the words of fooling around are like acid in his mouth, because he’s never thought of her in such a callous, dismissive manner. he’s never categorized her as anything less than his partner and his equal. she’s still the latter, his equal in all the ways and more than he can count, but now she’s only his employee and their partnership is down to it’s bare scraps. what else is he to call it when things became harder, and she decided to toss him aside? they lost their child, declan almost loses her in the process and just when he thinks it would bring them closer, she’s telling to they should not be together. not a day he he goes by recalling the moment where she was almost gone from his life. losing his child had hurt, but it didn’t matter as long as he has anastasia, that’s all he needs ― just her. he was so desperate to keep her, he had asks to marry her, but she refuses, when he would have give her anything to make her his.
he reminds himself she made this bed and he’s simply following her wishes. god forbid, she accuse him of suffocating her, or anything else along the lines. “not exactly model behavior on my part, i’ll admit that, but i never touched you against your will. so yes, it is fooling around, when that’s all the use she has for him. don’t get me wrong, anastasia it’s not a complaint and it’s certainly no chore to bed you. the feeling seems to be mutual from you, too. but you’re welcome to call it what you please ― semantics.” he leans back in his chair, one leg crossed on his lap, and a hand under his chin as he watches her with scrutiny. but really behind his indifference his eyes take her in. the soft yet prominent angles of her face, the plump pink lips, he recalls exactly how they felt against his, but he’s quick to erase the thought as it enters his mind. “i wouldn’t have been so carless if i knew what was going on in your head. hmm, ironic isn’t it? they call me heartless and a fuckboy, only if they knew…”
it hurts speaking to her like this, even during the initially months of her first joining he’s never been this much of an asshole. he’s not even sure he’s capable of being this wya with her, but it turns out he is. he doesn’t know what she wants from him? but isn’t this it? they aren’t friends either, so they are what they were when she first came into his life, colleagues. he levels her with an indiscernible gaze, the words from her mouth almost make him laugh. “i know what your job is, but since you’ve joined you’ve had an annoying habit of making your own rules. yet again and again you forget who decides what your job, let me remind you, it’s me. your job is what I tell you it is, not the title you keep throwing at me.” he shakes his softly and leans forward, “no, not everything about my life concerns you. you’d do well to remember your job is only tied to our organization, not my life. which despite your assumptions, is not all tied to this, you would know that better than anyone.” he’s given his life and soul to the coalition, and then he’s given it to her, too, wishing to share it with her, but she tosses it right back. “it works like this: i’ll tell you what concerns your precious title. i don’t understand you, anastasia, you want your cake it and eat it too where i’m concerned. actually you were able to, but that’s no longer the case. your duty is to the organization, don’t use me as an excuse to exert some nonexistent control you think you’re entitled to have over me.” that was lie, she still does because she still has his heart, but he’s not about to allow her that satisfaction. “i don’t intend to comprise any of what i’ve built, so when you need to know something, you will know that you can be reassured of.”
he’s always trying not to look at her, but even now he fails every so often. but she’s right about the SEC and he knows its not wise to ignore it, even if it’s to spite her. he’s not the sort to play games, and he won’t start now with imperative matters. he looks away from her and lifts the folder, hazel eyes scanning the document she’s put together, impeccable as always. one thing he’s never had to do was correct her or tell her how to do her job, still he rolls his eyes at her. “is that so? i had no idea that would be an issue.” sarcasm drips from his tone, before he continues on a serious now. “how much time can you give me for this? i plan to route some of it out thursday, to one of our offshore accounts. and then we’ll need to edit some of this you have on friday morning, so we’ll convene then….” he doesn’t look at her, but closes the file and turns his attention to his laptop screen, checking over their stocks, to see what he can alter and not.
Fooling around - the words are still ricocheting around her head, a deadly and dangerous bullet on the loose. She should be thankful for his honesty. Hasn’t it always been the thing that has made her consider him the most? And they’re his words, not hers…
This whole thing they’re doing, sometimes it feels like they’re sprinting on ice, spiraling towards something with no regard for the ground under them that’s shattering. “The feeling was mutual,” she corrects, horribly, untruthfully, a move simply done to twist the knife. She speaks so soon - it’s her own damn fault - a horrid habit only he seems to be able to draw out of her. Her, she who is usually calculated and strategic and tactical and yet - here she is speaking on impulse. Their whole lives they’d flung words at each other, said horrible things. Something is shattering, because his next words hit with all the severity of an ice flow. He could have said a million things, could have proposed to her all over again, and she’d wouldn’t have noticed. ‘When that’s all the use she has for him.’ Does he — does he really believe that fooling around is the only use she has for him?
Fuck. A slap would have been kinder, but she knows they can’t be doing this right now, can’t address it, make it a whole fucking thing. She has to keep the conversation moving forward rather than allowing each exchanged word to kick up dirt from the graves of their past. She ignores it, despite its growing, insistent knocking on the cage of her heart. “If you take issue with me making my own rules, you shouldn’t have hired me in an advisory role. If you want me to take a step back, you have to change what the point of this job is. I don’t know where you get this misguided sense of immortality from, but someone needs to remind you that you’re not indestructible.”
That insistent knocking turns from a knocking to a hammering. She ignores it. She makes a sound, a scoff at his insistence that he’s managed to achieve some sort of work - life balance that she’s far from privy too. Anastasia’s hand curls around the arm of her chair to keep herself from launching herself at him.
“Oh that’s grade-A bullshit, Van Ryan. Your life is absolutely tied up in all of this. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here after hours. It’s night time. Have you looked outside the window? Checked a clock? Or were you planning on running yourself into the ground tonight too?”
Her words snap. Hammering to splintering now - she ignores it. He’s asking for her trust and it’s been so hard to give. Not to him, never to him, it’s the rest of the world she takes issue with. The rest of the world she’s untrusting of. By some miracle though, Declan stops spitting venom and finally takes the folio. Ana pushes aside the urge to bare her teeth, swallows, her mouth dry and cotton-mouthed. She nods. Finally, they’re back to business. (She’s still ignoring it.)
“Friday. Thursday would be better but i can give you till Friday. The time change will work in our favor in this case — we can blame any delays on that.” Her mind whirs and clicks like a machine, plotting out the best course of action. She’d take a bullet to her own reputation, an honest mistake, she’d plead, but it would buy them the time they needed. Oh but that feeling, that knocking, that hammering, that splintering - it’s a visceral shattering now. She wants to close her eyes, push her fingers into her temple, crawl into the softest patch of dirt. Maybe a place next to her father and sister. She’s still ignoring it - ignoring it - till she can ignore it no more. Ana stops the conversation, interrupts him, interrupts herself. “Do you really think that was the only use I had for you?” She asks, incredulous and exasperated. Her words snap like kindling under the heat of a fire. There’s a sadness too, though there’s less heat to that - it more so clings to her words like a morning dew. “How can you even fucking say that?”
