A Wedding Band in Denim

Their Routine

"It looks like today will be particularly uneventful," Sam spoke evenly to Charles as she walked by his side, both of them heading for his office. He smiled down at her as she observed the calendar on her phone, preoccupied with communicating his own schedule to him.

He'd already reviewed it himself, so everything she was saying was mere repetition, but he wasn't going to stop her. Charles felt enamored with the way she became engrossed in her work. Focused and dedicated. Where she has shown a rather slow progression in building up her confidence, she has always proven to be more than capable of making his own work so much easier for him.

Of course she has, she's your assistant. A brilliant one, at that. It's her job to make your life easier, you pay her for it.

Even so, his whole body felt warm at the idea of being sincerely cared about. There existing someone to worry for him. It had been so long...

"We have a staff meeting at twelve regarding the project with Indigineer. Our proposal to them, briefing the team on their platform. Unless you have anything to add beyond that, the rest of the day should be grunt work." She finished, following him into his office and looking up at him expectantly.

He smiled back at her as he closed the door.

"You forgot to mention, you owe me an exercise." He teased, smirking at her groan in response and sitting on his desk to face her.

Of course, she sat her possessions in one of the black chairs opposite his desk, umbrella on the floor. She knew the drill, though upon assuming the Power Pose she paused, speculating as she refused to meet his gaze.

Charles' brow knotted in concern. "Miss Young?

She looked up, then. Heart in her eyes. "Now, I really have no idea what to say. I feel like I've relayed to you every likable thing there is about me, already."

"Nonsense, we've only been at this for two weeks." He reassured softly. "I could document a decade's worth of things to love about you, and we've only been in each other's graces for a year." He spoke earnestly, again, surprising them both with his tone.

"Charles, I..." She shook her head, her lack of conviction and belief in herself overpowering his sincerity. She wasn't getting emotional, more than she was just honestly stumped. Nothing to say. It was almost worse, Charles noted.

"Bunty, do you understand how wonderful you are at your job?" He asked, standing up from his usual seat atop his desk and looming down at her, a look of focused seriousness etched across his features. His, beautiful features.

She flushed a bit at the pet name. "I...well, I actually think I'm rather bad at it." she confessed, looking down, then lifting her chin again to stare ahead. Avoiding those turquoise eyes at all costs. He didn't relent, like she'd hoped he would. Leaning in even further, he urged her to meet his gaze.

"Look at me when I tell you this, Samara." He commanded, triggering goosebumps to spread and hum all over Sam's body as she shifted her eyes to stare into his. She could tell she was impossibly red, the unmistakable heat in her face and chest being a dead giveaway to even her. She feared he could feel the temperature radiating off of her with his proximity. She gasped a little at the feel of his hands grasping her upper arms.

"Everyday, I feel tremendously grateful to have not only met, but to employ a woman as intelligent and capable as yourself. And, to have her working beside me as my equal is a gift of immense proportions." He said it in almost a whisper, with reverence. She blinked, overwhelmed by the admition more than anything.

"You really feel that way, even though I'm like this?" She asked, forgetting about her bashful nature. The temptation to retreat into her office and hide was abandoned in favor of hearing what he had to say.

"Like what?" He pushed, gaze never wavering, gluing her own eyes before his. She was as frightened by it as she was aroused, though she tried to ignore that fact in an effort to answer, not knowing exactly how to word her response.

"Like, embarrassed and nervous over menial things. Like, meetings and talking. The way I dress." Her hand, the one she had lacerated weeks prior, came up to rest on his chest. The touch alone cased his own goosebumps to join the interaction, radiating from his breast to the span of his form.

"You're glad to have me, even though I'm so pathetic?" He glared at that.

"Never call yourself pathetic. Never." His voice had taken a tone a severity, which should've deterred her.

Though of course, because today was today, it had the opposite effect on Samara. She glared in return.

"What other word is there? Immature? Babyish? Charles, you are living proof of all the things I should be capable of doing without hesitation. I'm twenty-two years old, I'm a grown up, and I'm still letting things that are supposed to be second nature hold me back..." She urged, clenching the front of his suit as tears rested upon the corners of her eyes.

"You cannot control what frightens you," he cooed, gripping the hand at his chest with one hand and swiping her hair behind an ear with the other. "Those things are not your fault, Samara." He assured, feeling his resolve crumble as her tears finally began to fall.

Initially, he had thought that upon giving her an example, it would make conjuring her own admirable qualities more simplistic. Usually, it had worked. Today, though, his Bunty was inexplicably fragile. Had something happened?

He guided her into him as she cried, placing a hand at the back of her head and pulling it to rest on his chest, beside the hand that he continued to hold. He stroked her hair for a moment before speaking again, his concern reaching an all time high.

"Annwyl, what's troubling you?" He queried gently, running two fingers soothingly upon her upper back, noting the tremors he sent through her with pride.

Fucking twll tin, get your head out of the dammed gutter.

"W-well..." She stammered, instinctively nuzzling the side of her head into his chest as he wrapped his free arm around her, never letting go of the small hand at his pectoral. His heart ached at the small move, yearning to comfort her as well as he could manage in his office. A tiny, irrational part of him wanted more than anything to sweep her away from here and take her to her happy place, wherever that was, and sit with her there. Watch her feel better. Regain one of those smiles he's grown to love so much-

Love?

"Miss Young," Charles commanded her attention, his tone flat and professional. It was a bit of a shock, considering the position they were in and the comfort he had offered seconds prior. She startled out of his embrace and looked up at him, and he felt like an absolute dick upon seeing the streaks of mascara running down her flushed cheeks. His expression softened and he offered her his handkerchief.

"I hate to interrupt you..." he was back to his gentler tone, "...but your father would be terribly concerned to discover that you have been crying so early in the day. That, and you should take ample time to regain yourself before our meeting."

She nodded, feeling even worse than before. She bent to retrieve her belongings before embarking on her walk of shame. Me and my big mouth.

Charles noticed her dejection and felt wounded, overcome with regret over stopping her to begin with.

"However, I myself am more than a little worried about your well-being. As a colleague, I insist that we return to the work we've set out to complete today. As a friend," they both cringed internally at the word's casual connotation, "I ask that you let me take you out again. Tonight."

Her head raised to protest, though he continued.

"Please, Samara. I want to be the first to ensure that you are okay."

Her pause for thought was short before she nodded, turning to retreat without so much as a 'good-bye'. Again, there was a twinge in his heart at that.

Damn.

Charles shook his head before rubbing a hand down his face.

I already miss her.