OH THAT WAS LIKE A FUCKING GUT PUNCH, DEB GOT IN HER HEAD UNFORTUNATELY, AND POOR AVA, DEB KNOWS AVA SHOULD BE IN THAT POSITION BUT SHE'S SCARED BECAUSE THE SHOW HAS TO BE AMAZING, AND SHE CAN'T GIVE THE PRODUCERS A REASON TO PUSH HER OUT OF IT, THE DIVORCED ARC BEGINS
thereâs something so magical about sitcomsâŚ..they bring me so much comfortâŚ.whoever invented sitcoms thank you for your service I literally donât know what Iâd do without them god bless
Ultra Violet - Devil Wears Prada AU (Agatha Harkness x Reader)
When you struggle to find your footing at your new job at renowned Fashion Magazine Runway, a secret Guardian angel decides to help you out. Your new, fashionable style seems to catch even your stone cold, stern boss's eye. You canât help but wonder if maybe she knows more about your mysterious gifts than she lets on.
Content/Warnings: The Devil Wears Prada!AU, CEO!Agatha x Assistant!Reader and the power dynamics that come with that, No pronouns or gendered terms used for R
â¨Happy Valentineâs Day my little loves! Get yourself a sweet cup of coco, a heart shaped treat and enjoy some all inclusive CEO!Agatha fluff!â¨
Your new job at Runway was both the best and worst decision you had made your entire life.
Pay was better than the small tabloid youâd written for until now, their reputation in the industry was insurmountable, and the office had a portafilter espresso machine. All your friends were especially jealous of that one. Youâd landed a well paying position at one of the most prestigious fashion magazines in the world.
But that was also the problem. The Fashion. And, if you really boiled it down, your snobby, ruthless, obsessed with shallowness boss.
Agatha Harkness, head and face of the company. An icon of the scene, a trailblazer in the industry (at least that was what your coworkers told you.) Stoic, opinionated, and most of all, impossible to please.
Jen made sure to let you know about that. She had been Second Assistant before you got hired, but now she was promoted to First Assistant and you filled the new position.
She had explained the hierarchy to you in hushed whispers over morning coffee one day, while Mrs Harkness door had been shut and all you could hear were muffled voices arguing behind it.
Jen and your desks were in the hallway just outside, left and right to Harknesses door like two obedient guard dogs. You wondered if that was how she saw you, if she paid enough mind to her assistants for that at all.
It was only your fifth day working at Runway, and your To Do List was nothing but overwhelming. Meanwhile, Mrs Harkness barely spared you a glance, dropping her coat on your desk in the morning without a word, without even a glance, expecting things to be done and never returning a single gesture of gratitude. And everyone, including Jen, just jumped at her bid and word, like she was Queen of the world. It was ⌠a lot.
âWho needs two Assistants anyway?â, you murmured with a chuckle as the meeting seemed to heat up, only to be met by a panicked stare from Jen.
âDonât ever question Agatha Harknesses choices!â, sheâd tutted, and she looked like she had more to say. But she was interrupted by the door to the hallway where your desks were situated swinging open.
Lillia Calderu, head of the Runway Archives a few floors below dropped a thick binder of fabric samples onto your desk. Strips of dyed denim, all shades of purple so close to each other, you could barely tell a difference. If you didnât know better, you wouldâve laughed.
âWhat are you two whispering about?â, Lilia asked loudly, only to be met by both you and Jen shushing her sharply.
The voices behind the door to Mrs Harknesses raised in volume, and Lilia swallowed hard.
âI seeâ, she immediately switched to a whisper tone. âVidal?â, she asked Jen, who nodded. They shared a serious look, flinching at the yelling.
You bit your lip, glancing from Jen to Lilia. The older woman took a deep breath, leaning against your desk, a hand on her hip.
âRio wasnât happy with the placement of her interview in the June Issueâ, Jen explained, âIâve been getting angry calls from her secretary for days. Now Vidal showed up in person without making an appointment. Had to push back Calvin Klein, they were not happy.â
âWhat a glorious first weekâ, Calderu shook her head, giving you a sympathetic look. âGood Luck, Newbieâ, she said, and then, her glance slowly dragged down your form, taking in your large green sweater and simple black jeans and sneakers. Her eyes widened, and as she looked back at Jen, she visibly shuddered, âYouâre going to need it.â
âWhat, is something wrong with how I look?â, you gasped, loud enough to get another sharp shush from the other two.
You looked over at Jen, who just shook her head, raising her shoulders in a small shrug. âTo be honest, weâve all been wondering how you got this position in the first place. Youâre not exactly Runway material.â
âOr sidewalk material for that matterâ, Lilia added, and Jen clutched her pearls dramatically, trying to stifle her laughter.
âYouâre not wrong, Calderu.â
You shot Jen a hurt look, ready to defend yourself. You were Second Assistant, most of your work happened on the phone, who cared if you wore Armani or not? After all, you had studied Journalism, not Fashion! And you were more than capable of showing professionalism in your profession!
But before you could give the two women a piece of your mind, the door flew open, and a dark haired woman in a suit strutted past you, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
âAdmit it Agatha!â, she snarled, glaring back into the office over her shoulder, âThis had nothing to do with the collection and everything with your own stubbornness!â
The woman, Vidal, turned around on her heels, dark hair whipping over her shoulder. As she turned, her eyes focused on you, and she froze in her tracks.
âOhâ, a dangerous little smirk formed on her lips. âYouâre new. Clearly.â
She took a step closer, Lilia moving out of her way as she did. Dark eyes watched your every movement like a lynx stalking its prey, and you suddenly felt incredibly exposed, even behind your desk. When she noticed you shudder, Vidal grinned, exposing her teeth.
âThey really let anyone work here these days.â, raising her voice loud enough that it echoed through the hallway, she added âWho let the little barista in?â
To your horror, both Jen and Lilia just shrugged, not saying a word in your defense. Stupid, shallow Fashion industry.
Rio Vidal leaned over your desk, dangerously close to your face. She placed one hand on either side of you, practically caging you into your seat. Her voice was low as she smirked down at you, teeth exposed. âAggie is going to eat you alive, little mouse. Better run while you can.â
âRio!â, Mrs Harkness' voice rang from her office, a sharp cut through the air.
All four of you whipped your heads around, even Rio, finding the woman leaning against her office door, arms crossed, legs perfectly accentuated by a fitted culotte, a matching blazer draped over her shoulders, silk scarf loose around her neck. Her brow was creased, and sharp, ice cold eyes stared Rio down like a hawk. âOur meeting is over, Vidal. Get your ass out of my office. Andâ, her jaw tensed, eyes flitting over to you for less than a second. âDonât touch my stuff.â
There was a slight frown on her face and you wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and fall through all nine floors of the building.
But still, Rio listened. With a scoff, the dark haired woman pushed herself off your desk, brushing past Lilia as she made her way towards the door.
âIâm so sorry!â, Jen started babbling the moment the elevator doors closed and swallowed Vidal up, âShe stopped for us, we did not-â
âSilence, Kale.â Agatha didnât even bother to look at her. Instead, her cold eyes closed in on Lilia. âHave your coffee break elsewhere, Calderu. There is no reason for you to linger around up here. And you, pet.â, her head whipped around, ice cold stare piercing right through you.
âStarting Monday, I want to see initiative. Itâs time to take this Job seriously.â
Just like Rio had done just minutes before, Harkness leaned over your desk, glaring you down as she invaded your space. You leaned backwards into your chair, resisting the urge to flinch away. Blue eyes wander down your front, lingering over your exposed throat for just a moment longer. âAnd no more green at the office.â
Just as fast as she had leaned in, she was gone again, leaving your heart beating out of your chest, hands curled around the arm rests of your chair so tight, your knuckles turned white.
Agatha was already halfway back to her office. âAccompany Calderu back to her office, pet. I donât want to see you when I leave. And next week, you either show up dressed like you want this, or donât bother showing up at all.â
You werenât ever going to admit it to anyone, especially Jen, but that night you crawled into the back of your uber with tears in your eyes. Fuck your stupid boss and her stupid standards and your stupid coworkers who only cared about appearances! Your work was hard, and ungrateful, and no one seemed to care that you did every little task, every small favour that wasnât in your job description at all, and you did them all marvelously. But still, no one had your back because you wore converse instead of Louis Vuittons. Not even in front of your boss and her infamous ex wife, known for always somehow ending up closer to Agatha than the Runway CEO would like. Even then, in front of two of the most powerful women in the business, no one felt the need to stick up for you.
When you stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of your home, your uber gave you a worried look, and it only made you cry harder.
However, someone seemed to have your back.
As you walked up the stairs to your front door, you noticed a single package. A white box, even adorned with a lilac bow on top of it. And, when you crouched down to inspect the mystery package further, it had your name written on it at the top.
No tape or even a stamp, just a single gift box with a bow, looking like someone had snatched it away from under a Christmas tree. It wasnât Christmas though, and it wasnât your birthday either. It was a regular Friday, only tainted by the tears youâd just spilled over your stupid job.
When you opened the box, carefully pulling at the lilac ribbon, your confusion didnât let off either. In fact, you were even more lost with the contents.
A pair of black slacks, the fabric smooth and organic. No polyester in sight, this was high quality fabric. When you held them up, something fell out of the left pocket.
A card, a lapel pin attached to it. Fine, polished silver wrapping around a single, sparkling amethyst.
On the backside was a note, written in a cursive so filigrane that at first, you thought it must be printed.
No more jeans. Time to dress for the job you got.
You glanced up, but the street was empty, no cars other than resident vehicles parked under the flickering street lights. Whoever had dropped off this mystery gift had not stuck around. You swallowed, taking the box and bringing it inside. Maybe there was hope for you.
The gifts didnât stop there. On Monday, you sat down at your desk, wearing your nice, new slacks and a slightly less washed out sweater today, you found another little box, the same white cardboard, the same ribbon. This one was way smaller though, small enough that Jen didnât seem to notice from across the room as you unwrapped a brand new, sleek watch. The wrist band was incredibly light and slick, the watch itself small but neat, and the pointers were adorned with the tiniest little diamonds, tainted a bright blue if you held them up to the light. Underneath the watch was a note again. Neat cursive.
Meeting with Dior in 10, not 20. Wear the watch.
You bit the inside of your cheek, but before you could think about it, Jen hung up her current phone call, stress written all over her face.
âDior called, they are coming in-â
â10, not 20â, you gave her a firm nod, âDonât worry, Iâll meet them and take notes for Harkness, you do the evaluation with Lilia.â
As you got out of your seat, you slung the new watch around your wrist. It sat perfectly. Jen gave you a confused but appreciative once over.
âOkayâ, she said, âSee you in 30.â
On Wednesday, you rushed in from driving Agathaâs son to soccer practice to find the hallway empty. Jennifer must have gotten stuck in a meeting. However, that wasnât what caught your interest. As you put your laptop down, you noticed another box, this one sitting right in the seat of your chair. It was bigger than the others, and as you pulled the lid off, you were met with a bubble wrap. Whatever was in here, it was packaged like something incredibly precious. You bit your own tongue, anticipation bubbling up inside you. And then you unwrapped it.
A leather jacket. A little scuffed, worn in at the elbows. Definitely vintage, worn before. The arms were studded by silver rings, from the shoulders down to the cuffs. It was gorgeous, and vaguely familiar.
Behind you, you heard the clinking of porcelain, and then a sharp curse. When you spun around, Jen was already halfway across the room towards you, ignoring the fact sheâd spilled fresh coffee all over her desk.
âWhere did you get that?â, she asked, panic in her voice. You clutched the jacket a little tighter.
âI found it here. Must be a gift.â
Jen came to a halt right in front of your desk, both hands immediately diving into the box on your seat.
âHey!â, you nudged her away with your hip, but Jenâs stance was firm, âStop that!â
âAbsolutely not!â, the first assistant just replied, âAs per usual, you have no idea what any of this is about!â
âThen you should tell me, as first assistant and all!â, you shot back, and Jen let out a deep sigh.
â1998. Agatha Harkness gets photographed by paparazzi leaving Rio Vidalâs mansion. The jacket she wore started a trend that didnât settle until denim took over in the 2000s.â She gave you a long, serious glare. âYou are holding that jacket.â
Before you could process what she just told you, and what any of that meant, your coworker already dove back into the box. At the bottom was a folded piece of cardboard, just off white and high quality. There was a set of simple, silver cuff buttons attached to it. Jen snatched the note out before you even had a chance to grab it.
âYou polish up nice. Pair with a dress shirt.â She read out loud, gasping.
âNo signature? I canât believe this! There is no way this left the archive without Mrs Harknesses permission.â
You reached for the note, but Jen took a step backwards, holding it out of your reach. Damn her and her high louis vuittons.
Her eyes closed in on you, pointing an accusatory finger at you. âThis is why youâve been looking good! Someone is playing dress up with you! Do you have a secret admirer in the archives?â
âI donât know who these are from!â, you told her truthfully, holding the leather jacket close to your chest. You still werenât 100% sure she wasnât just going to tear it from you.
âBut ⌠Someoneâs been helping me. Lilia has been a lot kinder since I changed the way I dress, even you shared your salad with me the other day!â
Jen creased her brow at that, glancing from the note in her hand to your face and back.
âI guess there hasnât been any complaints from downstairs either. Whoever sends you stuff does so fair and square.â She huffed, nose wrinkling, then shrugged, finally handing you the note. Soft, high quality paper, like artists used for Aquarelle painting. The same neat cursive as the other one.
Jen watched you and shook her head. âWhoever is sending you these is right though. You need a button up with this. And some good shoes.â
As if your secret angel had heard her, the next day, you found a bag with the Lauren Ralph Lauren logo printed on it under your desk. Inside was a shoe box. A pair of sleek black ankle boots, shiny, real leather, a minimal heel to give you just a little bit of extra height, but small enough to keep the shoe androgynous and cool. This time, there was no extra goodie attached to the note, however, when you turned it in your hand, a sour, citrusy scent found your nose. The paper was doused in perfume. This time, when you read the note, a smile slowly but surely crept up onto your features.
Looking good. Now show them exactly who you are, pet.
You licked your lips in excitement, glancing up from your desk. Mrs Harkness office door was closed, her way of letting you know she wanted no disturbances right now.
However, you could hear that one Lorna Wu song playing behind the door, the smooth sound of a record player unmistakable. You were starting to get an idea of who might be behind your sudden gift shower.
By Friday, you had an almost entirely revamped closet, held in shades of violet, plum and indigo. Today, you wore a flowy, long sleeved shirt made out of what you were pretty sure was pure dyed silk, the amethyst earrings and a matching bracelet, the slacks that had started all of this. You looked stylish, young, professional. You looked like you weren't a second assistant, but editor of Runway, and you carried yourself through the hall like it too, dropping the leather jacket on your chair as you passed your desk. Jen looked up from her laptop when you came passed, giving you an impressed nod.
âIâm gonna be honest, I didnât think you had it in you.â
You let out a little snort, leaning against her desk. âThanks Jen, you look great today too.â She always did, of course. Jen had this game figured out like no other. No matter how much Mrs Harkness had to complain about her work ethic or her shitty handwriting or the coffee Jen bought her being just a little too sweet, not even the Wicked Witch of Runway could criticise Jennifer's style. But, if you were quite honest, you started to feel like you were holding up pretty well yourself. This morning when youâd dropped off a new collection for the Archive, Lilia had pulled you into a tight hug, before introducing you to one of the photographers. Sheâd never done anything of the sorts before. When you walked down the hallway, a binder or a bag of clothes or Agathaâs lunch order in your hand, people greeted you, some even stepped out of the way now.
âSoâ, you flipped open your notebook, glancing at your To Do List for the day. âWhat does the afternoon look like for us?â
âIâm dropping Nicky off at Aliceâs for his guitar practice.â She explained, âAnd on the way back Iâll stop by Gucci to pick up some samples. Agatha has calls until four, and expects her afternoon latte immediately after. Until then, youâre on phone duty.â Jen gave you a small smile, and you dared to see pride on her face. âNothing you canât handle, superstar.â
That afternoon, you knocked at your bosses door no less than two minutes after sheâd finished her last call. You had a tray with her drink and a salmon cream cheese bagel, the mug still steaming as you peaked into the door.
âCoffeeâs ready!â, you announced, ready to put the tray down and disappear again.
However, to your surprise, Agatha told you to come inside. You closed the door behind you, putting her order down on her desk before stepping away, feeling oddly exposed in the middle of the room like that.
Youâd barely seen her all week, she was always either on the go but in a conference. But yesterday, as she had brushed past your desk, phone in hand as sheâd once again yelled at Vidal about ⌠something, you imagined that for the splinter of a second, sheâd winked at you in passing.
Now, Agathaâs eyes dragged down your form, and for the first time this week, she genuinely smiled. Taking a sip of her latte, she gave you a satisfied nod.
âYou may not look like a barista anymore, but I swear this stuff has been better since you started to do the coffee run.â
You caught your lower lip between your teeth. âThank you, Mrs Harkness.â
Then, as you turned to leave, Agatha called out to you again.
âWait up, pet.â
You froze, glancing over your shoulder back at her. There was an unreadable glimmer in her eyes, tainted lips curled into a small smirk. âAdd whatever you like to drink to the order tomorrow. Use my card.â
You couldnât help but gasp, smile so wide you quickly had to turn away, before she could see. This was entirely new. Coffee run meant a drink for Agatha, sometimes one for Lilia. Never for the assistants. Well, until now. âThank you, Mrs Harkness.â
âCall me Agatha.â
âOf course, Agatha.â Her name rolled off your tongue surprisingly easy, like it had always belonged there. You bit back a grin, feeling your stomach tighten. Her undivided attention felt like opiates in your system, made you feel like you were floating on clouds above the world. Like you wanted nothing else, ever again. It was dizzying.
âCome over hereâ, Agathaâs voice brought you back to reality. It was calm, and she nodded towards her desk, cluttered with notebooks, concept art and prior issues of the magazine. Every night before you left, you made sure to organise it, but over the course of just one day, Agatha always managed to restore the chaos.
Right now, she was getting off her seat, putting down her cup. To your surprise, she had foregone stockings today, bare skin under her deep purple, tight pencil skirt. The matching blazer was draped over the back of her chair, sleeves of her white shirt pushed up to her elbows. It was unusually casual, uncharacteristically human. It was intimate.
Your stomach did a little flip, stepping forward to stand in front of her desk as she had ordered. The quiet obedience gained you a satisfied little nod.
âYouâve been cleaning up quite well, pet.â
If you thought about it, you didnât mind the pet name at all.
Praise from Agatha was a rare treat, if you believed Jen, it was near impossible. You played with the rings adorning your fingers, glancing down at the tips of your polished, shiny black boots.
Agatha paced around her desk in a slow circle, until she was standing right behind you. âEverything Iâve heard about you has been nothing but positive.â
Goosebumps rose on your skin. âThank you, Mrs Harkness.â
She tutted. âI told you to call me Agatha.â
A warm hand grazed your hip, and you exhaled sharply at the touch. âAnd here I thought you were good at taking orders.â She glanced at you over your shoulder, a mocking pout on her lips.
Her fingers curled around the silky fabric of your shirt for a mere moment before letting go again.
âTurn around.â You spun around to face her without missing a beat.
Agathaâs eyes dragged over your blouse, along your shoulders, your collarbones exposed by the silky fabric, dipping lower for just a moment. Your breath hitched.
She took a step forward, into your space. Instinctively, you took a step back. The air got sucked out of your lungs when you felt the desk press into the back of your legs. You were now caged in between Agathaâs presence in front of you and her desk behind you.
Your boss seemed unbothered, her hand reaching out, running over the neatly folded collar of your shirt. Youâd added the lapel pin to it, the silver reflecting in the blue of her eyes. You swallowed, and her glance focused on the movement of your throat.
âGorgeousâ, she murmured, and you werenât sure what exactly she meant. You imagined you saw her lick her painted lips, but you werenât sure. Either way, goosebumps tickled your arms, your chest, all over your skin.
Agathaâs index finger and thumb take your collar between them, silky, deep purple fabric running through her hold. You felt her gently tug on the fabric and your heart skipped a beat. The only thing you wanted was for her to touch your skin instead.
But then she spoke, and it took every fibre of your being to concentrate on her words.
âUltra Violet, the Pantone Color of the Year in 2018â, her lips pursed into a dangerous, thin smile, âDo you know why that is?â
She didnât wait for an answer. Instead, she took another step closer. You swallowed hard, halfway sitting on her desk now, knees sliding apart automatically as she stepped between them. You didnât stop her, just held still as she invaded your space. It was like there was electricity flimmering through the air.
âGeorge Hobeika Fall 2017 Couture showcase. He comes to me with a collection of deep oranges and reds. Orange for fall? How original. I send him a note telling him to shove his off the rack bullshit back to where he must be hiding that visionary spirit he claims to have. The color of the paper?â Her brows raised, blue eyes unreadable as she scanned your face expectantly.
âUltra Violetâ, you guessed, and the pleased curl of her lips has your heart almost beating out of your chest.
âExactlyâ, she murmured, so close that you felt her breath on your face. âUltra Violet. The colour of the standout dress of the show, the colour you saw on every Magazines front page for a full year after.â She chuckled, tugging on your collar just the smallest bit. The upper button came undone. You didnât stop her.
Agathaâs voice dropped. âI send Kale to buy office supplies once and the entire fashion industry bends over backwards for me.â
Her fingers let go of your blouse. Instead, her thumb hooked underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards. There was no escape to her intense eye contact now. Her voice was low, amused. She practically purred at you.
âAnd look at you, wearing my color, seven years later.â
She took another step towards you. Her hips pushed against yours now, and your hands found the surface of her desk behind you, pushing yourself upwards as she pinned you against it. Her body was warm against you, even through layers of expensive satin and velvet. It was only now that you noticed your blouse matched the colour of her skirt, of her blazer. Her rings were adorned with the same amethysts that dangled off your ears.
All the little gifts on your desk, every single item in your new, professional closet, they all had one thing in common. Ultra Violet. The colour of the Woman herself. Every single thing that made Jen green with envy or Lilia whistle impressed, they werenât just gifts from a secret admirer who wanted to help you. They were territorial markings. They were hers. You were hers, visible to everyoneâs eyes.
Blue eyes twinkled down at you in approval, the realisation written all over your face.
âMy colour, all over youâ, Agatha purred, her thumb dragging along your jaw, up towards your cheekbone, and then slowly towards your slightly parted lips. Her touch was gentle and you stopped breathing at the feeling, trying hard not to lean into the touch. But then, her hand found your hair, fingers curling into it, pulling you closer. Her other hand slipped around your waist, palm pressed firmly against your lower back. A familiar scent found your nostrils, sour and citrusy.
She was so close, you felt every single one of her words on your lips.
âYou wear it so well.â
That was when the knot inside you snapped. All restraints, every last ounce of professionalism flew right out the window. Your eyes fell shut. It took barely a slight nudge of your chin to close the gap between you. Finally, your lips were on hers.
Agatha was firm against you. The sweetness of Charlotte Tilbury matte lipstick met your tongue, her painted lips creamy and soft against you. She kissed you with vigour, her hand firm on your lower back as she pushed you flush against her. She leaned forward, pushing you onto her desk with strong arms. Your shirt slipped off one shoulder and you let out a surprised squeal. Agatha took the opportunity and slipped her tongue between your lips. The faint bitterness of Espresso hit your tastebuds, her tongue dancing around you with the confidence of a leading dance partner.
Your hands found her shoulders as your back hit the surface of her desk, pulling her down with you. Holding onto her tightly as she stood between your legs, she kept you in place exactly where she wanted you with the hand in your hair.
A little moan escaped your lips, devoured immediately by her mouth against yours, and her teeth grazed over your swollen bottom lip.
Suddenly, the penetrant sound of a new notification cut through the air. On the other end of the desk, Agathaâs phone lit up, vibrating once.
A part of you wanted to grab the damn thing and throw it out the window into the night, but you also wanted to keep your job. Now more than ever, actually.
So, as Agatha pulled away, adjusting her blazer as she did, you pulled your shirt back in place as well. But not with a frustrated little sigh, sitting up on her desk as she gave you a warning look with raised brows.
While you were still catching your breath, Agatha stepped around her desk casually, reaching for her phone before turning to the skyline behind her desk, New York City gleaming back at her in shades of Neon and Steel blue. The bright Purple Runway sign from above your building tainted the entire street in a faint violet light. Her mark was everywhere.
Agathaâs brow creased as she typed into her phone.
âBefore you go home, make a dinner reservation for two at the French Place at the Boulevard. 9 pm sharp. Message Nickyâs babysitter to let her know Iâll be late.â, she said matter of factly, and you scrambled for your notepad to write down everything she told you. Even your notepad was purple. How had you never noticed that until now?
âAnd remember to pick up your suit for Vidalâs Gala before Saturday. Youâre going to need a fitting.â You tried to ignore the way your heart leaped in your chest. Your first event as her assistant, and she was taking you and only you!
âOh, and Y/N,â Your name on her lips was new, and it was exciting. You felt your chest flutter at the sound.
Agatha turned back around to look at you, the city lights illuminating her form. Her lipstick had smudged the slightest bit, but it did not ruin the image of perfection she was. If anything, it just made your stomach burn even hotter. Her eyes found yours and there was a twinkle in them, lips curled into a subtle smirk.
âYou have Dinner at the French place on Boulevard at 9. Thereâs an outfit waiting for you in the Archive.â
A knowing smirk tugged at your lips, raising a brow at her. âI must polish up nice to wear archived items.â
Agatha tutted, bright eyes twinkling. âYou have been.â
âyouâre so funnyâ thanks no one wanted to play with me as a little kid so iâve been scheming like a criminal ever since to make them love me and make it seem effortless
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