»opulence{miles kane x alex turner}

i n s i n u a t i o n

i didn't update my other fic for this, i'm really enjoying writing this at the moment, evidently since it didn't take me another four years.

i didn't edit, but this is approximately 7,000 words long and i'm sick of the sight of it if i'm honest

anyway enjoy and thank you, love you, vote and fuel my ego that would be excellent

-georgia

Miles was in the shower when the phone rang, and as a result, Robert answered it instead. He'd had precious little to do all morning, since his boss had disappeared completely after returning from the Turner's with a business deal some time yesterday afternoon. The office was unusually quiet- the usual talking into the phones and shouted chatter replaced with the occasional pattering of a keyboard and the low, droning radio in the corner that was tuned to a shit station that nobody besides Will was listening to. It was a near miracle that Will was here at all, and this morning seemed to mark one of those rare days when the circle of desks reserved for Miles' 'secretaries' were all full. Despite them not actually doing anything, there was a pleasant sort of atmosphere- Will had his feet up on the desk and was conversing in a low mutter- either to the man next to him, Damon; though it was equally likely he was just talking to himself. Jamie had a white earphone cord draped around his shoulders as he fought to stifle yawns, meeting the odd sniggering gaze with one of his own bemused expressions.

That was why Robert- who had been largely ignored all morning since he was the only one with anything to actually do- darted for the phone as soon as the trilling ringtone announced into the quiet that there was more going on with Miles than it seemed from their perspective. He had a posh sort of voice, slightly Yorkshire-sounding, and answered the phone with a hugely bright, hugely false- "St Kane's home for the criminally insane, dial 'one' for the morgue!"

"Robert!" Jamie hissed through the two other sets of appreciative giggles. They often did this- in fact there was a running joke to see who could answer the phone with the most ridiculous sentence. It was a real wonder how none of them had been sacked yet, though they didn't seem to care so long as they weren't caught. Jamie wasn't going to tell Miles since although it was definitely a stupid idea, it was unarguably very funny.

Though Robert was still smirking, he'd dropped the cartoon voice, spluttered an apology and was nodding despite whoever he was talking to not being able to see him. His blue-eyed gaze was dropped to the white desk in front of him, for fear of being set off by the other two again. The nods became more and more solemn, until his brow wrinkled in a mixture of confusion and disdain as he covered the receiver with one large, tanned hand and whispered into the office; "Who the fuck is Alex Turner?"

Jamie made a strange sort of pained yelp in response to that, standing up and darting over to Robert's desk in one fluid, uncharacteristically affected movement that had Will bursting into peals of renewed laughter. Jamie grabbed the phone off Robert- who tried to struggle against his colleague for a moment before he realised there was some deeper importance to this conversation and indeed before Jamie struck him with a sort of teasing backhanded slap across the side of his head. Robert let go, and Jamie held it to his ear instead. Miles would kill him if he let Robert talk to his new business partner, and it wasn't as if fights like that were out of the ordinary for this office anyway.

"Hello Mr Turner, you're through to Jamie Cook; I'm Miles' personal assistant..." he was pulled into a polite conversation that was evidently a contrast to Robert's previous manner. Will mimicked the 'personal assistant' comment as he settled back down in his desk chair, leaning towards the left since the phone cord wouldn't reach comfortably. Jamie was probably the most professional of all four of Miles' secretaries, and although Damon tended to shut up and get on with whatever he had to do, the pair of absolute idiots that were left usually managed to ruin any kind of productive mood.