Strictly Business (Miguel O'Hara x Reader)

Chapter 6: A Helping Hand

Miguel followed the group into the club that was the closest to the office, but even though he was with a group of co-workers, he still seemed a little uncomfortable. He hadn't been out in a while, not in this context at least. Not for this specific reason. As we entered, it was clear that Miguel was nervous, but all of his co-workers seemed to have a fun night planned out ahead. It wasn't long before everyone was talking and laughing, immersing themselves in the lively atmosphere. Drinks were flowing, and some people went off to dance and hang out. However, I stayed at a table with a couple of my other colleagues and my secretary.

As the night progressed, Miguel began to relax a little, but he was still not actively setting out to look for a girl despite the pressure from his peers. Eventually, they let him be, now focusing their attention on having fun. But later on, Miguel went over to a few of his coworkers at the bar, ordering himself a drink and making some small talk.

"Isn't he so dreamy though?" asked one of my female coworkers to another, referring to Miguel. I rolled my eyes at their conversation. I tried to ignore their chatter, but they kept throwing compliments about him across the table, which made me grow increasingly angry because they don't know what type of person he is.

"He's so handsome," they continued.

"And he's such a hard worker!"

"He'd make a perfect husband!"

The sound of their laughter filled the air as they fantasized about marrying him, using the name "Mrs. O'Hara." It sickens me to my stomach because that is what I used to be referred to as.

Unable to tolerate their fawning any longer, I abruptly stood up from my chair and left the club. The rain started to pour harder as my irritation built up. In a fit of frustration, I kicked some beer bottles that lay on the ground, attempting to release some of my pent-up emotions. Mocking their conversation, I muttered to myself, "Oh, he'd make a perfect husband. Yeah right. All he would do is cheat on you." In my rage, I grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it on the ground, not realizing it was too close to a drunk guy I hadn't noticed earlier.

Suddenly, the man became angry and started heading towards me, ready to retaliate. I started to back away from him and before I could even apologize, he grabbed my arm and threw me to the ground, scraping my knees as he yelled at me. Fear had a hold on me as he raised his hand to strike, and I closed my eyes, bracing for impact. However, the hit never came. When I dared to open my eyes, I saw a familiar figure towering over me. Miguel had swiftly intervened, leaving the drunk man collapes on the ground. "Ow... my nose... you fucking bastard..." he whimpered. Miguel's clenched fist relaxed as he shook it off, the gravity of the situation sinking in. I sat there, momentarily stunned, trying to process the turn of events, until I noticed Miguel extending a hand toward me through the rain and darkness. His soft smile was unmistakable as he knelt down, meeting my gaze. "You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle and with concern.

I gazed up at him, surprised that he had gone out of his way to protect me like that. Do his actions mean he still cares about me? Or is he just fulfilling his job duties off the clock? I could feel my face flush with emotion before I snapped back into reality.

Despite my flustered state, I maintained a stern expression and replied, "Yeah... I'm okay," refusing his help as I stood up on my own. "You didn't have to do that; I could've handled it." I dust off my knee-length pencil skirt as I realize my knees had been scraped pretty badly. I clutch my own arms to keep warm as the rain continued to stream down.

He sees my rejection at his help and loses his smile, but that doesn't stop him from saying, "By getting beat up? Yeah, I'm sure you had it all handled." He responded sarcastically, chuckling. Nevertheless, he looked at me intently before retracting his extended hand and sighing while getting up. "Are you sure?" he asked softly. "You seemed upset by something in the bar." I remained silent, unwilling to divulge the cause of my distress, but Miguel had already made a guess, albeit a wrong one.

"I'm sorry," Miguel's voice was soft and low. "I can be really dumb sometimes, putting myself in situations like that. I didn't think they'd take me out for that reason. But after a while, I couldn't say no because they kept pressuring me. I didn't know I'd be putting you in this situation. For what it's worth, I'm glad you're okay.",

"I really don't care either way, Mr. O'Hara," I replied sternly, purposely addressing him by his last name to reinforce the fact that we had no relationship beyond work. "You have a right to look for a new girlfriend. As I said, we are strangers. We have no past. I have no feelings toward you, so please don't pity me for this." I spoke firmly, yet deep down, I cared. I despised how they idolized him, portraying him as a perfect person when I knew better. They placed him on a pedestal he didn't belong on. He tried to pretend to be good, but I alone knew his true nature. I began to walk away, seething with anger, when I felt the weight of his jacket on my shoulders.

"You're really cold," Miguel said, meaning in figurative and literal way. His hand laid on my shoulders for just a second. Caught off guard by his continuous kindness, I averted my gaze, hoping he wouldn't notice my flustered state. "Do you need a ride?" he asked as he walked beside me. "It's okay, I'll walk home," I replied, determined not to rely on him any further. I didn't need his help. Yet, to my surprise, he followed behind me, still trying to convince me otherwise.

"Are you sure?" Miguel persisted. "It's freezing, and it's getting late. I can't just leave you out here like this." His words were gentle but insistent. He had a point—I couldn't simply walk home alone at night in these weather conditions and in these hostile streets. Regardless I continue to make my way past Miguel and start wandering to my home. Ensuring my safety had become his priority. "I promise I'll be quick. It's just a ride home. You don't even have to talk to me during the drive."

I remained resolute, convinced that I didn't require his assistance. However, as the rain grew heavier, drenching me further, I realized I wouldn't be able to endure the walk home if I continued to be stubborn. Soaked to the bone, with aching knees and tired feet from walking in heels, I couldn't take it any longer. "Fine," I relented, disappointed that I had to give in to his help. Miguel acknowledge my reluctant acceptance. "Alright, hop in then." He opened the car door for me, allowing me to slide into the passenger seat, and then settled into the driver's seat. He started the car's heater, ensuring my comfort, before driving off towards my place, a faint, friendly smile playing on his lips.