His Little Lamb [ HARRY OSBORN ]
chapter IV. wedding bells
Pairing: Harry Osborn x Demetra Jones
Series: 0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Song Inspo: Perfect by One Direction
Word Count: 1,001
Summary: Demetria Jones is your classic model citizen. Smart, helpful, organized, sophisticated, and above all innocent. But that changes when she gets a new boss, Harry Osborn. She’s not looking for trouble, but that might be what she’s in for. Unless, maybe, she can change Harry… that is, if he doesn’t change her first.
Warnings: mentions of workplace abuse, forced proximity Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly)
I straightened my blazer for the fourth time that ride, fretting wrinkles. It wasn't even wrinkled, not really, but the motion gave me something to do besides swatting Harry's smug expression off his face. That, and the sound of him chewing. Loudly.
"You're going to break your jaw doing that," I muttered, narrowing my eyes toward the window as the car turned down yet another unfamiliar road.
Manhattan's skyline was disappearing behind us, swallowed by something greener and softer. That made me suspicious. Harry Osborn sat slouched in the leather seat beside me, legs parted like the king of some inherited kingdom, a fistful of butterscotch candies he'd swiped from the limo console resting on his lap.
"You know, Demetria," he slithered my name from his fangs, plucking another sweet and popping it in his mouth with exaggerated flair, "you don't have to straighten your uniform every ten seconds."
"It's not a uniform," I snapped, finally looking at him. "It's called business attire. Maybe if you dressed like a CEO and less like a Calvin Klein billboard, you'd understand."
He gave a single, low chuckle through his nose, lazily turning his head to me. "I am a CEO. Hence, the billboard gets to call the shots."
I shook my head. "You're astoundingly doltish."
"Guilty," he shrugged. Then, with a smirk so smug it could sink a yacht, he added, "At ease, soldier." And for dramatic flair, he gave me a mock salute.
Just leered out the window like he wasn't even there. The silence afterward wasn't awkward, exactly. Just... sharper. I saw his smirk falter from the reflection in the window. Harry leaned forward, tapping on the divider.
"How much longer?" he asked the driver.
I leaned up, squinting between the front seats toward the driver.
"Hold on. Where are we going exactly?" I asked, my English accent slipping into its more prim register. Part curiosity. Part politeness. Entirely confusion.
"To Neverland." Harry whispered whimsically without turning his head.
I blinked. "The CEO of Alchemax is at Neverland? Is he a pirate too?"
Harry clicked his tongue, grinning wide and arching a finger. "Arrrgh, matey."
I groaned and yanked out my phone, pulling up the GPS. "I swear, if you've kidnapped me--"
Before the map could finish loading, I heard it: A child's giggle.
I rolled down the window. Sure enough, as the limo slowed at the curb, I caught sight of monkey bars, balloons, and children flinging soap bubbles through the air like untethered spirits. A park. Of all places. My fingers brushed through my hairline as I squinted at the playground and the carousel tucked behind a clump of willow trees. It didn't make sense. But somehow... it felt right. Peaceful. Human.
I smiled. Softly. Despite myself.
"Why," I turned to him, bewildered and oddly giddy, "why would the CEO want to meet here?"
Harry tilted his head, mischief flaring in those turquoise eyes.
"Nostalgic?" He guessed, shrugging.
I hated it. How natural it felt. How... normal. I coughed into my fist and looked away, as if to re-cement the wall between us. The limo came to a gentle halt, and the driver stepped out to open our doors. I exited first, briefcase in hand, heels clacking softly against the park's cement path. Harry followed, sunglasses sliding down his nose, his windswept bangs flicking with each breeze.
I was trying not to look at him. But I also had no idea where we were going. So I had to look. Strictly navigational.
"Where is he?" I asked, clutching my case like a sacred text.
"You'll see," Harry replied, smirking again.
Amongst the park fun, we strolled through like a black, business parade -- Harry and me side by side, and his driver/security guard tailing behind. Joggers passed us, ducks quacked by a pond, and somewhere in the distance, a tuba player rehearsed for tips. The bridge we stopped on arched over a calm lake, shaded by a low-slung willow tree. A few yards down, a gazebo buzzed with wedding music.
I rested my forearms on the railing beside Harry. The lake shimmered below us, the wedding guests laughing like whispers on the wind.
"What? We're crashing a wedding now?" I joked.
I looked at him for a moment long. "Harry..."
"Is it unprofessional?" he asked, looking far too entertained.
He cocked his head, finger up. "Or... ambitious. Commendable, even."
I rolled my eyes again. I was going to get wrinkles from all this eye-rolling. Then the driver cleared his throat and held up... clothes?
"Your change, ma'am." He pressed his lips, face deadpan otherwise.
I stared at him. Then the dress. A gray minidress. Casual. That explained why Harry had dressed so down. Business rendezvous, my derrière! I could rip Harry's smug face to bits. That green-eyed goblin.
"You," I gritted, "you planned this."
"Off with this! I'll be in the car."
As I turned to storm off the bridge, Harry said, "Commission's 30 percent." I slowly turned back, still scowling with rage but with dollar signs in my eyes. Harry shrugged smugly, hands in his trousers. "All yours soon as the ink dries."
I sneered at the driver, the clothes, then jabbed a finger toward Harry. "Give me your sunglasses."
Cut to twenty minutes later, and I was sitting in the middle pew of a very real, very populated outdoor wedding. Sunglasses oversized, arms crossed, legs pressed together like I might shrink into the seat itself. Nobody looked at us, thank the Queen. Everyone was too old to remember their own grandkids, much less question if we were.
"There he is," Harry whispered, pointing discreetly to the groom at the altar.
Walker Sloan. CEO of Alchemax. Fixing his bowtie with all the grace of a man twice divorced and praying this one stuck. That was our target, my 30 percent commission.
"Old timer to my right," Harry added, nudging the elderly gentleman beside him. "Your our 'grandpa' for the day."
The old man squinted. "Do I know you two?"
Harry gasped, clutching his chest. "We're your grandchildren."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes again.
"Oh, oh, right..." the old man nodded slowly. "Good to see you, kids. Do you remember me?"
"Of course." I attempted a chuckle.
"Ooh! This might ring a bell," he said, clearing his throat dramatically. Then, with one proud finger in the air, "Excelsior!"
...He did looked... familiar.
Before I could inquire Harry, the wedding march began.
Everyone stood. Down the aisle walked the bride, somewhere between 23 and 45. Her silicone chest threatened to secede from her dress and her lips looked stung by three separate bees. At the alter, she sniffled dramatically and didn't sanitize her hand before taking Walker's.
The vows were... something.
"I promise to be your Insta story and your Snapchat filter, your #forever-ride-or-die. Even if you unfollow me."
"And I promise to like all your selfies, even the bad angles."
I grimaced until my whole face scrunched.
Harry cocked a brow, tapping his chin, and leaned toward me. "Remind me never to delete all my socials."
I scoffed, whispering back, "Remind me never to get married."
"Smart," Harry nodded, "that's where my parents went wrong."
I shrugged. "In England, we just elope."
Harry looked at me. "What's that?"
"You run off. No party. No spectacle. Just love. And a pen."
He grinned. "Sign me up."
We giggled. The officiator glared. I whispered an apology. The couple kissed, and she dipped him. Everyone clapped, though it sounded more like stunned disbelief.
During the reception, Harry and I did what we did best: con our way into influence. We switched name cards to sit next to the newlyweds. We pulled Walker into a conversation, congratulating him on getting hitched. He pretended to know who we were - relatives - and nodded along, thanking us. We bounced questions off of him, such as the honeymoon and stuff. I asked about kids.
"Yes." Minnie beamed. "Insta-babies are in right now. The younger the better. Cheeky but not, like fat. Chunky. Pinchable cheeks. OMG, my friends would diiiie."
Walker teetered his head, wincing as his glass found his lips, "Maybe. They're a handful and private school is expensive."
"Ow! Shit!" Harry clutched his shin. He had got kicked under the table by Minnie, the kick meant for Walker. The other three of us exchanged gaped looks.
"You alright, man?" Walker asked.
"He's fine. Anyway--" while Minnie chattered about having babies and Walker looked ready to pass out, I steered the conversation gently into... business.
"Are you looking into expanding?" I asked.
Walker squinted. "Maybe. You in business?"
"Have we crossed paths before?"
Harry grinned wolfishly. "Well... now that you mention it..."
He outed us. CEO of OsCorp and his new right-hand. Walker's smile vanished.
"You... you two... this is a pitch?! You crashed my wedding for a pitch?!" He scolded them quietly, looking over his shoulder at the other guests. As some passed, he plastered a smile.
Minnie laughed, wiping her nose. "#stalkervibes."
Walker scowled at Harry and I. "If you think for one second--"
"Demetria," Harry cut in, "open fire."
Harry rolled his eyes, "I meant the briefcase, soldier. Show what's in the briefcase."
I groaned. "You should have said the briefcase."
Smiling for Walker, I popped it open anyway. Graphs. Charts. Economic trends. Risk analyses. A full-on presentation of how both OsCorp and Alchemax will financially benefit from this collaboration. How we had a new project - a pharmecutical one - with a potential launch in the works. What followed was pharmaceutical market projections. All tied up in a neat, convincing bow.
"If you're unsatisfied," I concluded, "we part ways. No strings. Because economics is the science of decision-making, not risk. So tell me, Mr. Sloan..." I tilted my head, smiling, "what's your decision?"
Face unreadable, Walker looked at me. Then Harry, who pulled out a pen from his shirt pocket and smirked. Walker looked at the presentation. Then me again. I nodded to him, confidence in my smile.
Well. At least the cake looked good.
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