The Undoing: Chapter 3
Pls accept my most sincere apologies for this update taking FOREVER! hope you enjoy <3
Read it here on ao3.
Chapter 3: Sugers
It’s late on Friday evening and Elain is curled up in her California King bed, wrapped in her favorite fuzzy blanket while her go-to comfort movie, Pride and Prejudice (the 2005 version, of course), buzzes in the background. A half-empty carton of Baskin Robbins ice cream sits on her nightstand, melting.
“I just don’t understand,” she says for what must be the upteenth time.
“Honey, it’s nothing to do with you,” Nuala reassures her over the phone. “You can’t control the insecurities of men.”
“Write that on my gravestone,” she hears Cerridwen yell from the background.
“How does him treating me like a piece of garbage equate to him being insecure?” Elain asks incredulously.
“Clearly, there’s something about you that triggers him. Something that makes him act like a douchebag from hell,” Nuala says matter-of-factly.
“Even more so than usual,” Cerridwen adds dryly.
Nuala and Cerriden both work at the Night Agency, and in the near-month since Elain had been hired, she and the twins had become close friends. They have lots in common: they love to bake, they love to garden, and most importantly, they love to talk shit about their infuriating asshole of a boss, Azriel De Valois.
“Well, I wish he would just tell me what it is I’m doing that’s so triggering,” Elain says. “I’ve racked my brain over and over, trying to figure out where I went wrong, and I’m coming up blank. And believe me, I am self-deprecating enough to identify my own faults. But I can’t think of anything that I’ve done to this man that makes him treat me like this. We barely interact, for gods’ sake!”
“He’s a douche to everyone, Elain. I know it’s hard, but try not to take it personally.”
“He might be cold and aloof to most everyone, but he is especially so to me. And I’m fucking sick of it.” Her dejection was quickly transforming into anger. “I’ve wanted to be a private investigator for years now, worked my ass off in school to become one, and he has the audacity to tell me I don’t have the grit or ethic for it?! Prick,” she hisses, and then sighs. Anger is exhausting.
“What do I do?” she asks the twins. “How do I make him like me? Scratch that,” she frowns. “I don’t care if he likes me. But I do care if he respects me. More than that, I care about this job. It’s important to me, and I’m not giving up.”
“Well, of course you’re not!” says Nuala. “You’re going to show that broody man-child why you are the best person for the job.”
“Damn right I am. And I’m going to do it without changing a thing about me.”
“Damn right,” the twins echo simultaneously.
***
When Azriel walks into work Monday morning, he’s surprised to see Elain sitting at her desk. Truly, he thought his dickhead actions on Friday would have been enough to make her quit. Not that he was hoping she’d quit, necessarily, but it certainly would have made his life easier. Better she hate him and exit his life forever than remain here, a tangible reminder of what he couldn’t have - and what he so clearly did not deserve.
He’d made her cry, for God’s sake. This sweet angel of a human cried because of his awful and unforgivable words. Because of how poorly and unfairly he’d treated her these past few weeks. He knows why he’s been keeping her at arm’s length - knows why he can’t risk getting too close to her - but when those big brown eyes welled up with tears…
Well. Suffice it to say, Azriel does not often experience guilt, but he is at least emotionally competent enough to recognize it when he does, and since the moment Elain ran out of his office on Friday afternoon, guilt has gnawed at his insides like the savage and unforgiving beast it is.
He decided yesterday that he had to find a way to make it up to her. He wasn’t going to apologize, of course; Azriel De Valois does not apologize, not to anyone, not for any reason, but there are other ways to make up for shitty actions.
“Miss Archeron,” he murmurs as he passes her desk.
“Good morning, Mr. De Valois,” she says politely. “I’ve placed a stack of potential cases on your desk for you to peruse at your convenience. If you’d like me to reach out to any of the client contacts, just let me know. Happy to help in any way I can.”
Her cordial and professional attitude, along with the pleasantly neutral expression on her face, makes him feel even worse. Why isn’t she regarding him with icy and indifferent eyes? Why isn’t she huffing and turning her nose away at his very presence?
The answer is simple, really, though it does not provide him any sort of solace: Elain Archeron is a good person. He knew this already, of course; knew it from the moment they met, but now it dawns on him anew, and in doing so strikes a significant chord.
He enters his office only to immediately swivel back around.
“Let’s go,” he barks at Elain as he passes her desk.
“What?” she asks in confusion, her mouth parted at his sudden command.
He glares at her. “We’ve got a case. Come on.” Then he turns and stalks for the elevator, not looking to see if she is behind him. Azriel is already kind of regretting his spur of the moment decision, and a part of him hopes she doesn’t follow. But when he steps inside the elevator doors, Elain is right on his heels, slightly out of breath.
The elevator doors close and there’s a few seconds of dense silence before Elain starts babbling.
“Where are we going? What kind of case will we be investigating? Are we walking or taking the L to get there?”
“You’ll see where we’re going. You’ll see what kind of case it is. And you’ll see if we’re walking or hopping on the L.” He answers all of this without looking at her.
The elevator is moving impossibly slow. It doesn’t help that the Night Agency office is located on the 99th floor; inevitably, and because God clearly enjoys torturing Azriel, they stop at nearly every floor on the way down. By the time they reach the lobby, Azriel’s patience has worn incredibly thin.
It also doesn’t help that, just before they exit the elevator carriage, he registers that Elain is wearing the kind of flowy, romantic sundress that isn’t inappropriate in and of itself, but certainly fills his mind with thoughts that are anything but appropriate. She looks like summer, with her tanned, glowing skin and the sunshine hue of the dress. His jaw flexes while his eyes rove over her toned thighs peeking out beneath the frilly hem. He was going to have a word with their HR director and ask (by “ask”, he really meant “force”) them to update the company dress code and ban any and all dresses.
Also maybe the color yellow.
***
If there is one place Elain did not expect to be at 11 a.m. on a Monday morning, it is at a strip club.
The name of the club is Sugers, but the scent that engulfs her as she walks through the doors is anything but sweet. The entire establishment smells like cigarettes and sweat and cheap perfume. Two circular stages with long silver poles create the centerpieces of the room. Only one girl is dancing right now, performing to Billie Eilish’s “Bad Guy,” while a bored-looking bartender dries a glass behind the bar. There’s only one other patron, and he’s sitting in the corner nearest them partially obscured behind a thick cloud of smoke.
Elain has never felt more out of place. It isn’t that she judges or thinks worse of the girls who work here - in fact, she has significant respect for anyone who possesses the self-confidence to get up on stage and dance in front of a crowd of people, especially while wearing minimal clothing - but it could not be clearer that she doesn’t belong. In her bright yellow sundress and navy ballet flats with a matching headband holding back her curls, she looks like a Sunday School teacher about to give a lesson on the importance of loving thy neighbor.
Not that there's anything wrong with Sunday school teachers, either, but hell if Elain isn’t feeling like a fish out of water.
De Valois, meanwhile, fit right in. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark suit, all wrapped up in one darkly handsome package, right at home in the dimly-lit club.
“Let’s take a seat,” he mutters. Awkwardly, Elain follows him to a small table at the far left-hand corner, right near the stage. The dancer’s eyes greedily track their every movement, and the second they sit down, she shimmies her way over.
“Hello, handsome,” she says to De Valois in a low, scratchy voice. Her wine-red hair is heavily teased, and there’s a tattoo of a whale on her hip. She hooks a finger under her lacy bra seductively, sliding the strap up and down, up and down. “Care for a dance?”
“Maybe later,” he replies easily, and though his tone isn’t necessarily encouraging, Elain can’t help but notice that he does not outright turn her down, either. She bites her lip to hide the stupid and strange scowl that threatens to appear. “Though I know that my friend here wants one,” he nods toward Elain. He pulls a twenty out of his pocket and waves it at the woman.
Thank God it is dark in this strip club, because Elain’s cheeks begin to burn furiously red. What game is he playing at, buying her a strip dance? What the fuck did this have to do with a case? Is he just trying to make her uncomfortable enough to quit?
Well, two can play at that game. Elain flashes the girl her sultriest smile. “I’d love a dance. You’re very beautiful,” she says. Her words come out rather shy, because let’s face it, Elain is feeling extremely bashful right now, but thankfully the dancer seems to find her demureness endearing. A moment later, Elain is getting a lap dance.
Oh, Mother above. It isn’t even noon yet. Is she going to hell?
Glancing sideways, she sees De Valois biting his cheek, probably in an attempt to keep from laughing. She narrows her eyes and sticks out her tongue when the dancer isn’t looking.
“What’s your name?” he asks the dancer a few moments later. Currently she’s swiveling her hips on Elain’s lap, facing the stage.
“Cherry,” the woman answers, flipping her hair and grinding all the way to the floor.
“How long have you worked here, Cherry?”
“A few months, now,” she answers. As Cherry rises, she shakes her ass right in front of Elain’s face. Embarrassment heats her cheeks, and her gaze instinctively finds De Valois’. She is more surprised to see that he is not looking at the dancer at all. Instead, his mesmerizing hazel eyes are latched onto Elain and Elain alone. A very different kind of heat spreads through her veins.
“Do you happen to know someone named Bunny?” De Valois asks.
Cherry suddenly turns and straddles Elain’s waist, pushing her generous cleavage right in her line of vision.
“You have very nice breasts,” she squeaks, unsure what to say. She has never been in a situation like this before, but if she was dancing for money, she knows it would make her feel better to receive a compliment. Especially a genuine one. Cherry does have very nice breasts.
With a scratchy laugh, Cherry throws her head back. “You’re sweet, girly,” she says. “And yeah, ‘course I know Bunny,” she tells De Valois. “She’s in the back right now, but it’s her turn on stage in just a few. Can’t say I’m too pleased to hear you prefer my friend to me, though. Am I not beautiful enough?” Cherry pouts, though Elain is sure the only reason she’s upset is because she’s noticed the wad of hundreds sticking out of De Valois’ wallet.
He smiles. “It’s not that,” he says. “You are certainly beautiful enough for any man, myself included. Too beautiful, perhaps, and much too good.” Cherry blushes hard, and even Elain feels a little lightheaded, despite the fact that the compliment had nothing to do with her.
If only the man could use his silver tongue for good and noble purposes rather than being an absolute dick toward all of his colleagues.
“Do you think you could ask Bunny if she would mind having a chat with me? Just need to ask her a few questions.”
Cherry frowns. “You a cop?”
“No,” De Valois replies. Cherry considers him suspiciously for a moment before sliding off Elain’s lap.
“Let me go get her,” the dancer says, and then she’s strutting off and disappearing through a curtained hallway.
Elain turns to her boss. “Mind telling me what the hell is going on here?”
De Valois takes his sweet time shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair. He even unbuttons the cuffs of his button-down and shoves up his sleeves, exposing some very ripped and very distracting muscles covered in intricate tattoo sleeves. By the time he finally decides to answer her question, she has to wrench herself out of the ridiculously dirty fantasy that unwillingly popped into her head the second she saw his arms.
“Our most recent client is a man named Michael Dennon. He is a father trying to track down his son. He swears that his ex is purposely keeping his child from him because he cheated on her a few years ago, and it's her way of exacting revenge. He wants us to find his ex and then unearth some evidence that will help him convince the court that he should have sole custody of the kid.”
“Okay,” Elain says slowly, “So why are we at a strip club?”
“Because on Mondays they have a BOGO lap dance special, and I simply cannot pass up such a good deal.”
Elain blinks, not willing to let any amusement show, and De Valois continues talking.
“Michael’s ex is named Susie Corrado. Because I am a talented private investigator, I learned that in high school, Susie’s close friends called her Bunny. And through an additional series of investigative work, I discovered there was a dancer here who also - ”
“Goes by Bunny,” Elain finishes. Something like dread crowds her chest. “So we’re here to do what exactly? Dig up dirt on a single mother and turn that evidence over to law enforcement?”
De Valois sends Elain a heavy glance. “We are here to do our job. The first part of that includes getting all the information.”
He looks away as a petite brunette approaches the table. She is young, probably around Elain’s age, but the worry lines and heavy bags under her eyes make her look a decade older.
“Cherry said you were askin’ for me?” Bunny’s head is tilted curiously, eyes narrowed as if trying to recall if she knew the man requesting her by name. “Are you a regular? I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”
“I’m not a regular,” De Valois replies. “Just have a few questions for you. Why don’t you sit down?”
“The dancers aren’t allowed to sit when we’re workin’ the floor.”
“Okay. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Elain hates that she is impressed with the calm and respectful way De Valois is talking to the woman.
“How can I help ya?”
“Your name is Susie, right?”
The woman looks around awkwardly. “Call me Bunny.”
“Okay, Bunny,” De Valois agrees. “I’m friends with your ex-husband.”
It is startling how quickly Bunny’s demeanor shifts. If she was weary and confused at first, now she is on high-alert, every muscle tensed, the color in her face completely gone. The terror is undeniably evident.
“Plea - plea - please,” Bunny stammers out, hands trembling into a sort of prayer motion. “Please don’t tell him where I am.”
“Why not?” De Valois asks, his voice still quiet and controlled.
Some of Bunny’s fear melts into anger. “Because he is an abusive and sadistic asshole, that’s why. Thought you were friends with him? You should already know.” Bunny shudders. “I have to go. Tell Michael to fuck off, that he’ll never find me and Jaxon.”
“You’re terrified of him,” Elain says.
Bunny’s eyes are sparkling. “Yes,” she says. “Please, I’m begging you. Don’t tell him where I am. I won’t let him take Jaxon. I won’t let him hurt my son.”
Elain, at a complete loss of what to do, turns to Azriel. She knows that it is Michael, not Bunny, that is their client. She knows that she has just met this woman and knows virtually nothing about her.
But in her gut of guts, she also knows that Bunny is not lying, and in her heart of hearts, she knows that she cannot morally do this P.I. job if it means endangering an innocent woman and child.
Elain is about to beg De Valois to drop the case, to please not turn Bunny over, any consequences that come her way be damned, when Azriel beats her to it.
“He will never know,” De Valois swears. “You have our word.” Perhaps the promise would seem insincere coming from a normal stranger, but there is something in Azriel’s profound assuredness and quiet confidence that convinces Bunny he is telling the truth.
Bunny swallows, nods once, and scurries away.
Elain stares at De Valois. “Why did you do that?” she asks blankly. It’s not that she doesn’t agree with what he did - in fact, she is utterly relieved - but she doesn’t understand. Nothing about this situation fits with the opinion she had drawn up about the scowling man before her.
“There are two types of people who come to a P.I.,” De Valois says finally. “The first are the desperate ones. They are the family members and friends of victims of cold cases. Of missing persons who the police stopped looking for long ago, or cases they never took in the first place. Of anyone who is considered a lost cause. I would say about 90% of clients fall into this category. Private investigation is often a last resort - a hail mary - and so it is our job to find that which others may have overlooked. To do our damned best to tie up the loose ends left in so many lives.
“But then there are the aggressors. These people are not good people. They are trying to find those who would rather remain hidden, and they are not doing it for selfless purposes. There is nothing noble in their pursuits. And as investigators, we have to discover which kind of person our client is. From there, we decide how to continue with the case. Not every file we’re offered is a proposition to solve an issue. Sometimes it is to create one. We have to make a decision about where we draw the line.
“More importantly, sometimes we have to make the decision to step over the line,” he says, nodding toward where Bunny disappeared behind the curtains. “Technically, what I just did is against the P.I. client code. We are supposed to have sole responsibility to our client and our client alone. But that’s not how the Night Agency operates. We take morals and ethics far more seriously than money.
“I had a feeling that Michael Dennon was a piece of shit trying to punish his ex for leaving him. Now that I’ve talked to Bunny, I know for sure. I’ll make sure her husband doesn’t bother her anymore. So that’s what I mean when I say we have to get all the information and then make a decision. Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it’s easy. But in the end, we should always choose the right thing to do, even if it’s not black and white.”
Elain is flabbergasted. Who is this man and what has he done with Azriel De Valois, aka bane of her professional existence? She is at a complete loss of words.
“I told you,” he mutters, shifting awkwardly under her stare, “our job is to get all the information.
For a while, the only sound is the Miley Cyrus song blaring in the background. Eventually, though, Elain finds an adequate reply.
“That was a very decent thing you just did,” she says quietly. “And I am grateful to work under someone who approaches the job with such grace and dignity. Thank you for taking me along.”
A flash of something more than gratitude sprints across his face. He leans forward slightly, elbows on the table. “Thank you for coming,” he murmurs, and the husky timbre of his voice coupled with the tick in the protruding veins that lace his glorious arm muscles send a shot of adrenaline through Elain. Her mouth falls open on its own accord, and she lets out a breathless sigh.
Suddenly, De Valois is standing up. “Time to leave.” His voice has returned to its usual gruffness.
Elain, feeling like someone has just thrown cold water over her, does her best to keep her face blank as she gets to her feet.
On their way out, they pass a table of rowdy newcomers. One of them catches sight of Elain, who is once again wishing that she wore something other than her sundress, and whistles.
“I’d like to see you dancing on stage, pretty girl,” the man yells at her.
“How about you get up there and show us your moves, sweet thing,” another calls out, and a few others whoop in agreement. Elain turns her gaze downward, embarrassed and red-faced, and starts walking faster. She is hoping De Valois has noticed her discomfort and is keeping up with her increased pace, but when she casts a covert look over her shoulder, she sees that De Valois has not followed her, and is instead standing next to the table of catcallers, wearing an expression so formidable Elain is not the least surprised to see several of the men shaking.
He says something else to the men that Elain can’t make out, and the guy who whistled at her originally goes white as a ghost. A few moments later, De Valois returns to her side, straightening his tie.
“Shall we?” he gestures toward the door, breezy and casual, like he didn’t just scare a bunch of grown men absolutely shitless.
“What was that about?” Elain asks when they are outside. The mid-afternoon sun is out, warming her skin.
“Just a friendly conversation between men.” They begin walking down the sidewalk back toward the office, skyscrapers towering over them on all sides.
“Oh really? What did you say to them during this ‘friendly conversation’?” Elain hooks her fingers.
De Valois cuts her a dark glance. “No one disrespects you like that and gets away with it,” he says.
Oh. A gulp travels down her throat at the intensity in his gaze at the same time a wave of heated desire rushes between her legs.
It should be pointed out that Elain, like most people, has a type. And her type is nothing like Azriel De Valois. In fact, the kind of guys Elain usually goes for are the exact opposite: engaging and approachable with clean-cut, preppy styles, easy grins and polished manners. Certainly no tattoos. It’s safe to say that De Valois certainly does not fit any of her typical standards. But she’d be lying if she said his dark and dangerous persona didn’t intrigue her.
And she’d be lying if she said the raw and animalistic power the man so inherently emanates doesn’t have her thighs slick with arousal.
Elain is so lost in her inappropriate thoughts that it takes her a few beats to realize De Valois has asked her a question.
“Sorry, can you repeat that?”
De Valois raises a brow. “I asked if you would want to grab lunch at a nearby diner before we head back to the office. I can fill you in on the details of another case I’m working on. One that I’d like your help with.”
Her heart soars. “Of course I would!” She tries to keep the squeal of excitement out of her voice, but the result is that her words come out high-pitched and breathless.
Thankfully, De Valois doesn’t comment on it, instead turning and striding off toward whatever diner he has in mind. When Elain falls into step beside him, he glances over at her and, for the first time in the month they have known each other, smiles at her. Her heart stutters in her chest as the smile transforms him from attractive to ridiculously breathtaking.
And it is in that moment that the tightly-wound threads of her steady and disciplined self-control begin to unravel.
