This is the Professional Integrity series, part two. For all other parts and additional IkeSen works by me, see here.
She bought an RV the next day. It wasn’t a large thing, nor top of the line, but it was convenient and easy. A small kitchen, a shower in the bathroom, a loft bed over the driver’s cab, an extension to make the living room larger when parked, a pull out bed in the couch, and a fold down bed over that.
“Are you going to christen it?” Mitsuhide joked.
“What?” Her eyes were wide. “What do you mean?”
“Like a boat before a maiden voyage. You know.” He mimicked breaking a bottle of champagne against the side. “It’s bad luck if it doesn’t have a name.”
“Hm.” The Princess patted her hand along the sides, obviously fond of it already. “I don’t know yet. I think it’ll name itself.”
What a cute sentiment. He shrugged. “Your choice. Where are we going?”
At that, she laughed. “You’re going to hate me.”
“It doesn’t matter much to me, Princess, I’m in contract to you for the next eight months either way.”
“Aw.” A long silence passed between them. “Well, I was thinking I’d just... find out where I’m going.”
Laughing, he rubbed back some of his pale hair. “You’re not much for planning, are you?”
“I am, but...” Her voice trailed off into nothing and finally, she eased her head to the side. “I dunno, I just think I’ll find out where I’m going.”
Well, at least one of them had faith in more abstract things.
Sasuke volunteered to come with them for the first leg of the journey. “We could drive out to Arizona. I have a friend in Tuscon, Yukimura.”
“Yuki? From college?” Teasingly, the Princess hip checked him, dragging a duffle bag into the RV around the men. “That ass?”
“He’s a good guy.”
“I know, I’m just making fun. He’s just not good at coming off like a good guy is all.”
Sasuke didn’t argue that, just shoved his glasses back up his nose. “And from Phoenix, I can fly back in to Los Angeles and get back to work.”
“I wish you could come the whole time.” The Princess settled down into the driver’s seat, adjusting it to her specifications. “That would be a kick.”
“From what I understand, you mean to be on the road a few months.”
She sighed, smiling sweet and sad and gentle at Sasuke, and Mitsuhide wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that himself. “Yeah. It just would be fun is all, if it were possible.”
“We’ll make the most of it.” Sasuke’s face didn’t exactly move, but his enthusiasm was palpable nonetheless. “I think Yuki wants to throw a bit of a party when we get there.”
“Oh, god.” She laughed. “He’s gonna get me tanked, isn’t he?”
“Sounds like my kind of a party,” Mitsuhide chuckled.
“Jesus, I’m sorry if you see me like that. I’m a mess when drunk.”
He grinned lopsided at her, settling into the passenger seat. “That only makes me the more intrigued.”
“Tsk.” She settled a hand over his shoulder and squeezed it affectionately, and his heart thumped painfully. What the hell was that reaction? He did his best to shove it from his mind. “Don’t be awful. Are we ready back there, Sasuke?”
“All clear.”
They pulled out of the driveway into the sinking sun, beeping the horn to part the throng of fans from the gate. As it rattled shut behind them and they set onto the road, she flipped on Running On Empty by Jackson Browne.
“You know what we need? A Cracker Barrel.”
“A what?” Mitsuhide settled into the diner booth only after scanning the whole area with his eyes, and even then, he settled on the very edge of the seat next to her, ready to take action at a second’s notice. They were on the border of California, the small hours of the morning pale and grey in the windows. A few sleepy patrons scuffled around the old fashioned bar, sipping coffee.
“A Cracker Barrel.” The Princess unfolded her menu, eyeing the breakfast food. Her eyes were tired and swollen, but it was no worse than it had been of late, and she seemed at least in slightly better spirits.
“It’s sort of a themed restaurant,” Sasuke explained. “They’re common in the southeast. They’re supposed to be ‘Old Fashioned’ and serve good breakfast.”
“I mean, the breakfast isn’t even all that great, it’s really the biscuits. But it’s kind of a road trip tradition for me, so to speak. I don’t know.” At least she was smiling. “What are you going to have, Mitsuhide?”
“Let’s see.” He flipped open the menu, absently scanning for anything that looked both filling and cheap, and... “Dear Lord, am I going to have to say that out loud? I’ll just point to it.”
She wriggled over by him, her cheek rested against his shoulder to see the title, and laughed aloud. “Oh my god. Please.”
“Oh, ‘please’?” On a habit, he shot her a broad, slithery grin. “And what are you begging me so nicely for?”
“I have to hear you say that.”
He hummed in amusement. “Why’s that?”
“Cause you have such a great, deep voice, and I’m tickled just imagining you saying that seriously.”
“You do have a very Shakespearean delivery to your sentences,” Sasuke noted, and Mitsuhide figured that was a compliment.
“Can I get you all something?” The waitress emerged by his elbow, pad at the ready and stifling a yawn.
“Could I get the western omelet, please?” She asked.
“An egg, over easy, with a side of toast,” Sasuke added, “If it’s no trouble, please.”
Mitsuhide shot his eyes sideways at the Princess, who was biting down on her lip to keep down the laughter, and he decided in the moment it was worth it. Clearing his throat, he announced--as smoothly and deeply as he could, lending every inch of theatrical gravitas he could muster-- “I’ll take the ‘Hungry Hombre’.”
And that--that broke her. She clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling the laughter that spilled forward, and suddenly she was laughing so hard that she wasn’t making any sound at all. The waitress just cast a bemused stare and walked off to punch in their order. Clutching his arm, the Princess struggled for breath, petering back into laughter, then giggles, then hugging him tight around his shoulders.
It was the most he’d ever seen her laugh.
“Oh my god,” she managed, wiping tears from her eyes.
“You must be tired, if that made you laugh that much,” he commented lightly. Something warm stirred in his stomach, wrapping tight around him. “Perhaps I should drive from here on out.”
“Ahh, if that’s what you want to do.” But she smiled at him, brighter than he’d ever seen, and he told himself he’d say a thousand ridiculous platter titles if it made her that happy.
God knew she deserved it.
Yukimura lived in a rancher on a small subdivision squarely between Tuscon and Phoenix--which, in Arizona parlance, meant ‘in the middle of the goddamn desert’. Apparently he’d been expecting them, because when the RV rolled up at his driveway around dinnertime, he emerged in the doorway, holding back the leash of a large, excitable German Shepherd.
“Down, boy!” He grunted, wrestling his dog back into good behavior. “Hey, Sasuke! Princess!”
“Yuki, hi!” She bounded from the RV and stretched hard, rushing to the dog. “Awww, who is this cutie?”
“I call him Kuro.” The man--man? He looked younger than Sasuke--fixed his bright eyes on Mitsuhide. “And you’re the bodyguard?”
“Mitsuhide Akechi.”
“Yukimura Sanada. Come on in. Guess who else came?”
“Do tell.” The Princess followed him in, glancing around the narrow hallway, and--“Oh my god, Shingen?”
“You say that like I wouldn’t have crossed heaven and earth to see you.” A huge, huge beast of a man emerged from the living room, heading straight for her. On reflex, Mitsuhide wedged himself between the two of them.
“Mitsu,” she laughed, patting his arm. “It’s okay, you’re kind of off the clock.”
“Who is this?” The redhead was a little less massive closer up, but he was still a veritable tree.
“Mitsuhide, he’s my bodyguard.”
“Fancy.” Another voice drawled in the living room, satin and sour all at once. Perched on the couch was another man, blue and green mismatched eyes vibrant in the setting desert sun. “I take it that’s just a result of your new, high-flying lifestyle.”
“Hi, Kenshin.” She smiled at him, picking at her sweatshirt that read VIRGINIA BEACH across the chest. “I’m sure I look like the best of Hollywood right now.”
The blonde just sniffed, his eyes flitting between them, and lifted the glass he was holding in his hands. “I’ve already started drinking. You’re late.”
“I told you to wait,” Yuki huffed, finally letting Kuro off the leash. “Sasuke, without you to handle him, Kenshin’s getting downright stir crazy.”
Kenshin frowned. “I do not need handling.”
“Of course you don’t,” Sasuke soothed expertly, joining the other men in the living room. “Well, I suppose we need to catch up on the drinks, then.”
Mitsuhide was thankful, not for the first time, for his incredibly high alcohol tolerance, because it seemed like Kenshin had an impossible one.
“You’re the only one keeping up with me,” he huffed, taking another shot and trying to shuffle a completely soused Sasuke off his shoulder. “What was your name again?”
“Mitsuhide.”
Either Kenshin hadn’t really cared about his name, or he had a short attention span, because he turned almost immediately to the Princess. “How was James in the end?”
She paused where she sat in the floor, petting Kuro’s soft ears and waiting for Shingen and Yuki to return with Cards Against Humanity, and Mitsuhide watched the faint smile she’d been holding slip from her mouth.
“He...” She sighed. “He was comfortable.”
“Hm.”
A long, long silence. The Princess swayed where she sat, tipsy from vodka and sprite, and cupped her face in her hands, meeting Kenshin’s gaze. “I mean, what can I say? He was in hospice a few weeks. I slept by his bed and got him food he liked, told him stories, read him books. We listened to The Adventure Zone like, four times.”
“But?” Kenshin prodded. Mitsuhide had heard it too, the unspoken end of a sentence she hadn’t begun.
“But... I don’t know, Kenshin.” She sighed, tracing circles in the carpet with her finger. “I just wish I could go back and stop him from being diagnosed that late. He’d been having issues with his stomach for years, I... I dunno.”
The blonde was silent a long, long, long time. Finally, he got up. “Give me your cup. What were you drinking?”
“Uh, vodka and sprite?” She handed it to him, confused. Crossing to the counter, Kenshin fixed the drink with calm precision, presenting it to her. “Hey. Thank you.”
“You did what you could.” He settled back in on the couch as the other two barged back in the room, card game in hand. “You cannot be faulted for it not being enough.”
At last, only he and Kenshin were sober, and the rest were passed out. Yuki was splayed out on the ground, wrapped around Kuro. Shingen had claimed the only arm chair to kick back in. The Princess and Sasuke had formed a little cuddle pyramid against each other, each bolstering the other up on the couch.
Mitsuhide wondered what the hell was wrong with the weird surge of affection and jealousy swirling around in his stomach. Best to blame it on the alcohol.
Still--he picked up the blanket from the side of the couch and draped it gently over her body, tucking it in around where he felt her arms were chill and bare. She stirred, but didn’t move, thoroughly wasted.
“Bodyguard, hm?”
Mitsuhide straightened and fixed his eyes back on the other man, sitting like a statue on the couch still.
“You must have the constitution of Bacchus,” Mitsuhide joked thinly. “Yes. Bodyguard.”
Kenshin stared at him so long and hard that he wondered if he were being intimidated, so he fixed a smile on his lips and just stared right back.
“Can I help you?”
“Do you think she’ll find relief from grief on a road trip?” His voice was so tired and raw and angry that Mitsuhide sensed the pulsing edge of something personal.
“Who can say?”
“I’m asking you.”
“That’s my answer.” He settled in along the kitchen counter and delved his hands in his jean pockets, watching her sleep. It was the most deeply she’d slept in months, and it settled his soul. “It’s an awfully loaded question to ask me. Maybe she’s not looking for relief.”
“What else would it be?”
Mitsuhide shrugged. “I’m a man with simple and few attachments, simply dedication. If I had to take a hard guess, I’d say she’s the kind of woman with the spirit and bravery to lean into that tide, not out of it.”
Kenshin fell silent at last. Behind them, the sun rose like a melt of fire.
This is the Hostile Takeover series: Part Two. For all other parts and additional IkeSen works by me, see here.
Chatelaine Bank continued to be a raw, obnoxious thorn in his side.
It bothered him. His shareholders were nervous, sure, but she didn’t have the staying power. Not yet. Soon, though, soon, he knew she would be a major competitor. His only consolation was that U-T Bank was struggling with the new interloper as well.
“I think you need a vacation,” Hideyoshi suggested one morning. “You’re stressing a lot about this. I’m certain it’ll go away soon.”
“I doubt it. It would have already. I think we’ll be seeing that... that Princess a little more.” Nobunaga sipped his Italian coffee. “But the Innovator’s Conference is coming up soon, and that will be vacation enough.”
Out of all the meetings he attended, that one was at least a little exciting. Every year, banking executives and business professionals descended on a coastal city, reserving an entire hotel to themselves and engaging in lectures, panel discussions, and networking. He’d run quite a few panel discussions and Q&A Sessions in the past, so this was no stranger to him. At least a bit of time being in control of his own environment would be nice.
“Do you know who else will be on the panel?”
“Not yet.” He tapped his computer on, scanning his email with a glance of carnelian eyes. “I’m sure they’ll let me know soon. I think Shingen will be on it, as usual, but he’s the devil I know, at least. They haven’t sent the rooming arrangements, either. Hopefully they won’t think to partner me with anyone from U-T.”
Hideyoshi snorted. “Hopefully everyone is wiser than that.”
He still hadn’t received a list of the others on the panel when he arrived to check in at the Isadora Hotel and Convention Center. Waiting patiently by the beleaguered reception desk, Nobunaga checked his email for the millionth time on his smart phone, but apparently the service wasn’t great.
“Knew I shouldn’t have switched providers,” he muttered, and pocketed it.
“Mister Oda?”
He looked up with a smile. One of the convention officials smiled back at him, extending a hand. “Dean Parker. I’m organizing the rooming for the Innovator’s Conference.”
“Excellent to meet you.”
“We’ve had a bit of a rooming shuffle, so I’m sorry that you weren’t notified in advance.” He flipped through the pages he held, making marks. “You’re in penthouse suite 1905, top floor.”
“Good.” He took the offered key and tucked it into his pocket, rolling his suitcase away before even discovering his roommate. There would be time for that later, no doubt. Punching the button for the nineteenth floor, he contemplated all the work he needed to do, where he might get his coffee, how much time he would spend on the beach.... ding. The doors parted. His suite was in a corner, just where he liked it. He jimmied the key into a lock and swung it open, checking around.
Apparently, his roommate was already there. A black suitcase perched in front of a shut door. Well, that was fine. He wanted the other room anyway. Shutting the door behind him, he crossed into a spacious personal bedroom, a king bed with lovely sheets laid out for him, and settled his things down before heading into the main living area for some coffee.
The door to the other room opened as he bustled around the sink.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice. Well, that wasn’t unheard of for the IC. He’d specified on his sheet that he was fine with coed arrangements. Everyone could be professional. But why in the devil was that voice familiar?
“By the coffee,” he answered smoothly, dumping a bag into the machine and starting it.
The patter of soft footsteps, and she came into view.
“Hell,” the director of Chatelaine Bank muttered.
“Ah.” Nobunaga stared at her, and she back, both wordless and uncertain. The coffee pot bubbled by his shoulder, entirely forgotten.
“There has to be a mistake.” She laughed bitterly.
“I’d agree,” he answered.
“That--this--well.”
“Awkward,” he responded.
“Very.”
The pot finished brewing. He turned from her and busied himself pouring a cup, silence falling between the two of them.
“So...” She paused. “Does one of us move out?”
“I quite like this room.” He sipped the coffee and stared at her levelly. “So I’m not going anywhere. If you so wish to move your things for the sake of your feelings, then you’re welcome to. I can be professional.”
Her mouth settled into a hard, fine line. “I doubt that. Besides, I was offering as much for your bruised ego as anything else.”
“Bruised?” He sputtered a laugh. “Bruised ego?”
“Is that not what they call that at Azuchi Bank? Because where I am, storming out after being refused generally points to a bruised ego.”
“Look, princess, when one sees that they’re simply standing in a position to be abused further, then one removes themselves from it.”
She pointed at the door. “You could remove yourself from it now.”
“So you admit you’re trying to abuse me?”
“You’re just as insufferable as I imagined you’d be.”
Nobunaga grinned at the victory and took another sip of entirely-too-hot coffee, if only to further his attitude. “I’m so pleased to hear you spent your precious imagination on me. Dare I ask on what?”
Her face splotched purple with embarrassment and anger. Turning on her heel, she headed into her room and slammed the door. Well now. He poured the coffee out in the sink, finding it not to his taste. Princess: 1, Him: 1. Who would set the next point?
After that disgusting shock, he wasn’t too stunned to find that she was going to speak on the same panel as him. On Customer Innovations, of all things. He huffed a laugh and printed his notes, running a hand down his suit one last time.
The door to her room swung open again.
She looked... he glanced at her, turning away, but he didn’t have to stare too long to know she looked excellent. Her hair draped over one shoulder, a flattering, new black suit hugging her curves. She wore no makeup, just some reader glasses perched on her head, but she didn’t need any makeup anyway. Her features were just fine the way they were.
“It’s in Ballroom C,” he announced, not looking up.
“I know.”
He thought about snapping back, but she hadn’t said it with as much edge as their prior conversation, so he bothered with his far more interesting stapler instead. She slipped on a pair of heels by the door and waited.
“Yes?” He asked.
“I’m waiting for you.”
“And why, pray tell?”
“Because,” she sighed heavily at him, “regardless of personal friction, if we’re going to be presenting on the same panel, we should at least keep up the illusion of professional unity.”
Nobunaga chuckled, but she wasn’t wrong. Not in the strictest sense, at least. He tugged his jacket over his shoulders and motioned toward the door. “After you, then.”
“You’re not gonna put your arms in the sleeves?” She looked amused.
“No. It’s part of my personal brand. Are you going to lecture me on that, as well?”
“Heaven forbid I ask you about your personal brand. I think I’m quite alright letting that be.”
What a mouthy woman. He rolled his eyes behind her back as she swung open the door, and they slipped into the elevator together, followed shortly by--
“Shingen,” Nobunaga greeted him icily.
“Nobunaga.” But then the tall man’s eyes roved to the Princess, and he grinned. “Miss Director, how are you today?”
“I’m well.” Her voice was clipped, if not more so than before. Nobunaga almost wanted to laugh. At least her ire wasn’t targeted exclusively at him. Maybe he could even enjoy her sharpness, so long as it was directed at Shingen. “And yourself?”
“Better, now that I’m feasting my eyes on a goddess.”
“I told you before,” she sighed, flipping through her notes disinterestedly, “that if you’re going to try and charm me, you have to be charming first.”
He couldn’t help himself. Nobunaga barked a laugh and stifled it, pretending he’d merely coughed into his collar. The Princess clamped her mouth shut between her teeth, clearly fighting back her own smile.
“You wound me.” Shingen was unflappable as always. “I suppose I’ll have to try harder.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t.”
They reached the ground floor and slid out as a trio, heading to the ballroom. Oh--this promised to be an interesting panel, at least.
The questions were engaging. Nobunaga had to think about a few of them and was pleased to see that he wasn’t the only one. On a stage together, they worked as a cohesive unit, deferring politely to each other, attaching agreements to points, dissenting with grace.
They were on the topic of overdraft fees when the turning point arrived.
“We’re looking into doing a delayed payment option for those,” Shingen stated. “Some people simply can’t pay up front for overdraft fees. I don’t see a point in making the customer immediately dip into their next paycheck for it. We are considering a delay of two to three payment cycles before we request the reimbursement.”
The Princess leaned into her microphone, and Nobunaga caught the glint of the same steely edge that he’d been on the receiving end of. “We do not levy overdraft fees at Chatelaine Bank.”
A slight buzz. Someone raised a hand. “Why not?”
“Because,” she stated, her voice clear and firm, “that is the ultimate form of punishment for customers. We don’t believe in punishing our customers. We simply provide hard overdraft limits and adhere to them.”
“I think most customers need a deterrent to prevent them from doing that consistently,” Shingen added. She cut him off just as quickly.
“They do not. I think you’ll find that customers know and understand when their finances are tight. They don’t need a professional reminder, much less a fine for being poor.” She frowned at him. “Overdraft fees, by their very nature, disproportionately punish impoverished customers. The lifeblood of a bank should not rely on levying punishment on those in need.”
Nobunaga fell silent, rolling her words through his mind. As if reading his thoughts, she turned to him, her eyes ablaze and entirely willing to fight him. “Do you have anything to add?”
“No,” he announced, genuine for once. “I find I agree with you.”
Surprise flickered in those bright eyes. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he replied, respect surfacing for the first time. “You’re the one with the idea.”
