Denial (Storm and Silence fanfiction)

Paycheck

As I entered Empire House, I didn't feel intimidated by the high, dark pillars for the first time, for I had bested their master.

Okay, maybe not bested, but I was still standing, wasn't I? How many gentlemen would have managed that? Not too many, I'd wager. Mr. Ambrose was insufferable that way.

Of course, he also had a lot of redeeming qualities, like his gentlemanliness, being true to his word and to the point, his sea-colored eyes, and his soft lips, that could caress mine in a loving and passionate- No! That was a hallucination. It was the alcohol! The only thing Rikkard Ambrose could do lovingly and passionately was count his money and devise ways to make more of it.

I smiled at Sallow-Face behind the reception desk,  who was ready for a long day of not helping people, and he almost fell of his chair in surprise.

Because I was in such a good mood, I tried my best not to laugh at him.

I almost skipped up the stairs, and made it past Mr. Stone without any more unnecessary chitchat.

I burst through Mr. Ambrose' office doors at nine sharp. If I expected applause, maybe even a marching band, any kind of celebration or even just a reaction, I was disappointed. Of course, the marching band would have been overdoing it, but this was an occasion to be acknowledged, wasn't it?

Apparently not, as my employer didn't even look up from his bureau, which was where he seemed to pass most of his time.

I coughed to get his attention, but I should have known by now that that doesn't work with Mr. Ambrose.

"Mr. Ambrose, sir?"

He didn't look up as he asked, "Yes, Mr. Linton?"

I used to be so annoyed when he called me that, but I had grown fond of it, as if it were an endearment of sorts, instead of scorn --very strange.

I was strangely nervous asking to be paid for my services, probably because I wasn't entirely sure I was supposed to actually ask. Weren't employers the ones to just give their employees money? On the other hand, Mr. Ambrose might have forgotten -okay, not forgotten, but maybe he didn't want to pay me, so I really should just come out with it...

"Mr. Linton." Mr. Ambrose's voice brought me back to this reality. "What is it?"

"I-" I hesitated. Come on, Lilly! You're a strong woman! Just say it: I want my paycheck. "I, eh..." But he looked so scary! And he wasn't even looking at me! "Good morning, Sir," I finished. Confound it all, Lilly. You've confronted him before, haven't you? And this is something that has been clear from the beginning. He pays you. So what is the problem?

Okay, I knew what the problem was. It had been drilled into my gentry-girl brain that when women receive money for services... Well, let's just say that those women were not private secretaries. I wasn't entirely sure what they did do, but I knew it was generally frowned upon.

"... Mr. Linton. Mr. Linton, are you listening to me?"

I looked up to meet Mr. Ambrose' piercing eyes. "Yes, Sir," I lied smoothly, "Always."

Nothing about his expression or composure changed, but I sensed his scepticism. "What did I just say, then?"

"Eh... Time is money is power is knowledge, Sir?"

"No, Mr. Linton. I said that I don't pay you to stand around gawking and wasting my valuable time. And to go fetch me file 476G," he ordered, then got straight back to work

This is the perfect opportunity, Lilly. Come on. Just do it. Carpe diem.

When I didn't move, he looked up at me again. "What are you still doing here? Go get me file 476G, now."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I repeated the process a few times, with Mr. Ambrose continuously staring at me.

He gave a small sigh, so small that anyone unfamiliar with him would not have noticed.

"Mr. Linton, i-"

"Iwasjustwonderinghowthewholepayingthingworks," I blurted.

I was about to just run out of his office and get him file whatever-it's-called, cheeks burning with embarrassment, when he got up and strode around his desk in three long, graceful steps, stopping right in front of me.

"I give you your paycheck," he said, holding out something to me.

The fact that he had the check ready made me think that he had known what I'd wanted all along, so I wondered why he hadn't just given it to me and saved precious time. I played with the idea that he had been teasing me, but that just didn't make any sense -teasing was playful, and playful was as un-Mr. Ambrose as a sunny beach.

Then I realized that he, of course, had wanted to humiliate me, making me ask for the money. Yes, that must have been it.

I hesitantly took it from him, and read the amount of money written in his neat cursive.

"This is what you pay me?" I asked incredulously.

He nodded curtly. "Minus the ticket cost for the Urania, of course."

"Of course," I rolled my eyes, "You pay this amount of money to me, every month?"

"Yes, Mr. Linton," he responded, in an I-just-told-you-this-why-don't-you-pay-attention tone, "for as long as you remain in my employ, which may not be so long since I have told you twice already to get me file 476G and you are still standing here."

The threat didn't even faze me anymore, I had grown accustomed to his motivational methods, but I wasn't used to having this much money. I almost squealed, then realized I would never squeal, even if I were wearing a dress, which I wasn't, and settled on a manly hug for Mr. Ambrose.

It didn't take me long to realize that perhaps that wasn't such a good idea after all. It wasn't that he tensed under my touch, more that he was already completely tense. Hugging Mr. Ambrose was much like I imagined hugging Michelangelo's David would feel like -he was hard, and I could feel every part of his upper body pressing into my significantly softer one- only I was sure that David wouldn't bite my head off for touching him. The guards at the museum might arrest me, sure, but I was certain that I prefered that over whatever Mr. Ambrose was going to do. I knew I should let go and apologize that instant, but hugging my employer was a lot less horrific as I would have imagined, in fact, I had to admit I rather enjoyed it.

"Mr. Linton!"

::

A/N Yeah, Lilly. Blame it on the a-a-a-alcohol!

Also, I don't mean to shame people who practise the second oldest profession in the world in any way (edit from 2018 me)

Carpe diem~ YOLO in ancient times, quote by Horace. Actually misunderstood quite often, as it is here :) Whatever.

I don't know if they had musea or museum guards in the Victorian Era...

And how was Mr. Ambrose? I tried to import him from the North Pole, but he melted a little along the way... Woops. ;) I guess I ship Lambrose too much to not make something happen.

Well, I'm off to get my report card... Wish me luck... :o I'll need it (technically I needed it when I was making my exams, but oh whale).

Nah, I'll be fine :).

Hopefully.