He Talks Too Much ~ Septiplier

8

"Your brother?" Jack repeated slowly, confused as ever.

Georgia nodded, brown eyes watching him in a way that was irrevocably familiar; an interesting mix of expectancy and a stone cold impatience that did absolutely nothing to calm the young man's nerves or kick his brain into gear.

"I have it on good information that you've been associating with him, no need to pretend otherwise, at the moment your excuses don't matter to me." She said calmly and continued to talk even though Jack's mouth had fallen open in protest. "What I'm interested in is why."

"I- your brother? I haven't been talking to your brother. Your brother is-" And then it clicked; Jack could practically feel the blood drain from his face. "Mark. Mark Fischbach." He whispered in undisguised horror, his eyes wide with realisation. "Your brother is Mark Fischbach." He repeated, just so the thought truly sank in.

Oh God.

It all made sense.

No wonder Mark didn't want to reveal his name, no fucking wonder he thought Jack would recognise his voice. Jesus Christ Jack had been a complete and utter fool and only now, sitting in his boss's office with the man's sister sitting right in front of him, did he finally fucking remember what was so damn familiar about Mark Fischbach.

Jack couldn't believe he'd been so blind.

Around two years ago Jack had probably known more about Mark Fischbach than he did his own mother, and that wasn't even an exaggeration. The press had flocked to cover the downfall of the youngest Fischbach, throwing him into disgrace and marking his name with an ugly stain that was permanently etched into the general public's mind-set.

At the time the newspapers rarely spoke about anything else other than the inspirational young millionaire's spiral into alcoholism after his father's untimely death. They blathered on and on about how he left the company throne sitting empty and vulnerable, open for a wild and dirty grapple of power that had only ended when Georgia herself took the job and dragged the business out from the anarchy it had fallen into. The public lost interest a few days later and Mark Fischbach had faded into the background, his fifteen minutes of fame well and truly spent.

Jack had read the articles, heard the interviews both young and old and watched with fascination as an entire business was raised from the ashes before his very eyes. Honestly it was one of the things that made the younger, perhaps more naïve 21 year old Jack, still stuck in college and surviving off takeout, start to dream of running away to the Big Apple and work for such inspirational giants as Georgia Fischbach.

Suddenly Jack wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"I'm glad we've established that my brother is, indeed, my brother. Now that you're sure could you please answer my question as to why you're suddenly socialising with the man?" Georgia's clipped tone snapped Jack right out of whatever kind of daydream he was lost in and gave the woman his full attention praying his distraction hadn't been as noticeable as it felt.

"I ugh, I didn't know who he was at the time." He let out a low cough, suddenly realising just how stupid it sounded when he said it out loud.

Oddly he felt something akin to shame for talking to someone with such a reputation as the youngest Fischbach. He could remember watching him on the Tv and wondering how anyone on this earth could stand such an arrogant and self-absorbed asshole, yet here he was, fresh from a good few weeks of pleasant, light hearted conversation with the man. How ironic.

"What do you mean?" Georgia asked, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table, disbelief strong in her words. Jack could hardly blame her for it.