicited attention from him, but when he expresses genuine satisfaction for a good job, she indulges him -- though her expression shifts at the glass in his hand. It's a rocks glass, and she can only have -- ]

Something red?

[To Nathan, his age is not a barrier. It's something that will be proven beneficial over the course of their "courtship". He's played this game before.

Francesca is a little more challenging than he's used to, he thinks. He's never really thought much about it. Maybe he normally makes better choices. Maybe he overlooked his better judgement because she's beautiful. He certainly overlooks how much it frustrates him because she's clever. She's very disarming.

Her response gives him brief pause for that reason, because she fascinates him. Because he knows her normal orders. Because he's already mapped out what she likes and red wine doesn't seem like her choice for a night cap.

But he serves her drink without question. His own drink is made of sterner stuff. It may not be the only glass of sterner stuff he's had today-- it's been stressful.]

Same colour as the dress you wore to the gala. [Why he remembers that is not up for discussion. He just moves forward.]

Was that your fiancé? What's his name again?

[ It's not so unusual. She isn't a huge drinker as it is, never has been; when she indulges, it's usually a wine, maybe champagne or prosecco.

She's relieved when he doesn't question her, a tightness gathered in her shoulders loosening. There is no shame regarding her newfound condition, only the concern about reservations he may have. She's still fresh on the job, and she knows the odds are greater he will find that to be a liability. And anyways, she's shared the information with few people as it is. She isn't ready to disclose it to her employer.

She doesn't need the job, no, but she wants to keep it, she enjoys working.

He serves her and she serves him back with mild surprise that he remembers such a detail, but she forgets that in light of the next comment. The expression he gets is one of skepticism over her wine glass. She decides to forego commenting. ]

Yes, it was. His name is Afshin. [ The emphasis is very slight, but there. ]

[If Nathan weren't being particularly delicate with her, he'd round out his observation by telling her he remembered because she looked remarkable. She doesn't want to entertain it, so he keeps it subtle as it is.]

Mm. [He drinks. He doesn't really care about this guy as a person. He's interested in what drew her into thinking he's the right partner for her. He's got a good knack for evaluating people quickly, and he didn't evaluate anything interesting from him all night.]

Where'd you meet? School?

[ She swallows a sip. Nathan is sitting on his desk in front of her. Papers of particular importance are scattered across the top.

The light catches on her engagement ring. She smiles at it, fondness curling on her lips and in her voice. She quite enjoys talking about how she met Afshin. ]

At an opera, actually. He was a friend of a family friend, and she introduced us. We had many things in common, he studied music as well, and she thought we would hit it off. And well -- the rest is history, I suppose.

Edited 2025-11-29 07:46 (UTC)

[Nathan manages to keep a neutral expression, though deep down there's a petty, disappointed feeling. Because he wanted her to sound bored, or disconnected. Something.

By all accounts, she looks perfectly besotted. It's not something he relates to, and it's in his nature to pry until he understands. So he continues without really acknowledging her answer.]

What made you decide he was the guy for you?

[ If she wasn't suspicious before, she is becoming so. Mostly, she's confused by the line of questioning, and increasingly agitated.

She doesn't like the way he phrases the question any more than she likes the question. Something about it jostles her. ]

I didn't -- I didn't decide. [ She frowns, staring down at her ring finger. Her voice is soft, a touch plaintive. ] You don't decide who you love.

[ She squints, looking up at him. ] Were you ever married?

I didn't say anything about love. [He points out, because in his view they're talking about distinctly different things. Her question surprises him, but it gives him an opportunity to elaborate.]

No. I chose not to. [Because love isn't choice but marriage sure is.]

But it's something you want, marriage? Kids?

[ No, he hadn't -- but that makes it all the more absurd to her. Her family only ever married for love. She furrows a dark brow at him. ]

Oh.

[ She says, initially bemused by the frank answer -- though in the next, she rethinks something. ]

I suppose that makes sense.

[ As for his query -- her hand flutters for a moment, angling toward her stomach, before she catches herself and drops it. She shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. ]

I didn't always want it, marriage. It wasn't a priority. But I ... I've always loved babies. [ There. ]

[Her assessment doesn't bother him since, as she's said, it makes sense.

His eyes drop curiously with her hand. He makes the connection, but he doesn't show it.

That's as subtle as he can manage. He turns his eyes up to hers.]

You'd be a good mother. [He offers the compliment sincerely, but with no explanation. Not that he cares about whether this is an appropriate conversation. He cares that he might say something too nice.

Best to pivot in a negative direction.]

So you settled?

[ Demeanor softening at the observation, she smiles down at her lap. It won't last long.

Batting away the beginnings of a suspicion he's now intuiting her secret, and what that could spell for her, she's raising the wine glass to her lips when she freezes. ]

... sorry?

l She honestly believes she misheard. Because no decent person would ever say such a thing. ]

I'm not trying to be rude. [He's succeeding.

He leans back a little in his chair. The conversation is uncomfortable, he isn't.]

I just don't think he's going to give you what you need. [He shrugs, taking a drink.]

He's nice. [A beat.]

He's soft. [And for the final blow..]

And he's boring.

[ Blindsided. She did not see this coming.

Her eyes are large at any given moment, but now they're even wider, staring at him first with shock -- followed by anger. Disgust tails, doubling to the point she has the desire to storm out.

Her jaw is set. She's glaring at him. Has to make herself speak, plucking words past her fury. ]

What a relief it must be that you aren't marrying him.

[ Her voice is icy. She hasn't said anything like this before to him -- she has a healthy respect for authority -- but he's tread past the boundary of civility. He's no longer deserving of it. ]

I think it's time for me to leave.

[This is wildly different than most of his propositions. Mostly because he's never propositioned an engaged, likely pregnant woman.

And yet, he finds himself compelled to leave it all on the line. He shoots up from his sitting position, leaning over her just slightly. He's not trying to intimidate, he's trying to be intimate. Just a little.]

You can go back home to you if you want. [He sucks his teeth, hesitating before he spits it out.]

Or you can stay. With me.

[ She had begun to stand herself, but his abrupt movement keeps her seated.

Or you can stay. With me.

An understatement to say she doesn't always pick up on social cues. But it clicks.

He hasn't exactly been discreet with his interest. Thinly veiled. Is that why he's doing this? Disappointment colors her face. She looks miffed, uncomfortable.

Resolved.

She ignores him to get to her feet, the gears shifting in her head. ]

I'm not -- I'm not going to sleep with you. I have a fiancé.

[ But he doesn't care about that. Clearly.

So: ] I don't want to sleep with you.

[ It lands like a punch. She meets his eyes, resentment in her own. ]

If you hired me to that end, I'm sorry to disappoint you.

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