Mads Mikkelsen Characters x Reader OneShots

The Minister's Discretion (Le Chiffre x Reader)

Word count: 9010 words

Barely any smut yet

Potential triggers: can't think of any

A/N: This is a long one but bear with me, it's pretty good (I think, I really like this story so far). There will be a second part in which it's gonna get steamy, woohooo!

Hope you enjoy!

(Soon-to-be-husband I know you're seeing this, get out of here)

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The Ministry building looked exactly as intimidating as you had expected it to.
Grey stone stretched upward, its tall windows reflecting a sky that had threatened with rain since early morning. Two flags moved sluggishly above the entrance. Security officers stood on either side of the broad staircase, their expressions suggesting that smiling had been removed from their job descriptions years ago.

You paused at the foot of the steps and checked the time on your watch

9.43 am.

Seventeen minutes early.

Good.

You smoothed a hand down the front of your blouse, although there wasn't a single crease in it. You had ironed it twice the night before, along with the trousers you had eventually chosen after discarding three other outfits across your bed.

Professional, but not uptight.
Confident, but not presumptuous.
Memorable, but not for the wrong reasons.

You had repeated those words to yourself while getting dressed, though now, standing before the Ministry of Finance with your résumé tucked carefully inside a brown leather folder, you felt none of them.
You felt young, unqualified, and increasingly convinced that applying for such a position as this had been an act of insanity.

The vacancy had appeared online less than two weeks earlier: Executive Assistant, Office of the Minister.

The job description had been vague in the way important government positions often were.
Managing correspondence. Coordinating schedules. Preparing briefing materials. Handling confidential information. Supporting the daily operations of the minister's private office.
Beneath that had been an intimidating list of requirements, followed by a sentence about discretion, flexibility, and the ability to perform under significant pressure.

You had nearly closed the page.
Instead, you applied.

You still were not entirely sure why.

Perhaps it was the salary, which was considerably better than anything else you had found. Perhaps it was the idea of working somewhere that mattered, even if your contribution amounted to organizing meetings and ensuring that the correct documents ended up in the correct hands.
Or perhaps you had simply become tired of rejecting yourself before anyone else had the chance to.

A guard meticulously inspected your identification at the entrance. Another directed you through a metal detector and searched your bag with impersonal efficiency.

"Third floor."
The woman behind the reception desk told you.
"Private Offices. Someone will meet you at the lift."

The interior was quieter than you expected. Your heels clicked against polished marble as you crossed the foyer, each step echoing beneath the high ceiling. Civil servants moved around you with folders beneath their arms and phones pressed to their ears. No one appeared hurried, yet everyone seemed to have somewhere urgently important to be.

The lift finally arrived with a soft chime.

You stepped inside alone and pressed the button for the third floor.