Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, Finn? Can you tell Mr. Dameron that I’m running a bit late? The elevator wasn’t working in the building so I had to walk down all the stairs, and then the train was stopped for some reason, and then the line at the coffee shop was insane and it’s pouring out here-“

Her explanations tumble from her lips all in one breath, and she struggles to catch it again as she props her phone between her cheek and her shoulder. She shivers in the rain, so used to warmth around her entire body and not just trapped in her hands. She clutches her tea like a lifeline, squeezing between passerby and trying to make herself as small as possible on the cramped sidewalk.

“… Rey, your meeting with him isn’t for another hour.”

“I know that.” She runs into someone’s shoulder, wincing at the slight pain. She’s pushed along with the rest of Manhattan for a hellish moment, and then she skitters forward in an attempt to put some space between her and the people behind her. The sidewalk is slick beneath her shoes, and she almost stumbles into passerby a few times. “I just … would you tell him for me?”

“He’s not even here yet,” Finn tells her. He sounds oddly far away, and it’s then she realizes that she’s been put on speakerphone. She can hear him rummaging through something on the other end - can hear the sliding of metal, the clicking of plastic and the soft sound of zippers being tugged along their teeth. “Take a deep breath, all right? Stay calm.”

She can’t calm down. No amount of green tea or meditation could help her now as she hurried her way down the Manhattan streets. She’s just glad she’s wearing sensible, somewhat water-resistant shoes. She’s no stranger to exercise, but jogging in comfortable trainers is a bit different than rushing down a sidewalk in work-appropriate shoes. “I can’t stay calm, Finn!”

“I was talking to myself - my very important memory card’s gone MIA - oh, wait, no, here it is.”

Rey takes a deep breath, pushing her way between two slow businessmen with a soft apology. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Poe likes everyone, Rey, honestly. And everyone loves him back, so just calm down. If he gets here before you, I’ll let him know that you’re on your way, all right?”

“You’re a saint,” she breathes. She feels her heart skip a beat as she recognizes the building she’s to be working in. “I’ll text you when I’m in the elevator, all right?”

“You got it, peanut.”

She smiles softly at the nickname and hangs up. It doesn’t seem right to stand in the middle of the busy sidewalk and gawk up at her new workplace, especially not when it’s raining, so she walks forward instead. For a quick dart of a moment, she lets her eyes glance upwards at the grey building. It’s tall, towering above her like the rest of the New York skyline. It’s a relatively new one, all sleek glass and metal and concrete. It’s also intimidating as hell, but she nods to the security guard as she walks in. He nods back, and she checks that worry off of her mental list. She’s in the building without trouble. Good.

Her I.D. card feels like a lead weight in the right pocket of her coat, and she fingers the thin plastic nervously as she approaches the sleek elevators. She slides it through the turnstile and gives a soft sigh of relief when the light turns green. She walks through, newly confident. Another disaster somehow averted.

She pushes her way through some other people to the elevator. Golden light spills from the elevator onto the marble floor, and she rushes towards the still-open doors. She completely misses the stricken looks of bystanders, the sharp intake of breath from a few of them as she says, “Hold it!” All she manages to notice is the door closing, and she slips through the crack just in time. She clutches her bag to her chest, grinning in relief when the doors close behind her.

“Sorry,” she apologizes to the dark figure beside her - the only other being in the elevator. She tucks a wet strand of hair behind her ear before reaching forward and tapping at the 19th floor button. It takes more than a little tap, apparently, and she has to jab it twice before it glows. She returns back to her designated space in the elevator, letting her bag fall back to her side. Not for the first time that morning, she wonders if the papers and laptop inside of it are all right. They’ve been through a hell of a morning, between her bounding down the apartments steps and the rain outside.

“Not the prettiest morning, huh?” she asks, casting a glance towards the man beside her. He hasn’t spoken, instead staring at her with a mixture of awe and disgust. She meets his dark gaze straight on, before looking at the button he’d pressed.

“48. The top floor,” she tries, giving him the best smile she can. He’s not a bad looking man, attractive in a bit of a strange way, like one of those high fashion models who’s contracted for their ‘unique’ look. She can see the way his ears poke out slightly from his long, dark hair, and his nose is perhaps a bit too big for his face. But he has a way about him, a sort of aura of power that she knows she’ll never, ever have. He looks like the rest of the world is beneath him, and she finds herself believing it.

He scoffs softly, turning and watching as the numbers climb higher and higher.

Well then. She shuffles, then sniffles, immediately damning the rain outside. She clutches her tea tighter, stressing the cup slightly. The rest of the ride is tense, the man beside her stiff as a board with his hands in the pockets of what she can tell is a very, very expensive black coat. She sniffles again, and he looks at her again with open disgust.

“Sorry,” she admits quietly. “I’m not used to the cold.”

He glares before looking back towards the climbing floors.

The 19th floor cannot come soon enough.

As soon as the elevator dings, she’s out of there. “Have a nice day!” She throws the phrase back carelessly before hurrying along, clutching her bag to her chest.

There’s no response as the doors close.

•

“Still here before him,” Finn tells her when she rounds the corner into the reception area. He’s grinning, arms open towards her. She rushes into them, thoroughly enjoying the heat of him. Screw professionalism - her boss isn’t there yet, she can hug her best friend if she wants to. He wraps his arms around her, strong from lugging tripods and heavy equipment around.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up,” she mutters into the dark material of his long-sleeved shirt. He snorts, large hand patting her head.

“Poe’ll love you,” he insists, pulling back. “I promise. And if he doesn’t, I’ll kick his butt.”

“HR might have a problem with that.”

“Maybe.”

He’s still grinning, so she gives him her best smile back. After all, he was the one who gave her the opportunity. He’d opened a door for her she never thought would even be unlocked, ever. It had taken some name dropping, plugging and blatant bragging on his part, but she’d managed to get it anyway - she’s entirely positive it was sheer dumb luck that the other candidate left to work at a catalogue company.

She’s just about to tell him to stop smiling when the glass doors open, and a man rushes in. He’s a whirlwind of brown and black and orange. “Sorry, sorry!” he apologizes as he bumps into another man, offering a charming smile and a pat on the shoulder before walking straight to the office with ‘DAMERON’ in white lettering on the glass door.

Rey stares at his neon orange and white backpack. It’s the only thing remotely unprofessional about him. The rest of him is put together impeccably, all tan skin and wild curls and slight stubble. She watches through the glass as he puts his backpack on the desk, unloading his laptop and a series of folders before tucking it behind the desk.

“That’s … Mr. Dameron?”

“That’s Poe Dameron,” Finn confirms, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the reception desk. “Don’t call him Mr. I tried for about two weeks until he threatened to dock my pay because of it. Jokingly, of course.”

“Of course.” She can’t imagine the man currently opening his orange, Star Wars sticker-covered laptop docking anyone’s pay.

Rey stills at the soft kiss to her temple. “I’ve gotta go back to my floor - have a shoot in 20. I’ll text you for lunch?” he offers. She nods wordlessly, turning to watch him go. He grins as the elevator doors close, and then she’s left alone with her nerves. She clutches her bag to her side, hoping to hell and back she brought everything she needed.

“Rey, right?”

Her head whips around and she stares, wide-eyed, at the man leaning out of the office door. “Yes?”

He’s grinning, brightly, as he walks towards her. He’s not much taller than her, she notes, as he offers his hand. “Poe Dameron. We spoke over the phone.” He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest once they've shook hands. “So you’re the fantastic writer Finn’s been bragging about for weeks now.”

“Yes,” she confirms, nodding before she stops and corrects herself. “I mean we spoke over the phone, yes, not that I’m a fantastic writer.”

He just continues to smile at her. “I feel like I know you already with how much Finn’s told me.”

Her heart thumps heavily, and she offers what she hopes is a confident grin. “All good things, I hope?”

“The man literally wouldn’t shut up about how amazing you are.” He looks towards his office, then shrugs. “Guess there’s no point in asking you to sit down, then. You said you haven’t been in a copy editing department before?”

She shakes her head. “No, not a department.”

“But you can catch grammatical and spelling errors?”

She nods.

“Good. That’s good, since that’s what you’ll be doing.” He shrugs. “It can never pass through too many hands, you know? BB has the pages you’ll be looking through today. They’ll get you up and running, too. I don’t think your and Finn’s hours quite match up, but I’m sure he’ll make it work.”

She blinks at him, a bit confused. “BB?” What kind of name - or nickname, she assumes - is BB?

“Bryce Bradford.”

She turns, frowning at the person who’s just come in from the rain and is shedding their black slicker behind the receptionist desk. They look too young to be working, 16 at most. They’re dressed simply, in grey jeans and a white button-down shirt and a black bow tie. The only discernible color comes from their hair, a bright shock of orange styled in an undercut. They pull a black binder from their backpack and walk over, grinning at her. “Otherwise known as BB.”

“BB,” she repeats as they hand the binder over to Poe.

“My assistant,” Poe explains. “And my savior in most situations.”

“I wouldn’t have to save you if you didn’t get into them,” BB states, poking at the binder. “Very important. Get it done today before I have to go to Phasma.”

Poe just grins, turning to Rey. “They’ve been with me for about a year now, but already they’re the best assistant I’ve ever had.”

“You say that like I'm not the eighth you've had,” BB teases. "This man couldn't keep an assistant down until I came along."

“They just weren’t as good as you.”

BB rolls their eyes. "You mean they didn't put up with your shit as long as I have," they mutter, but they smile and extend their hand. Rey takes note of the white and silver painted fingernails as she grips their hand. “You must be Rey.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she says. And she really is. They look nice, at the very least. Maybe she’ll make a friend on this floor instead of just the editing department. “Sorry for asking, but aren’t you a little young to be working?”

BB snorts. “I’m 25.”

And she manages to be younger. “Oh, sorry.”

They wave a hand. “Happens all the time.” They look towards Poe, and poke him in the chest. “Go work. I’ll show her around. If you don’t have at least one finished by 12…”

“I’ll have to work through lunch, I know.” Poe nods and waves at Rey. “Welcome to the team, Rey.”

She nods wordlessly. He steps inside his office, offering another small wave through the glass door before sitting down. And then another after he’s settled in his chair. She can’t see BB’s face, but she’s pretty sure of their expression when Poe abruptly stops waving and starts working hurriedly.

“Sometimes I wonder how that man stays here,” BB admits as they walk to stand by Rey. She notices for the first time that they’re a few inches shorter than her, standing at maybe 5’2 at best. She smiles down at them, shouldering her bag.

“All right, desk,” BB says, starting to walk down the hallway. Rey can see that it’s lined with glass-walled offices, and follows eagerly. Peeking into a few of them, she can see people already hard at work. Some have two monitors, others have one and a laptop. BB waves to several of them, and Rey’s not remotely surprised when all wave back at them.

They come around the corner and there are a few desks set up. She can see where people have made the white desks their own, small personal belongings littering the surface.

“This one,” BB says as they pass one tucked into a corner. “Is yours. Sorry, it’s not exactly a corner office.” They smile warmly at her as she walks over and starts to unload her bag. She breathes a sigh of relief when she realizes that her ancient Macbook hasn’t been damaged from the rain, still dry in its case. She sets it down gently, afraid to break it (again). Rey hesitates when she finds her portfolio of writing, holding it up to BB. The front has been labeled with a stolen piece of cream washi tape, ‘WRITING’ labeled on it neatly. “Where should I-?”

“I can take it,” BB explains, offering their hands. “I’ll show it to Poe when he has a free moment. I’ll check his schedule and let you know, all right?”

She puts the folder in their hands. “Thank you,” she says, sincerely, smiling at them.

“Happy to help.” They give a little salute before jerking their thumb back to the front desk. “I’ve gotta roll. But come by the desk if you need anything, all right?” They point a finger at her cup. “Coffee?”

“Tea,” she clarifies. “Green.”

“Good to know, considering I make the drink orders,” BB replies, winking at her. “Nice to meet you, Rey.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” she offers. They give one last little wave before walking back to the front desk. She watches them go as long as she can, catching glimpses of their orange hair in the reflections of some of the offices. And then she collapses into her chair, grinning.

She’d done it. She made it. She’s so giddy she laughs, glad to be alone for the time being. A quick shifting of her bag shows a file folder, hidden beneath the brown leather satchel. She pulls it out quickly and flips through, finding a few paragraphs tucked into the folder for her to go through and edit. She sets her bag on the ground and scoots in, snagging an orange highlighter (the only color in the cup, probably courtesy of Poe) and setting to work.

Chapter Text

“I heard you had a little … issue, this morning.”

Kylo looks up from the spread he has in front of him, frowning. It’s still early in the month, so there isn’t much to approve or edit or give his final word on quite yet, but there are a few things that require his attention. There are always things that require the attention of the Editor in Chief. It's something he's thankful for, the constant distractions.

He stares at the man in front of him, confused. “Issue?” he asks, voice carefully level with just the slightest lift in pitch at the end to indicate his question.

Hux raises an eyebrow, the redheaded man leaning against the doorway to Ren’s office. The man looks impeccable, as usual. Kylo can easily count how much the man’s outfit costs - a good 5,000, not counting the watch or the shoes or the man’s glasses. “The elevator.” His tone indicates that, really, Kylo should know exactly what he's talking about and he's an idiot for not knowing.

“What about it?” he demands.

“Some drowned rat managed to squeeze in with you.”

Kylo resists the urge to flick his very expensive, very heavy pen towards Hux’s head. Instead, he merely turns his eyes back down to the spread before him. He’s in a good mood today. Normally, another presence in the elevator would be enough to set him off into a rage, but not today. Today he’s simmering, slow and gentle. Hux, however, is risking a boil-over.

“You’d think they’d cover that in the orientation,” Hux mutters, shaking his head slowly.

He’s definitely pushing it. Kylo doesn’t dignify the other man’s words with a response, instead keeping his eyes on the spread. He underlines a word he doesn’t think fits, circling it and putting a red tab on it for the reread. He adds another tab just by the word and writes a few suggestions of his own before moving to the next line.

“Don’t tell me you weren’t bothered by it. You threatened one of the lackeys out of sheer boredom just yesterday. It should, rightfully, upset you to be in an elevator with someone of such low status.”

“Hux.”

The man’s smirking, raising his eyebrows in question. “Yes?”

“Go stick a pen up your ass,” Kylo states, voice dangerously low. “Before I dump this coffee all over your precious Brunello Cucenelli suit.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Kylo lifts the Starbucks cup threateningly, raising one dark eyebrow.

Hux glares, leaving the room in a storm of black, grey, and pissed off redhead.

The editor in chief of General Fashion merely sighs, running a hand through his dark hair and leaning forward to focus on the spread before him.

•

She’s deep into the fifth article when she feels light pressure on the top of her head. She sits up a bit, startled, but calms down slightly when she catches a whiff of caramel coffee. Finn. She turns, finding him leaning over her, his lips having just been pressed to her hair. She can see the camera bag slung over his shoulder, and the two black backpacks in his left hand. His other holds a Starbucks cup, sugary order written on the side. “Done?” she questions, looking up at him.

He nods, smiling tiredly at her. “It was just photographing some products for the next issue. We’re going to see how these look in editing and reshoot tomorrow, if needed. I just need to put the equipment away, and I’ll be good for lunch. Just wanted to see how everything’s going.”

“Great.” She shows him the pages, marked up in black pen and orange highlighter. “Just goes to show that spellcheck doesn’t get everything.”

He hums, leaning forward and looking at her scribbles. “Good thing they have you, then. What’d you think of Poe?”

She slips the articles back into the folder, and then slides said folder into one of the empty desk drawers. She starts to pack up her things, putting her computer into the same drawer for safekeeping. “He’s really nice. I didn’t expect someone who works at a high fashion magazine to be so nice.”

“Hey!”

Her fist connects with his upper arm, lightly. “You know what I meant,” she scolds, grabbing her wallet. “I didn’t expect someone with so much power to be so nice.”

He smiles at her and bumps his hip with hers when she stands. “Yeah, I know, just teasing.” He starts to walk with her at his side. “He’s awesome, though. Really listened to me. Never really had that happen much before.”

She nods, understanding. Not many people listened to her before Finn, either.

They pass the desk and BB glances up at them, grinning at Finn. “Hey, babe!”

“BB!” Finn leans over the desk to fistbump them.

“How’d I miss you?” they ask, confused.

“Took the stairwell,” Finn explains, leaning on his elbows. “Wanna get lunch with us?”

“I would, if I didn’t have to keep my eye on that one.” Their orange hair slips slightly out of place as they jerk their head towards the office in front of them, where a very stressed-looking Poe is hunched over a pile of papers.

“Deadline?” Finn questions, frowning as Poe runs his hand through his hair. The waves are in disarray, and his jacket’s been abandoned on the back of the chair. Rey acknowledges the white wire connecting his ear to the computer, and smiles softly when she realizes exactly why his foot’s moving beneath the desk.

“Told him there was. It’s not until tomorrow, but if I told him that, then it wouldn’t get done today.”

“Smart.” Finn reaches out and ruffles their hair. Rey’s expecting them to protest as their beautiful hair is messed up, but instead they just grin and run their fingers through their hair to fix it. “Want anything from the lunch room?”

“Mountain Dew?” they ask, and Finn nods.

“You got it, BB,” the man replies, and BB smiles gratefully before returning to their computer.

Finn leads Rey to the elevators, pressing the ‘up’ button and waiting. “I just have to drop this stuff off,” he reminds her, lifting one of the bags slightly as proof. She nods, crossing her arms over her chest as they wait.

“So - how did you and Poe meet? You don’t work in the same departments,” she asks. Finn talked about work constantly, his favorite models and his least favorite and the like. He liked photographing the objects and clothes the most, liked positioning them and swatching the cosmetics across the white background. And he’d spoken about Poe, plenty. But there was never a “I met this guy today,” or a “I met him during.” It was only “Poe said this,” and “Poe did that,” and “You’ll never guess what Poe told me today!”

Finn just grins as the elevator opens. They step inside, squished between people eager to get to the cafeteria. The photographer reaches across and hits the 17th floor, returning to Rey’s side when he’s finished jabbing at the button.

“He let me borrow his jacket,” Finn says, as if that explained it all. Rey frowns.

“That is in no way a full story. Spill, Trooper,” she scolds, bumping her shoulder against his upper arm.

He just grins and steps off once they reach his floor. She slips out with him, and stares at the floor. It’s a completely different layout to hers, and she watches as he actually has to swipe his I.D. to get through the main door. She follows him as he walks through the maze of hallways. Light spills from a few of the rooms, and she peers in to see photographers setting up shoes and purses for the some of the more product-oriented spreads.

“It was raining, I didn’t have a guard for my equipment, he happened to be walking to the same place, and offered his jacket to keep it from getting too soaked,” Finn explains as he leads her through the department. Eventually they get to a room that looks like a giant cage with lockers inside, and she watches as he takes two keys and unlocks the two locks on the cage door. The door swings inward with a squeak, and he sets his things in the designated locker before returning to her side and locking up. “And the next day I found him in the lunchroom, and brought him up here to return his jacket, and he took me down to the editing office to meet BB.”

She’s not surprised in the slightest. She hadn’t actually seen much of the man upstairs, but she’d heard enough from Finn. “That’s adorable.”

He shrugs, starting to lead her back through the department. “It was just a Poe thing, really,” he replies, but she can see the darkening of his cheeks and grins to herself.

The elevator’s less full this time around, the only other person in it besides them a waifish brunette teetering on her black stilettos, looking very much like she’s about to keel over at any moment. Rey catches the woman looking at her phone more than once, pulling it out of her coat before tucking it back in several times. She frowns, but doesn’t think much of it as the elevator surges down. Finn steps off with her and veers to the right, moving past the elevators towards the cafeteria. He makes a beeline for the sandwich station, dragging her with him. “They make the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I’m not joking,” he insists. “I didn’t know you could have high-class peanut butter and jelly sandwiches until I came here. Seriously, awesome.”

She snorts, shaking her head at her best friend’s sandwich preference. The line is long, but she doesn’t mind waiting if it means Finn’s happy. She leans against him a bit the longer they wait, and feels a smidge of pity for a few of the girls standing in line on their sky-high heels. She’s thankful for her flats, her feet hurting slightly at the elongated time on her feet but paling in comparison to their pain, she’s sure.

They’re about halfway through the line when a man storms through the cafeteria. Rey stares at him openly, taking note of what she’s sure is a very expensive suit and his shock of red hair. Whereas BB’s made them seem warm and inviting, the harsh color with his paper-pale skin made him look washed out and quite frankly scary. She watches as he moves through the lines, a man on a mission, and stops in front of the brunette that had been in the elevator with them.

The woman quite literally jumps, some lettuce spilling from her salad bowl. Rey watches as, for the first time, she sees someone literally quake in fear.

“What are you doing?”

His voice carries across the cafeteria easily. Perhaps it was the volume, or maybe it was the awed hush that fell over the cafeteria when he'd stormed in. Rey watches as the brunette struggles for words.

“I-I was-“

“No indication of where you were going. Desk empty. Phone unmanned. Files left in a disarray. Tell me, is this university?” The man practically spits the last word, eyebrows furrowing. “Is that where you think you are? Are you in a lecture class, where you can slip out and slip back in and no one will notice your absence? No, you are not. You are in the workforce where you are expected to work and be there when you are needed. You do not leave without word, and you do not leave your desk unattended to. There were 5 calls while you were doing whatever you’re doing. That means five calls unanswered. That means five opportunities potentially missed.”

Rey watches with rapt interest. She has no interest in drama, not usually, but she feels awful for the girl shaking before the man. Finn’s gone still beside her, and she leans against him just enough to feel that his muscles are tense.

“I-“

“There are no excuses. You will follow me upstairs.”

The man turns on his heel and starts walking. Rey’s eyes follow him, barely catching the girl skittering after him like a dog, her salad abandoned on the register’s line. The hush of the cafeteria continues until the two have turned the corner, heading towards the elevator, and then conversation explodes again. Rey blinks at the stark contrast, everything suddenly seeming too loud and lively.

“Holy shit,” Finn mutters.

“What?”

“That was Hux.”

“Hux?”

“Executive editor,” Finn explains as they move further up in the line. Rey continues to eye the girl’s salad, looking between it and the direction the two went in. “She’ll be dead in about fifteen minutes.”

•

“I found her. In the cafeteria.”

Hux could’ve had the girl on a leash with the way she’s trailing him. Kylo watches the two, eyes narrowed, as Hux bursts into his office with all the subtlety of a hurricane, the girl on his heels.

“She abandoned her desk without so much as a word,” Hux snarls, gesturing towards the brunette. “She left the phones unmanned, and missed five calls.”

As entertaining as it is to see the man’s face turn the color of his hair with rage, he really doesn’t want to deal with this today. He sighs heavily, closing his laptop and setting it aside, out of the line of fire. He opens his mouth to speak when Hux interrupts him yet again.

“I thought she’d work. I thought she’d be more than just a pretty face. But no, she not only leaves her desk in the middle of the day, she leaves early and arrives late and-“

“Hux-“

“I am telling you-“

“Hux-“

“She is worthless, and irresponsible, and-“

“HUX! ENOUGH!”

The spread he’d been reading, his coffee, and everything in close vicinity to it goes crashing to the floor. The cup hits the floor and explodes, coffee spilling out over the pale hardwood floor and the spread in a sticky mess of a puddle. He doesn’t care in the slightest as he stands, hands planted on the desk with the material creaking in protest at his force. He’s leaning forward, his 6’3 frame pushing its way into Hux’s space. He isn’t seeing red, not quite yet, but he’s incredibly, incredibly close.

Hux has the decency to look miffed, at least. The girl behind him looks absolutely terrified as Kylo glares at the executive editor.

“Hux.” It’s barely human, more a growl than anything else. “Have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe, it's your fault?”

The redhead glares back just as heatedly. “I assure you, my assistants-“

“Your assistants are downright shit,” Kylo snarls. “And so are your hiring skills. For the past six months, you’ve been hiring girls you want to fuck.” He accentuates the last word, heavy on the ‘ck’ sound. He narrows his eyes, hearing the brunette choke on air as the accusation is brought to the table.

He’s never seen the man pale so quickly.

“Don’t think I don’t know,” he growls, leaning forward further into Hux’s space. “You’d better be fucking grateful I haven’t said anything about it to anyone else.”

The redhead leans back, and regains some of his composure. Hux glares right back, judging his moves, and then pushes forward again until the men are nearly nose to nose.

“Ren-“ he warns.

“Hux," Kylo says, mirroring his tone. "Take her, and get out of my sight. I’ll find my next assistant on my own.” He gestures to the coffee that had been spilled as he bends to pick up the papers he’d pushed off of the desk in his rage. They’re ripped, and crumpled, and he growls as his hard work bleeds away thanks to the coffee splatters on the paper. “And get me a new copy of this.”

Chapter Text

She’s not entirely sure she gets the whole sandwich thing. Is it good? Yes. But is it fantastic? Not really. It reminds her too much of childhood, of sitting alone on the swings on the playground and eating sandwiches with stale bread, lots of jelly and not enough peanut butter. She doesn’t care for it, and only eats half, wrapping the rest under the pretense that she’ll eat the rest later.

Finn seems to like it, though, and practically inhales his. She smiles over her bag of chips, watching him with open affection as he eats. He moans softly every other bite or so, and she hides her laughing behind the lip of her cup of lemonade. While he’s distracted with the sandwich, she takes advantage and steals a few more of his Doritos. If he cares, he doesn’t say anything.

He walks her back up, after they’ve returned their trays and tossed their trash. He grabs a Mountain Dew from the vending machine, as BB requested, then walks her to the elevator. “I can’t believe its your first day and you already saw Hux,” he’s saying as they shuffle onto the elevator with seemingly half the building already squeezed inside the small space. They shuffle their way into the corner, her clutching the remains of her sandwich to her chest. “I worked here for two months before I saw any sign of the higher ups.”

She isn’t particularly interested in the pissy red-haired male, so she just shrugs and offers Finn a cheeky smile. “Let’s just hope I don’t have to run into him again, yeah? He seems like a prick.”

There’s a snort from the other side of the elevator, and Finn grins down at her. She’s just comforted by the fact that her opinion doesn’t seem to be the outlying one.

He gets off on the 17th, passing her the Mountain Dew for BB before he squeezes out. She can barely see his goodbye wave over the rest of the passengers, but doesn’t dare give a wave back in fear of elbowing someone in the face. She waits, holding the sweating soda bottle in her hand as the elevator ascends the two floors between them. She mumbles ‘excuse me’ far too many times as she squeezes through to the front, practically stumbling out of the elevator.

She turns the corner of the editing department, opens her mouth to say hello to BB, and stops not half a second after in pure confusion. “… what the-?”

They’ve literally hunkered down, folders set up around the perimeter of their desk like the forts children make during tests to prevent cheating. Rey stares, peering over the orange and white folders into the desk. “… everything all right?” she asks, passing the soda bottle over the walls of the fort.

“No,” BB insists, taking the bottle from her and muttering a quick ‘thank you’ before twisting the cap. It gives a loud ‘hiss’ and they take a swig of the caffeinated drink.

Rey waits until they’ve swallowed before asking, “Well, what’s wrong?”

BB gives her a look. “Don’t tell me you can’t hear that.”

She hadn’t, actually. In her confusion at BB’s folder fort, she’d completely missed the yelling coming from Poe’s office. It’s mostly muffled by the glass, but she can make out what she thinks are a few words. She looks towards the office, seeing Poe in there with another man. She blinks in sudden confusion, and then recognition as she sees the man she’d stepped into the elevator with that morning.

“BB? Who’s that?” she asks, frowning as Poe continues yelling at whoever the tall, dark male is.

“You’re kidding me,” BB mutters. Rey turns to them. “… you’re not kidding me,” they realize. “That’s Kylo Ren. Editor in Chief. Head honcho. Big boss. Whatever you want to call him. Poe likes ‘Big-Eared Bastard’ the best. But ‘Satan’ is also a pretty popular one.”

She turns back to watching the apparent fight. ‘Satan’ hasn’t moved, and is instead taking the verbal abuse without protest. There’s quite a difference between Poe’s heated sentences and the man’s soft, smooth ones. The man’s deep voice rumbles through the glass, and she carefully leans against the side of the desk to watch, intrigued.

“Ren wants a new assistant,” BB offers from the safety of their fort. “The last one was fired this afternoon.”

She remembers the incident in the cafeteria, and frowns. “Brunette?” Rey offers.

BB shrugs. “Never met her. The higher-ups rarely come down here.”

Rey startles a bit as the man turns to look back towards BB. He narrows his eyes as he sees the folders built up around the desk, and BB ducks lower to avoid detection. Rey watches him as his head slowly turns, and freezes when his dark eyes meet hers.

Poe continues yelling, but Ren doesn’t seem to be listening. His eyes are trained on her. He turns back to Poe, and mutters a few words that Rey can’t make out. Poe shakes his head vigorously in response, crossing his arms over his broad chest in defiance. Ren asks again. Again, Poe shakes his head, and Ren turns on his heel, heading towards the door.

Rey watches as Ren steps out and starts walking, passing by her so quickly she can feel the air move beside her. He heads towards the elevators, the door of the editing department slamming behind him. Some of BB’s folders topple down from the force, and they set about pulling them down before Poe can see the unprofessional folder-fort.

Poe stomps out of the office, glaring at the man who’s waiting for the elevator. “Bastard,” he growls, leaning against BB’s desk. “Thinks he can just take one of our staff because he’s fucking editor in chief. I won’t let him, not after what’s been happening for the past few months. The man fires people left and right up there.”

“What did he want?” Rey asks. She knows exactly what the man wants, thanks to BB and the incident in the cafeteria, but she wants to hear it from Poe.

The man sighs and runs a hand through his wild hair. “He fired his newest assistant. Poor thing was only here for five days. I think that’s a new record.”

Five days? She frowns. That’s not even a slice of a chance to show potential, and yet he fired her in less than a week. “And he came here for a new one?” she questions.

“Told me everyone up there is incapable and irresponsible,” Poe clarifies. “Apparently he’s checking all the departments for possible candidates. Wants to see if there’s anyone inside the company before looking outside of it. Familiarity with the company code and goal and shit like that.”

She looks towards the elevator. The man’s still waiting, tapping his foot impatiently on the dark floor. While he looks intimidating, he doesn’t look nearly as, well, satanic as his nickname described. Instead he looks … almost defeated, sort of tired. She watches as he runs a hand through his hair almost wearily, eyes downcast. He didn’t look like someone who deserves the name of the devil. She glances back towards Poe, raising an eyebrow at him. “… and if I were to apply for the position?” she asks, casting another look towards the man who’s now checking his phone.

“It’s suicide,” BB pipes up, stacking the folders before tapping them against the desk to get them level again. They open the file cabinet, where Rey can see the empty space the folders once occupied. “He’s Satan, seriously. You’ll be gone within a week,” they warn as they put the folders back into their proper place.

She looks towards Poe. “If I get fired as an assistant, is it possible that I could come back down here?”

The man shrugs. “It’s not out of the question. I mean, if you were serious, then you’d have to run it by him and see what he says. But I guess it’s a possibility.” He snorts. “I don’t think he’s looking for someone who can write, though. He’s looking for someone who can run errands and pick up coffee and photos from the shoots.”

"That's it? Then I’d like to apply.”

Poe’s staring at her. “… you’re serious,” he realizes. “You really want to do this.”

“I’m not joking,” she insists. “I don’t see the sense in having some other poor girl getting fired within five days.”

“You could be that poor girl,” BB deadpans.

“I can do it,” she insists. “Seriously. It’ll look good on the paperwork, at least. Assistant to the editor in chief? It’ll be a boost.”

“That’s if you last,” BB insists. “You’re selling your soul, you know that, right?”

Poe sighs, running a hand down his face. “It wouldn’t hurt, to try, at least,” he mutters. He jerks his thumb towards the still waiting man. “Better catch him, then. You won’t get a foot past reception up there, even if you say you want the position.”

“Poe, you can’t be serious!” BB hisses.

Ren’s still waiting for the elevator. Rey turns on her heel and rushes out, pushing against the glass door of the editing department until it gives beneath her hands. She can hear the elevator arrive, the cheery ‘ding’ echoing through the empty hallway. “Wait!”

He doesn’t wait. Of course he doesn’t. She barely makes it to the elevator, slipping her foot between the two doors. The mechanics sense her and stop, the metal pulling back to let her see the man fully. He’s looking at her strangely, halfway between annoyance and awe.

“I hear you’re looking for an assistant,” she breathes.

He reaches for the panel, and then the doors are closing on her again. She huffs at his immature action and forces her way between them, managing to slip through so that she’s standing in front of him. He stares down at her as the elevator rises.

“I highly doubt you have the capabilities,” he tells her.

She’d heard his voice before, muffled by the walls of Poe’s office, but it sounds so much lower when it's not behind glass. She crosses her arms over her chest defiantly. “I can do it,” she insists.

The elevator’s climbing quickly, numbers getting higher and higher as they pass floors.

He looks her up and down, and she notes that he looks distinctly unimpressed. “You work in the editing department,” he replies. “You’re not experienced in answering phones, in dealing with difficult people, in serving someone like me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t know that. But I can - and will - assume that I’m right.”

Poe wasn’t wrong in calling the editor in chief a bastard. She glares at him. “I don’t think you’re in a position to argue, Mr. Ren. Your last assistant was fired after five days, on top of being publicly humiliated. This position isn’t looking very appealing. You have a candidate right in front of you who is capable of doing the work, and you’re going to turn her down?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I can.”

She uncrosses her arms and puts her hands on her hips instead. “That’s not a reason, Mr. Ren.”

The ding of the elevator interrupts whatever response he was going to give her, and he nods at her in dismissal before stepping out. She follows him instead, close behind as he walks back towards his office.

“I just want you to tell me why,” she insists. She’s not leaving, not without a reason why she isn’t acceptable.

“You’re stubborn,” he states as he heads towards the door. “You were - and continue to be - disrespectful towards a man who can fire you in three seconds - more likely less, and your outfit looks like it came from a discount store five years ago. Not to mention you’re wearing flats.”

She follows him through the door. The receptionist stands to stop her, but much to her surprise, Ren waves a hand at the man, signaling that it's all right. She’s allowed through without I.D. for some reason, and seeing as there's nothing stopping her, she continues to follow him through the offices. It’s brighter up on the top floor, and much much more chaotic. She has to dart underneath a few people’s arms in order to continue following him. People part like the sea for him, but she’s ignored. She wasn't expecting to be acknowledged, but she'd expected a few manners at least. Instead she has to dart around, eyes constantly on his broad, dark back so she doesn't lose him.

“But I can fill the position,” she insists when she catches up to him, darting around a clothes rack. “And I’ll do it well.”

He snorts. “I doubt it.”

“No, you doubt me just because I'm not wearing stilettos and a pencil skirt."

He doesn’t deny it as he turns the corner. She stops when she sees the redheaded man leaning against the glass door of the office at the end of the hallway. Ren, however, keeps on going into the office. She follows after a moment, not done with talking to him. “I can do it.”

“Ren,” Hux demands. “Who is this?” She hadn't even noticed him entering. He's scarier up close. If anyone deserved the term 'Satan', it was him. She looks at his suit and acknowledges the watch on his wrist, the fine leather shoes on his feet. He's wearing more than her life's savings in one outfit, she's 100% sure of it. And she's positive Ren's outfit is even more. She looks back towards the dark haired man, waiting for an answer.

Ren sits down at his desk, sliding into his chair. He doesn't meet either of their eyes as he opens his laptop. “The drowned rat,” he explains, after a moment.

That wasn't the answer she was expecting - far from, in fact. She stares at the editor in chief. “The drowned rat?” she repeats, confused and insulted.

“And what is she doing here?” Hux hisses.

“She’s my new assistant," Ren says. "You’re in charge of showing her what to do and where to go.”

“What?” The word slips from both her lips and Hux’s at the same time, her tone one of awe and his one of shock.

“You heard me,” Ren replies. “She’s my new assistant.” He looks up, meeting her eyes. "Do you know the difference between Jimmy Choo and Christian Louboutin?" he demands.

"… no?" she offers.

He gives her a look, and she suddenly feels very, very small. She shifts uncomfortably, knowing that the other man's eyes are on her as well. "… that can be remedied." He doesn't sound happy, though, and she bites her lower lip, suddenly afraid she blew it.

"You can't be serious, Ren."

"Hux," Ren warns. Rey watches as the man looks at his executive editor, glaring through the dark hair that's fallen across his eyes. "Brief her." He looks towards her again, eyes no softer. "Congratulations." His tone is flat, not at all welcoming or friendly. "Hux will tell you my coffee order, and then I need you to go to Dolce and Gabbana and pick up the jeans I ordered when you get back."

"Yes, sir," she replies, instinctually, feeling as if the title's needed.

He smirks at her, the expression seven different kinds of sinful all at once. She hesitates, shifting in her sensible flats, wondering why on earth she just sold her soul to Satan.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe he picked you.”

She struggles to keep up with Hux's long strides as she follows him down the maze of hallways. She’s five seconds from exploding at him, honestly. She hadn’t liked him when he walked into the cafeteria, and she certainly doesn’t like him now. For the past ten minutes he’s been muttering to himself about how she isn’t fit for the position and how he can’t believe Ren picked her and how the next time he sees Ren alone he is shoving the Editor in Chief’s Rolex up his pale ass.

She’s getting a little sick of it, and walks a bit faster to stand by his side, attempting to be equal to him.

“I don’t know why he thinks I have the time to train you,” the redheaded man snaps. “I have an agenda of my own, a very busy one at that.” He turns the corner sharply, and she follows as best as she can. “Listen, and listen well. I’m not repeating it again. You are to maintain his schedule, make his appointments, run errands, get him coffee, answer the phone, and assist him in any way possible, do you understand me? Anything he tells you, you do.”

“Anything?” she questions, frowning as the man takes another sharp turn into an office. She stops just outside the door as Hux scoffs, grabbing a pair of files from the desk of a very scared-looking woman. Rey offers the woman a short wave before Hux brushes past her. He’s walking by her in seconds, and again she has to elongate her strides to keep up.

“Yes. Anything,” Hux repeats as he walks back the way they came. “God, you are hopeless.”

“Thanks for the confidence.”

His glare back at her is probably meant to be withering, but it just falls flat as they approach Ren’s office again. Hux drops the two files onto what she assumes her desk - a sleek, white piece of furniture with a clear acrylic office chair and a Mac desktop. It’s a lot more visually appealing than the desk down in the editing department, she notices.

“These are scans of the previous assistant’s copy of his schedule,” he explains. “Copy them down into a computer, into a binder, into a planner, whatever you damn well please. Just make sure you know them.”

She nods, settling into the desk chair. It’s a hell of a lot less comfortable than the one she has downstairs, but it’s not too bad. “All right, I can do that.”

“Well done,” Hux says, his tone absolutely dripping with sarcasm. He leans forward and taps against the silver phone on the desk. “This. This must be answered every single time it rings.”

“Every single time?” she echoes. “And what if-“

“No. There are no what-ifs. It must be answered. Every time a call goes to voicemail, Ren throws a hissy fit and you do not want to be the reason for that.” He raises one red eyebrow, leaning even more in towards her space. “I know you know what happened to the last assistant who didn’t answer the phone. You don’t want to be like her, do you?”

No, no she did not. But instead of answering she just stared back at the man, defiant. “I’ll answer the phone,” she says simply, trying not to clench her teeth in annoyance. God, was everyone up here an asshole? She’s starting to assume so between Ren and his little … redheaded lapdog.

“Good girl.” He then points to a little black button on the desk. “If that lights up red, that means that he needs you.”

She stares down. “… so like a bell for a servant,” she deadpans.

“Now you’re getting it,” he croons. He straightens up and adjusts the jacket of his suit, tugging it down so that it sits exactly right. “One last thing. Where on earth did you get your shirt?” He smirks at her, looking her up and down. “Honestly, you look like a 50 year old bargain bin scavenger. Goodwill? Or did you by chance buy it from a street sale?”

Rey watches as he snorts at his own insult. She could glare at him, maybe even quip back. But that would be giving a low blow instead of taking the high road, so she just keeps her mouth shut and stares at him.

He turns on his expensive heel and waves a pale hand back at her. “Good luck, scavenger.” She can hear his shoes clicking as he walks down the hallway.

Rey huffs, looking down at the files. She could do this. She could definitely do this.

Only…

She realizes with sudden clarity that she was supposed to get Ren’s coffee order about a half hour ago - the order she hadn’t gotten from Hux.

And now she has no idea where the man went.

She’s standing up from the desk to go ask someone where he could be found when the red light turns on. She nearly runs right into the corner of the desk in surprise, narrowly avoiding banging her hip against the sharp edge. She walks around it as quickly as she can, pushing against the door of Ren’s office and stepping inside. He’s working diligently at his desk, an accessory spread fanned out in front him. She can see the stacks of post-it notes and the expensive black pen in his hand, and bites her lip out of nervousness.

He doesn’t even look up at her as he asks, “Coffee?”

Thank God. She could just ask him, she realizes. “Well, I-“

“Why isn’t it here yet?” His voice is a bit sharper now, a bit harder.

She stares at him, her hands moving to clasp nervously in front of her. “Um, Hux never-“

He looks up at her, then, dark eyes staring into hers. His brows furrow, and he sets the pen on the spread so as to run it through his hair, getting a few black strands out of his eyes. “… Hux didn’t tell you my order, did he?”

“No, sir.”

He sighs, grabbing a post-It note. Rey watches as he jots down his order, and then he’s extending it between his pointer and middle finger for her to take. She darts forward to take it from his grasp, looking down at the words before looking back up at him.

“Don’t forget it,” he warns. She nods, walking right back out.

She doesn’t notice him watching her as the door closes.

•

She honestly would’ve expected more black coffee from a man who seems to be the embodiment of it - bitter, rich, and dark. But no, instead she has a caramel macchiato and a trio of 3 pump butterscotch 1 pump hazelnut lattes balanced in the cardboard tray. She tries her best to keep them searing hot as instructed, slipping the cups into cardboard cozies and then keeping the tray close to her body.

It’s only when she gets back in the elevator that she realizes what she’s done wrong.

The phones.

Her foot taps against the marble floor of the elevator impatiently as she waits for it to get to the top floor. She worries her lower lip with her teeth, nearly drawing blood at how hard she’s biting her skin. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon….”

It takes forever for the elevator to let her out, and she almost spills the coffee in her haste to get back to her desk. She nearly drops the tray on the floor when she sees the green dot blinking on the answering machine.

Shit.

The red light on the desk is also glaring at her, so she sheds her raincoat first before grabbing the coffee and rushing into the office.

Hux is in there as well, much to her dismay, as she pushes open the door. She knows she looks wet, still, her hood having slipped down in her haste to get back. But she sets the tray of drinks on the desk, and moves to leave to check the phones when Ren’s voice calls her back.

“Have we heard back from Armani?”

She stops dead in her tracks, her back to the men. She can practically hear Hux’s snickering. “… Armani?”

“Yes, Armani. He was supposed to call at 3. Have you heard from him?”

“I-“ she hesitates, before shaking his head. “No, sir, we haven’t.”

“Did he leave a voicemail?” Hux asks, tilting his head. She watches as not a hair falls out of place on the man’s head, everything still perfect except for the smirk on his lips.

“I haven’t-“

“Voicemail?” Ren demands.

“Sir, I’m going to listen-“

“You should’ve left your personal number with the receptionist,” Ren snaps. “The calls go through him, and if you’re out of the office the calls will go to your personal phone. You should’ve done that during the briefing.”

“I didn’t know, sir.” She can’t let this get to her, she won’t. It isn't her fault she didn't know. If anything, it's Hux's. The man looks impossibly smug as he stands there, hands behind his back as he watches the interaction between boss and assistant.

“Well, now you do," Ren says sternly. "Go do that. You’re dismissed.”

She escapes the office as quickly as possible, this time feeling two pairs of eyes on her back as she walks to the receptionist’s desk.

•

By the end of the day, she's copied Ren's entire calendar into her phone and has gone and purchased several Moleskine books online to be shipped next day. If she's going to do this, she's going to be organized about it, and that means having backups. Lots and lots of backups. What if her phone dies, or she drops her planner into a puddle? She can't risk it, not with Hux waiting for her to make a mistake. She won't let herself mess this up.

"Oh my God, Finn, they're all asses."

She nearly collapses onto her worn couch, her knees against the arm rest as she lets herself fall back onto the cushions. She pulls her hair from its ponytails, almost groaning as relief floods her.

She hears him snort on the other end of the line. "I'm sure there are some nice people."

"Nope, you're wrong, I'm right. All 100% assholes."

She can hear the hissing of something hitting a frying pan. He has to be making grilled cheese, it's the only explanation for the hissing and the sound of metal against pan. She's lucky she's not on speakerphone to be honest - she rolls her eyes as she hears the click. And there's the speakerphone.

"Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, I can hear you," she says, because even though he sounds a bit farther away she can still hear him. "What're you making?"

"Grilled cheese."

"I swear, you and Ren have the palates of 5 year olds," she says, running a hand through her hair as best as she can since she's laying on it. "The man had at least six lattes today. With butterscotch and hazelnut syrup."

"That sounds amazing, actually."

She gestures with her free hand before letting it fall back down to the couch with a 'thump'. "Point made."

"C'mon, Rey, he can't be that bad."

"Finn, there's a reason he's called Satan. Have you seen the way he glares at people? He could make cactuses wither, I swear."

Finn laughs on the other end of the line, and she closes her eyes at the happy sound, just taking joy from it. "He can't be worse than Hux."

She's silent, then, because she honestly can't decide who's worse. She shrugs before remembering Finn can't see her. "Hux is a prick."

He laughs again. "I'll believe that."

She groans, running her hand down her face. "Finn, what am I doing?"

"I don't know, you tell me. You're the one who sold your soul to Satan."

Rey allows herself a snort at that. "I thought that I could do this."

"You can do this. You're not one of those girls, Rey. You're better."

"Thanks," she mutters, flipping over to her stomach. "Can I pop down sometimes? Just for five minutes, just in case I'm about to go insane?"

"I think you already know the answer to that. I'll keep some iced green tea in the fridge for you."

She smiles, cheek pressed against her phone. "You're the best, Finn."

"Go eat something, peanut. I can hear your stomach growling from here, and I'm across the kitchen." He isn't wrong. With Ren's orders, she'd gotten back late and hadn't had a chance to eat yet. She looks down at her stomach.

"All right, fine. I'll see you tomorrow, maybe?"

"Sure thing, peanut."

She hangs up and lets her hand holding the phone dangle off of the couch with a huff. She closes her eyes, letting herself unwind.

It's not thirty seconds later that her phone rings.

She groans as she pulls her hand back up, swiping on the unfamiliar number and putting the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Tomorrow morning I need you to get the Hermes scarves I ordered from the store on Broad Street. I need them by 9, not a second later. Is that understood?"

Her eyes widen at the deep voice of her boss, and she nods before remembering that he can't see her. "Yes, sir."

"That's all."

She's left with a dial tone.

Chapter Text

“Scavenger.”

It’s too early for this. And she definitely hasn’t had enough tea yet.

She has enough good sense to bite back her comment of, “Not now, Hux,” instead replacing it with a cheery smile and an equally cheery, “Good morning!”

He doesn’t return the sentiment, instead just smirking down at her. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long.”

She’s been here for a day. A singular day. Less than 24 hours into this position, and it’s taken a good portion of her inner strength not to whap him over the head with one of her new planners (they have a nice weight to them, after all).

“I like this job, and I’d like to keep it, thank you,” she mutters. The phone’s rung approximately twelve times since she arrived a half hour ago with coffees in hand, and she’s starting to get a good idea of just how busy Mr. Kylo Ren is. The planners in front of her are already full of notes, and she’s working on translating the old assistant’s scrawling cursive into legible appointments. She casts a glance up at the man before continuing her work, trying to decide whether the number she’s seeing is a 4 or a 9.

He hums at her. “Tell me, have you been given the Book yet?” he asks, innocently.

“The Book?” she questions, frowning and furrowing her brows as she tears her attention away from the planner. She’s heard Finn speak of it maybe once, about how his photos eventually go into the Book, but as for what it actually is she has no clue.

He stares at her like she just admitted to high treason, shocked and disgusted rolled into one pretty unattractive facial expression. “You haven’t,” he says flatly. “You really haven’t heard of the Book.”

“No? What’s the Book?” she asks, getting frustrated with him now.

He sighs as if explaining it to her is going to pain him greatly, and leans against the side of the desk. She moves her new pencil organizer to the side so it won’t get crushed by his 6,000-dollar-suit-covered ass, and resists the urge to glare at him as he leans in closer as if he’s about to entrust a deep, dark secret to her.

“The Book,” he starts, “is inarguably the most important thing of this entire show. It’s the script, it’s the music, it’s the blocking notes, it’s everything. The show wouldn’t be able to go on without it.”

“You still haven’t explained what it is,” she insists, patience with the redheaded man thinning quickly. Her respect for her boss has skyrocketed in the past few hours after watching the redheaded man.

Hux scoffs at her. “It’s a mockup of the next issue,” he explains. “Ads, spreads, the outfits chosen, everything. Really, you should know this by now.” He looks downright annoyed with the idea of her not knowing what the Book is, pale nose scrunched.

“Well, I know now,” she says, attempting to be amiable. “Thank you for letting me know what it is, but what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Why, look over it, of course,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You look over it and add your notes to it.”

She stares at him. “… excuse me?”

“It’s one of the most important duties of the assistant,” he claims. “You add your notes, correcting things as you see fit. Did Ren not tell you?”

She shakes her head. “He hasn’t spoken to me at all this morning,” she says. “Unless you count the grunt he made when I gave him his coffee.”

Hux hums, before pushing off of the desk and turning on his heel. “I’ll go get the Book for you, how about that?” he asks.

“… thank you?” She stares at him as he throws a pale hand back in farewell, already stalking off towards the deeper offices of the department. She watches his ash-grey suit-covered backside go, before looking down at her planner again.

“Rey.”

She blinks, looking towards where Hux had just left. But the man’s nowhere to be seen. She frowns, before she realizes that the red light has been blinking - and fairly steadily - for the past few moments.

“Fuck,” Rey curses to herself before standing and hurrying around the side of the desk. She walks into the office where Ren’s currently bent over at the desk, his hand in his hair as he pours over some photos.

“Tell the photography department to reshoot these,” he instructs, tossing a photo at her. It flutters to the floor, and she bends to pick it up, frowning at the gorgeous Polaroid. There’s not a thing wrong with it in her eyes. Sure, the model might look a bit thin and the dress she’s wearing is absolutely ridiculous, but it’s a beautiful, well-taken photo.

“I want blue light, not yellow. The girls don’t have jaundice, for fuck’s sake,” Ren mutters as he gathers up the rest of the photos and holds them out to her.

Rey nods, walking forward and taking the photos. “Anything else, sir?”

“That’s all,” the man says, before he turns to his laptop.

Rey nods again and retreats back to her desk, nearly running into a haggard man with dark hair and circles under his eyes. She says a quick ‘excuse me’, before settling back into her uncomfortable chair.

She’s tapping in the extension for the photography department when a large spiral bound book is dropped on the desk by pale hands. She nearly falls out of her chair she jumps so high, hand clinging to the phone for dear life. “Hey!”

Hux smirks down at her. “If you’re not prepared for that, then you’re not prepared for anything,” he tells her before pointing to the Book. “Edits.”

“But-“

“But what? What could possibly be more important than the Book?” he demands.

She gestures helplessly to the phone. “Photography department,” she says. She points to the photos on her desk. “He wants blue light, not yellow.”

Hux scoffs. “Typical. They look perfectly fine to me.”

She stares at him blankly, before the red light starts blinking again. She hurriedly puts the phone down before walking around again. “Sorry,” she apologizes, briefly and not really meaning it as she escapes to Ren’s office with her planner and pen in hand.

•

The list of things to do seems like a mile long. She sighs heavily as she emerges from the office with enough notes to cover three pages, designer names scribbled in margins and times and dinner places underlined. Her head is reeling with foreign names she’s not entirely sure she can pronounce and something about d’Orsay shoes that she doesn’t really understand and will definitely have to Google when she gets back to the desk. She nearly collapses in the chair, the fabric of her cheap skirt almost causing her to slide right out of it. She sighs before righting herself and settling back in, getting ready to make the calls she needed to make.

She frowns as she reaches for the phone.

Book. Planner. Pens. Computer. Keyboard.

Something’s missing.

She lifts the book up in an attempt to find the photos Ren had given to her. No such luck. She lifts her planner in hopes that she might’ve put it on top. No, not there, either. She stares at her desk. Well, they couldn’t have gone far. She scoots back and looks at the floor in case they might’ve flown off of the slick surface of the desktop, but there’s nothing - only the metal wastebasket.

“Strange,” she mutters, before picking up the Book. She blinks at it. Maybe Hux slipped them inside so she could put them with the right spread?

She takes the book and turns it sideways, and immediately her eyes go wide as photos fall out. Not the ones she’s looking for, but several dozen other pictures coming free from the paperclips that were loosely holding them together. They fly out over her desk and into the walkway, and she immediately drops the book in an effort to collect them all.

There are at least 30, she’s sure, as she kneels on the floor to get them. She takes care not to crumple any, though a few fall victim to passing feet as others don’t even bother to walk around her mess. She sighs in relief she finishes collecting them, stacking them in a neat pile on her desk before returning to sit in her chair.

She freezes as she sees the Book, and the stack of pictures that had fallen from it.

“Shit,” she squeaks, noting that none of the pictures look familiar.

Well, Hux said she could edit it, right?

She bites her lip as she realizes that she still hasn’t made the call to the photography department, and lunges towards the phone, jabbing the buttons so hard she’s afraid she might’ve broken one.

“General Fashion Photography Department. Pam Phasma speaking.”

She freezes, eyes going wide at the unfamiliar, female voice.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” she starts, breathless and nervous as she speaks to the head of the department. “Sorry to bother you, but is Finn there?”

“He’s in the middle of a shoot. Who is this?”

“Rey Kenobi,” she blurts, before wincing. “I mean, Kylo Ren’s new assistant.”

There’s a pause on the other line. She can’t hear anything, and holds her breath. She only releases it after the woman says, “One moment.”

She waits for a few minutes, watching the clock on her computer before she hears murmurs on the other line. Rey straightens with anticipation before Finn asks, “Rey?”

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes. “Listen, do you keep copies of the photos you take?”

“Yeah, all the photographers do. We have digital and physical copies. What’s up?”

“Ren handed me this series of photos of a woman with her hair all teased up and the dress is ridiculously poofy and they’re kind of yellow tinted -“

“The Oscar de la Renta shoot?”

She gestures vaguely. “I have no idea what it was, but he said to do it in a blue light and that the models looked like they had jaundice or something like that. Anyway, I managed to lose the photos and need new ones.”

“By when? I can relay the message to Phasma and she’ll get them delivered up.”

She sighs in relief, letting herself slump onto her desk. “You’re an angel, Finn. ASAP would be fantastic.”

“Are you okay? You sound like you just ran a marathon or something.”

Rey laughs briefly, running a hand through her hair. “You have no idea,” she mutters, looking towards the stack of photos she still has to put back. “Thank you so much.”

“Keep calm, peanut.” She can hear the worry in his voice. “Remember, you can always go back to Poe.”

“I’m already in, I’m not stepping out.” She blinks as the red light starts flashing again, and resists the urge to groan. “I have to go, Satan’s calling me. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

She hangs up before he has a chance to bid her goodbye, and rushes around into her boss’s office. “Yes, sir.”

He’s up and standing, pacing a hole in the floor. Every step of his expensive shoes comes with a near deafening clack. “Where’s the Book?”

Time seems to stop. If she’d seen the Devil before, she’s truly seeing Satan now. The man looks downright murderous. “I-“

“It was supposed to be here at noon,” he snaps. “It’s not here, and it’s not in the photography department where it was supposed to be. Where. Is. It?”

Her chest constricts almost painfully. “I-I haven’t edited it yet, sir.” She tilts her chin up as best as she can. “But I assure you, I’ll do it quickly and thoroughly and-“

He’s stopped dead center in the middle of his office, staring at her. His face is entirely unreadable, but she can just imagine all the lights in the room exploding and the windows cracking at the rage she feels. “You … what?”

Fuck. “I’m sorry sir, I haven’t had time, I had to call-“

“Edit?” he demands, and suddenly her space is being very much invaded by a towering, 6’3” Editor in Chief. She can smell his cologne from this close, something deep and dark and indulgent and entirely in line with his persona. She almost gulps as she looks up at him, meeting his eyes dead on.

So this is why everyone’s afraid of him, she realizes.

“Yes, sir,” she states plainly. “Mr. Hux told me that it’s the assistant’s most important job to-“

His arm lashes out somewhere near, and she winces, but stands her ground as he throws a vase to the floor. It shatters into a million pieces below her feet, white lilies limp as water spills across the floor.

“Hux told you WHAT?!”

“Hux told me to edit the Book,” she says quickly. “He told me to read it and add my own notes. I’m sorry, sir, I’ll get it done quicker next time-“

“You don’t touch the Book.” She stares at him in surprise as he towers over her again, eyes dark and voice low. “You deliver the Book to me when I ask for it, from whatever department it’s coming from. You deliver the Book to my office every night before I leave. But you do not, ever, edit the Book. Is that understood?” The last part is pretty much growled as he turns on his heel and stalks back towards his desk.

“I was only following Hux’s instructions,” she defends, voice carefully level.

“Hux is an ass and an idiot,” Ren hisses as he settles back into his chair. "Don't listen to him."

“Then why did you tell him to train me?” she demands, narrowing her eyes as she walks over to stand in front of his desk.

He looks up at her, and for a moment she thinks she might’ve seen a flicker of shock cross his features. She leans forward, hands braced on the wood. “Why did you tell him to train me if he’s an ass and an idiot? This-“ she says, gesturing between him and herself, and then to the broken vase and water on the floor - “could’ve easily been avoided if you yourself had just told me what you wanted from me. But, instead, you told Hux, who’s so far either told me things entirely wrong or didn’t tell them to me at all. If you want a competent assistant, then tell me what you want me to do directly instead of having some redheaded asshole tell me the wrong things!”

She freezes in horror as she realizes that she had raised her voice towards her boss, and called her superior an asshole. She’s not entirely sure if her face is paper-pale or bright red, but she suddenly feels short of breath as Ren stares up at her.

Again, his face is completely and utterly unreadable as the only sounds in the office continue to be their breathing and the ticking of the silver clock on his desk. She’s borderline terrified, hands clenched on his desk and her nails nearly scraping gauges into the wood.

And then the left side of his mouth quirks up. She continues to stare, mouth agape, as he moves to stand as well, his hands nearly touching hers on the desk as he towers over her.

He narrows his eyes, brows furrowing as she resists the urge to back up and book it. The quirk of his lip doesn't waver, though. "You will not talk to me like that again, is that understood?" He leans forward, just a bit, into her space. "I should fire you for that, but I won't. Because as unremarkable and hideously dressed as you are, you are also significantly more competent than any of the idiots Hux has brought me in the past four months."

She nods wordlessly, heart stuck in her throat before he nods as well and leaves her space. The air is nearly crackling with anger, though she knows none of it is coming from her and she's starting to think it's not directed towards her anymore, either.

“Go and get me the Book. I’ll fix it,” he assures her, turning away to grab a Perrier from the small fridge under his desk that she’d stocked that morning. He takes a green glass bottle, the beverage looking almost small in his hands, and twists the cap with a ‘crack’. “And from now on, you report to me. I’ll pass along word that Hux isn’t supposed to speak to you anymore. If you need something, ask me. Is that understood?”

Her tongue feels entirely too heavy in her mouth, and what comes out is akin to a frog’s croak. Then she swallows, and nods, and tries again. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Bring me the Book, and then you’ll clean that mess up.” He jerks his head towards the broken vase as he pours some of the sparkling water into a glass that somehow managed to escape his rage. “That’s all.”

“Right,” she says, still shell-shocked from the outburst. She turns and starts towards her desk as quickly as she can manage, knocking painfully into a pleased-looking Hux on the way.

“Watch it, scavenger.”

She keeps her head down as she grabs the Book and delivers it to Ren, setting it on his desk along with the pile of photos. “They slipped out,” she explains quickly. “I didn’t know-“

“Of course you didn’t,” Ren mutters taking them from her. He looks up and sees Hux standing just outside the office. “Hux. Come in.”

She picks up the biggest pieces of the broken vase in her hands, careful not to cut herself, before she books out out of there to find a broom and escape the Devil's fire.

She hides a relieved sigh as she heads towards the cleaning closet, biting her lip as she tries to find a mop. She takes the break as an opportunity to lean against the wall, letting out a shocked laugh and letting her head tilt back.

Maybe she isn't as bad at this as she thought.

Chapter Text

“You want to explain to me why you’re trying to sabotage my assistant?”

He has to give Hux some credit - the man in front of him does an impressive job of keeping a straight face. Hux stares at him, narrowing his eyes minutely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, too flatly to be entirely true.

Kylo hums, and walks around the side of his desk, crossing his arms as he leans back against it. He can see the girl out of the corner of his eye, returning with a mop in hand as well as a brush and pan for the smaller pieces of glass on the wooden floor. She walks in a moment later, bending in her hideous brown pants and too-big sweater to clean up the rest of the vase. Kylo narrows his eyes, watching her.

Hux makes some sort of snort/scoff sound, and Kylo lifts his eyes to the executive editor. He shifts, flexing and pushing his shoulders back so as to make himself look slightly bigger. It wouldn’t matter – he’s significantly broader than Hux, and an inch or so taller – but it makes him feel just a bit better as he stares at the redhead. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” he mutters lowly. He can hear the clinking of glass slow, his assistant listening as he speaks. “Are you going to explain to me why you’re trying to sabotage my assistant?”

“I’m training her, Ren, like you asked me to.”

Kylo hums softly, uncrossing his arms to brace his hands against his desk. He taps his fingers against the wood, looking down at where Rey has quickly resumed her cleaning. “Tell me, then,” he says, voice low as he reaches over to adjust a pen that had managed to escape the earlier carnage, “why you gave her the Book? And told her to edit it?”

“I gave her the Book to give to you,” the redhead insists. “I didn’t tell her to edit it. She assumed that on her own.”

“Did you know that you frown even more when you lie?” Kylo asks, looking back to his executive editor and raising one dark eyebrow at him. “So unless you want to start using more anti-aging cream than you already are for the wrinkles you’re creating, stop lying.”

Hux stiffens, frown deepening. “How dare-“

“Watch it,” Kylo warns, lifting one of his hands to gesture to his own mouth area. “Wrinkles.”

“Ren-“

“Hux?”

“What, exactly, are you insinuating?” Hux spits, narrowing his eyes at the Editor in Chief.

The clinking of glass has stopped. Rey’s still, the pan and brush in hand, listening to the ticking time bomb that’s about to explode. Kylo glances at her out of the corner of his eye, before looking back towards the executive editor and raising both brows at him.

“I’m insinuating that you’re attempting to get me to fire my new assistant through training her incorrectly. So far, you’ve used methods such as manipulation, omission of information, and blatant flat-out lying in order to achieve your goal. Which, by the way, you haven’t. I’ll be training her myself from now on, and am putting her on strict orders to ignore you.” He looks back towards Rey. “When you’re finished cleaning, I need coffee desperately.”

“Yes, sir,” is the immediate response, and Kylo practically croons before smirking at Hux.

“Fucking previous assistants, sabotaging my new one, and blatantly abusing your power? You’re damn lucky I’m not taking this to HR, Hux,” Kylo snarls. He can hear Rey nearly choke over the first accusation, and glances down to see her looking at the redhead with wide eyes. Hux just straightens, eyes carefully leveled with Ren’s and his chin jerked up.

“You don’t have proof,” he insists.

“No,” Kylo admits with a shrug. “I don’t. However, as I’m not planning on exposing you, I don’t need it. You’re one of the few around here who knows what the fuck they’re doing, and I don’t have the time or the patience to train someone else to do what you do. So I’m stuck with you, and you’re stuck with me – and, by association, her,” he snaps, jerking his head down towards Rey. “If you don’t play nice, I will find proof, and I will go farther than HR.”

Hux looks ready to explode, his face bright pink; though whether in anger or embarrassment, Ren can’t entirely tell.

“All I’m asking is for you to back the fuck off and ignore her. Easy enough, yeah?” Kylo asks, tilting his head. His hair falls in his eyes as a result, and he brings one large hand up to comb it back. “Stay in your lane, and we won’t crash. Simple.” He allows himself one smirk before finishing with, “That’s all.”

“Ren, you-“

“That’s. All.”

It’s almost funny, how long the other man stands there with his mouth open, words halted just behind his whitened teeth. Ren doesn’t bother watching him, instead moving back to his chair. On his way, he uses his foot to push his wastebasket closer to Rey. The girl dumps the broken glass into it before setting the pan and brush aside to grab the mop.

“Ren-“ Hux tries.

“Why are you still here?” Kylo asks, grabbing the Book from his desk and starting to pull the pictures out that Rey had slid back in. He hums, recognizing some of the themes of the issue. He glances up at the redhead as he grabs his glasses, sliding them onto his nose. “Don’t you have to be a prudish asshole somewhere else?”

That does it. Kylo allows himself a smirk as the door of his office slams behind Hux, noticing Rey wincing from the sound out of the corner of his eye. The Editor in Chief just resumes sorting the photos, glancing at the labels of the Polaroids before setting them in their designated piles.

“… I could’ve sworn you were going to throw something at him.”

It’s entirely unprofessional, and judgmental to boot, but it makes him snort. He glances towards his assistant, who is now mopping up the water. The flowers have been gathered up and placed on his desk, leaking water onto the wood. He makes a face at them, before deciding that it was a lost cause and looking back towards the photos. “Really?” he questions, remembering his assistant’s words.

“You almost threw one at me,” she counters.

He allows himself half of a smirk as he finishes with one photo shoot and moves onto the next. “It would’ve been more of a warning shot and less of a fatal blow if I had aimed at you,” he mutters.

The young woman straightens and puts the mop back in its bucket, grabbing the pan and the brush from where she’d set them on the floor. Kylo waits for some sort of witty response from her, but gets none. And he has to admit he’s slightly disappointed.
“I’ll need a new vase,” he mumbles, gesturing to the flowers. “And new flowers.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies immediately, nodding at him. “Is there anything else you need?”

He glances up at her, peering at her through his glasses. He looks her up and down, noting the sensible but horrible shoes and the pants that have never, ever seen a tailor. Her sweater’s slightly too big, the sleeves brushing against the juncture between her thumb and forefinger. She really is a pathetic little thing, all brown and cream and dull as hell. He notices she’s stiffened as he observes her, and looks up at her face. Not a stitch of makeup on it. He nearly scoffs.

But she’s done a better job than all of the women Hux has offered him in the past year, he tells himself. And isn’t intimidated by his … well, tantrums. She might make it more than a month, he thinks. He purses his lips slightly, before waving her off. “That’s all.”

“Yes, sir.”

-

She does make it more than a month. She somehow makes it without falling into despair, either, or losing half of her hair in stress. Granted, the skin under her eyes is slightly darker and she's somehow picked up the habit of checking her phone constantly should he call or text her with new instructions, but all in all she's not in terrible shape.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes as she rushes into the small café, eyes directly landing on the head of orange hair towards one of the windows. “Ren texted me and told me to pick up some new jewelry from J.Crew – neon, specifically, but nothing coral. Do you know how hard it is to find neon things that don’t have coral at J.Crew?” she demands, putting the bag in one of the opposite seats and sliding into the booth across from BB. “I’ll tell you – really fucking hard.”

They snort, shaking their head as they push a cocktail towards her. “Here, you need it.”

“What is it?” Rey asks, immediately taking a sip and making a pleased face. “Oh, that’s good.”

“Vodka lemonade,” BB replies, leaning on table with their elbows. “Tell me I did all right.”

“You did great – I need it after the day I’ve had,” Rey admits, taking another sip of the drink through the black straw.
“It’s Saturday,” BB says, confused. “He runs you through the weekend?”

“Just small things,” Rey replies as she pulls the silverware from the napkin and spreads the fabric on her lap. “Nothing big. Picking up a few things, sending a message or two, stopping by some designer’s apartment to get sketches or something.”

BB huffs, taking a sip of their own Sprite. “Still – it’s the weekend.”

Rey just shrugs, glancing towards the shopping bag that she’d picked up. “It’s not too bad,” she admits. “He’s actually kind of a decent human being. Sometimes. Not often, but sometimes.”

BB snorts and shakes their head. “Satan is sometimes okay? Shocker," they deadpan.

“I mean it!” She glances down at the menu. “God, the girls that work in the office are always eating salads and stuff. I want a burger.”

“Then get a burger!” BB replies. “Don’t let them get to you. Sometimes I blow air towards them just to see if they’ll fall over.”

Rey can’t help it – she barks a laugh as the waiter comes over. With the bread on the table and their orders in, she takes another sip of her drink and looks over at BB. “Have you ever … you know, actually met him? Aside from the day I switched?”

They shake their head. “I’ve seen him, but I’ve never actually been introduced to him.”

“The girls on the floor are obsessed with him,” Rey mutters. “For someone who’s nicknamed Satan, they treat him like a god. I swear sometimes their fake eyelashes are going to fly off with the amount of eye-batting they do.”

“He’s not unattractive,” BB admits with a shrug before reaching for a roll. Rey does the same, swiping some butter from the dish. “But I wouldn’t actually try for him. The chances of him going for someone are incredibly slim.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t interested in anyone at all,” Rey admits, buttering her bread and taking a bite. She fights the urge to continue talking with her mouth full, chewing and swallowing instead. “A girl was wearing a skirt up to her ass and bent over to pick up some fabric samples in front of his office. Didn’t even look up despite her saying ‘Shit’ pretty loudly and obviously.”

BB rolls their eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

“And that’s not even the worst they’ve done.”

“Oh, God.” It's half groan, half laugh.

“I’m not going to go into that,” Rey insists, holding her hands up in surrender. “It’s not my place to wonder who my boss is screwing, if anyone.”

BB shrugs. “I want Poe to screw Finn.”

It’s a miracle Rey didn’t have anything in her mouth, because she practically chokes on her own tongue, reaching for the water that had come with her drink. “What?” she demands, eyes wide at the other assistant.

They grin. “You heard me.”

“Finn … and Poe?”

“Mhm.”

“Really?”

“You haven’t been down there. They make moony eyes at each other constantly. It's not even Finn's department and he's always coming in and saying hi to Poe." They smirk around their straw. "And bringing snacks. I'm not complaining about either, honestly, but it's weird for someone who works in the photography department to be in editing so often."

Rey frowns, glancing towards where her phone is sitting on the table. “That explains a lot of the calls and texts, then.”

“Finn’s been calling and texting you about Poe?”

“Constantly,” she replies, unlocking her phone and sliding it over to her friend, who’s making crab pincher hands at the device. “Calm down, I have all of them.”

“And you didn’t tell me this sooner?! This could be big!” BB insists, grabbing the phone and scrolling to the top. “When did it start?”

“A week before I started to work there,” Rey says, moving back a bit as a salad is put in front of her. BB doesn’t even bother, letting the waiter slide it under their hands and ignoring it completely. Rey tosses out a “thank you,” for the both of them, before reaching for her fork. “I mean, it’s not like he blatantly told me he likes him or anything. It’s usually stories about Poe saying this or Poe doing that.”

“Still! It’s something! We need a battle plan.”

Rey stops mid-chew, staring at the other. “… a battle plan?”

BB’s practically vibrating, grinning brightly at the phone in their hands. “Can you just imagine how cute they’d be?! I mean, Finn’s had Poe’s jacket for like two weeks now and hasn’t given it back!”

A lightbulb goes off, and Rey straightens against the booth. “Is it leather with a red stripe or something?”

“So you’ve seen him wearing it!”

“Yeah, he’s worn it every time we go out for drinks. I figured it was just a new jacket.”

The shriek BB gives off is enough to startle everyone within a three table radius, and Rey flinches as several people stare in their direction. “Sorry!” she insists, waving her hand to assure them everything was all right. “BB!”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just – they’re adorable! Will you help me with it?”

“With what?”

“Getting them together! And planning the wedding afterwards.”

Rey takes another bite of her salad to avoid answering.

“Oh, c’mon, they’d be so cute!” they croon. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, they’d be completely and utterly adorable, but I really don’t want to think about Finn fucking my former boss,” Rey mutters.

“I think Poe would be the one fucking him – he seems more like a top.”

Rey’s fork drops to the floor as she’s torn between laughing and groaning. She goes with scolding instead. “BB!”

Their resulting cackle can be heard throughout the restaurant, and Rey’s completely and entirely sure everyone around them can see her pink cheeks and her subtle smile.

-

She’s getting good at this, she thinks. She’s up before the light even flashes, having seen his hand move towards the button out of the corner of her eye. She walks around the desk and steps into the office. “Yes, sir?”

“I need you to pick up the Polariods downstairs from the lingerie shoot,” he mutters. “The Agent Provacateur one.”

She stares at him. She’s watched him work all night, slaving over the final touches of an issue when no one else has caught or noticed the mistakes. But she’s never seen him this tired or stressed-looking. She can tell he’s wearing cover-up under his eyes, but the bags are still noticeable. From her vantage point at her desk, she’s seen him run his hand through his hair no less than once a minute, his fingers sometimes clenching against his scalp as he flips through several of the issues, all in stark white binders with the month and issue number on the side. He has a pile of the binders beside him, going through all the issues of the past year.

“Yes, sir,” she responds, wondering if it was a bit delayed in its delivery. “… sorry for asking, but what’s going on that has you so stressed?”

He looks up at her, slowly and condescendingly, and she immediately regrets asking him as she shuffles slightly. “… and I thought you were learning,” he mumbles, running his hand through his hair again. “Do you know what is in two weeks?”

Two weeks. She frowns, wracking her brain for any sort of clue. “… October?” she offers, the start of the month the only thing she can possibly think of.

He stares at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry.” All right, so it comes out a bit more snappishly than she intended, but somehow his annoyance with her has doubled in the past two weeks, and he’s been nothing but condescending and pissy with her.

He sighs, fingers clenching against his scalp. “It’s Paris Fashion Week. Really, you should know this,” he scolds.

"I don't see why-"

“Seeing as you’re coming with me.”

"What?" It's accompanied by a loud 'slam' that startles Rey into jumping back, nearly running into the man behind her.

"You're bringing her to Fashion Week?" Hux demands, bending to pick up the stack of issues he'd dropped. He nearly slams them on top of Kylo's desk. Rey winces at the resulting sound, and at the way the man leans forward on the Editor in Chief's desk. "Please tell me this is some sort of sick, twisted joke."

"Hi, Hux," Rey offers, offering him a slight wave.

The redhead turns, glaring at her before looking back towards Kylo. "Ren."

"She's my assistant, Hux. My assistant always accompanies me to Fashion Week."

"Not for the past two years they haven't," Hux hisses.

Rey watches as her boss looks up at the executive editor, tearing his eyes away from the spread. She's expecting him to glare, like he usually does, or narrow his eyes or something, but instead he just looks resigned. "Because I was in between assistants. This time I'm not. She'll be coming with me, and that's final."

"And you're expecting her to wear things like that-" he says, pointing at her black pants and plain cream sweater, "to Paris Fashion Week?"

"Thank you for bringing me the issues," Kylo says, avoiding the other man's question. "That'll be all."

"We aren't done with this, Ren."

"Yes." Kylo's voice is dangerously low, and Rey resists the urge to take a step back should something go flying again. She's pretty sure she can still hear the crunch of smaller pieces of broken glass when she walks in sometimes, carnage leftover from his last tantrum regarding Hux. "We are. She's coming with me to Fashion Week. That's all."

The redhead glares, but leaves when it's obvious that Kylo's done with the conversation.

She can't resist. "Bye, Hux," she offers to the executive editor.

She isn't expecting a response, and she doesn't get one as the door closes behind him. She waits half of a heartbeat before looking back at her boss, who's resumed his reading of the year's issues.

"I'll forward the schedule to you," he declares. "There's a meeting with all who are going on Tuesday, at 9 am."

"I'll be there," she replies immediately.

He just nods slightly - it's more of a gentle head bob than anything else, just the slightest movement, but it's something, at least. She resists the urge to go over, to tell him that it'll be okay, because this is her boss and that would be entirely inappropriate. She bites her lip, standing for a moment more to see if he'll tell her that that'll be all, but the phrase never comes. It doesn't come as she walks towards the door, and it doesn't come as she opens it.

"Rey."

She turns back, eyes wide. His own are still on the spread in front of him.

"Coffee."

"I was just about to leave to get it," she assures him, because she really was. He looks like he needs it, desperately. Coffee, and a 5 Hour Energy, and maybe a good long nap. She knows that two of those are completely and utterly out of the question, but she could at least get him the coffee.

He glances up at her. "Four shots of espresso this time."

She's never heard him sound so tired, not even when he spent the entire night in the office with the Book spread on his desk, making red marks across its pages. "Yes, sir," she replies quietly before leaving, closing the door quietly behind her.

Chapter Text

“Paris Fashion Week? Rey, you’ve got to be shitting me. You know people would kill for that trip, right? Paris Fashion – you’re seriously joking, aren’t you?”

She groans, running her hand through her hair for the umpteenth time in the past half hour. “No, Finn, I’m really not.”

“Wait, you’re going to Paris Fashion Week?”

Rey stops, her hand falling back onto the couch cushions beneath her head as she frowns. “Poe?” she asks, surprised at her previous boss’s voice.

“Oh, sorry, you’re on speaker,” Finn explains. “We’re making dinner. BB’s coming … at some point. I think.”

“Hi, Rey,” the older man pipes. “How’s Hell?”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Not too bad,” she admits. “I’m not dead yet. Guess what? Even Satan can be stressed.”

“In the weeks coming up to Paris, I can imagine why.” She can hear shuffling, and something sizzling in a pan. “Man’s got to be up to his ears in planning for everything, getting everything ready to go for the trip.”

“The phone never stops ringing,” Rey adds. “Ever. Do you know how many designers I’ve put through to him in the past week? 37. I couldn’t pronounce more than half of them.”

One of the boys snorts. “Try spelling them,” Poe replies. “Garlic bread’s burning.”

“Fuck!”

Rey laughs softly at Finn’s cursing as she hears the oven open and close. “Oh, God, Finn,” she groans once she hears her best friend come back from rescuing the bread. “What do I even wear?”

“Clothes,” Poe supplies helpfully. There’s a resulting smack, and a yelp. “Hey, I’m not wrong!”

She smirks, rolling her eyes. “Thanks, Poe,” she deadpans. “That’s incredibly helpful. I’ll definitely wear clothes.”

“You’re welcome!” is the cheery response back, and she has to smile.

“You had a nice black dress at some point in your closet,” Finn replies. He sounds farther away – probably on the other side of the kitchen, Rey thinks. “I know I saw it somewhere in the past few months.”

She curls up on her couch, facing the back of it. “Finn, I’m not wearing the dress I wore to my grandfather’s funeral,” she mutters softly.

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, and then a quiet, “Oh. Yeah, right, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she replies immediately. “It’s over five years old, too. It probably doesn’t fit anymore, anyway.”

“It’s a last resort option,” Finn adds. “If you don’t have anything else. I’m sure you have a few things.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t,” she mumbles, running her hand down her face.

“Why are you freaking out?” Poe asks. “He hired you for your capabilities, not your clothes.”

“Yeah, but you should see the looks he gives me sometimes. He stares at me like I just walked in wearing a trash bag.”

“Rey, you’ve had some of your clothes since junior high,” Finn offers. “Maybe some closet cleaning is in order.”

“Those are just t-shirts,” she insists.

“If there’s a hole big enough where I can see your entire shoulder, it’s time to toss it.”

“That’s when it’s comfiest, though,” Poe pipes.

“Both of you are hopeless,” Finn sighs. “Call BB, they're fifteen minutes late at this point.”

“On it.”

Rey hears some shuffling on the other line, and there’s a click that tells her she’s been switched off of speakerphone. “Hey, peanut," Finn greets.

“Hey,” she replies with a soft sigh, running her hand through her hair again. “Poe’s right.”

“About what?”

“Ren hired me for my capabilities, right? I’ve been working here for almost two months, now. He’s used to my clothes. If he wants me to wear something else, he’ll tell me, right?” she asks.

“I guess,” Finn offers. “But, I mean, you work at a fashion magazine. Pick up one of the issues and look through and see if there’s anything you like, and try to find it in a store or something.”

She stares at the fabric of her couch. “That’s a good idea,” she admits. “I’ll grab one tomorrow.”

“Hold on,” Finn tells her, and then the phone is pulled away. She can vaguely hear the two men talking, and Poe’s sharp laugh along with Finn’s softer one. And then Finn’s talking again, “BB said they double-booked and are having dinner with you?”

Rey frowns, racking her brain for any time she’d talked to them about dinner plans. She comes up short. “No, I don’t-“

Her eyes widen in realization. Damn them. She fakes a groan. “Oh my God, yeah, I forgot! Sorry, Finn, I have to go get dressed and meet them there, I totally forgot!”

“It’s fine, go, have fun, tell them I said hi.” She can hear the laughter in his voice.

“And that they’re missing out on awesome garlic bread!” Poe pipes up.

Rey fakes a laugh. “Will do. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“All right, peanut, have fun.”

She hangs up the phone and immediately scrolls through her recent calls to get BB’s number. They don’t even get a greeting in before she says, “You little shit.”

Their laughter is loud and gleeful. “They told you, huh?”

“I never agreed to be a part of this plan, remember?”

“But you didn’t disagree, and you didn’t have to do anything.”

“I had to lie to my best friend about meeting you for dinner!” Rey insists, but she’s trying to keep the laughter out of her voice as she speaks.

“Oh, c’mon, it was for a good cause.”

Rey snorts, shaking her head. She can just imagine them now, sitting in their stylish apartment somewhere in some large, wing-backed chair, planning. “You’re awful.”

“Excuse you, I’m a delight!”

Rey laughs. “You owe me,” she says.

“Whatever you need, sweetheart.”

The assistant stops, thinking. “BB,” she asks. “Do you actually read General Fashion?”

-

There it is again. That damned blinking light. She resists the urge to just ignore it in favor of finishing her tea. Satan’s become more ornery as the weeks went on, snapping at her one moment and sighing heavily the next. Other times he’s more subtle, expressing his frustration through rolled eyes and furrowed brows.

She’s retorted with almost sickening sweetness in response, with the occasional witty snap back when the situation needed to be lightened a bit. His smirk when she snaps isn’t exactly kind, but it’s a change than his now default sullen expression, and so she’ll take it.

“Yes, sir?” she asks as she rounds the desk and opens the door, waiting patiently.

He doesn’t even look up from the papers he’s reading. For once, his desk is covered in them instead of having them neatly in piles. “Pick up my dry cleaning,” he says, voice gruff. She can only assume it’s from yelling at people constantly; she’s cowered behind her computer several times over the past week as he let loose on some poor unfortunate soul. “Deliver it back here. I’ll have someone bring a rack in to hang it on. Then you’re dismissed.”

She stares at him. “Dismissed?”

He raises his eyes to her. She notes with some amusement that his glasses are slightly askew, his hair not quite as perfect. It usually looks impeccable, but apparently even Satan can run his hand through his hair one too many times over the course of an hour.

“Yes,” he sighs, grabbing a file from the side and opening it to reveal several dozen lingerie photos. Rey shifts a bit uncomfortably, avoiding looking directly at the photos as he takes a red marker and marks the pages. “My car will pick you up at 9:30. If you return with the dry cleaning at 5, you will have around 4 hours to pack your things.” He pulls his glasses from his face, sighing deeply as he bows his head and runs both of his hands through his hair. “The jet will be waiting when we arrive.”

Jet. Right. The idea of riding in a private plane with her boss is a bit intimidating, if she’s entirely honest with herself, but she just nods and turns to leave. “Yes, sir.”

“Rey.”

She turns back on the heel of her flat, eyes wide and brows raised in question. “Yes, sir?”

“There is luggage in the accessories department.” He doesn’t even look up at her. “I won’t have you rolling around some ratty neon orange … duffel bag, or something else obscenely tacky.”

Rey’s spine straightens. It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him that her luggage is black, and though it’s seen better days it’s still held together, but then she remembers that she’d duct-taped the side before moving to New York and the wheels get stuck more often than not. So she just nods, gives him a simple, “Yes, sir.”

-

He isn’t in his office when she returns, at 4:50. There is a rack, though, and it seems that he’s already picked out the luggage for her. She stares at the set, four suitcases of varying sizes. The handles are brushed rose gold, while the case itself is white leather, and she lifts the largest one to test its weight. It’s heavier than she’s expecting, and she frowns as she sets it down.

“I guess I just pick one,” she mutters, glancing down and picking the second to largest size. They’re only there for a week and three days; she doesn’t have to pack too much if she can reuse some of the pieces that she and BB bought the weekend before. She takes it, and the matching carry-on, after she hangs his suits up on the rack, unwrapping them from the garment bag and distributing the hangers two fingers-width apart on the rack. Once that’s finished, she rolls out. She casts glances around as she leaves, looking for the Devil, but he’s nowhere in sight as she heads towards the elevators. She still doesn’t see him in the lobby, and she wonders if maybe she should’ve picked up some coffee for him as well before leaving.

-

“So the white skirt goes with the red shirt and the gold shoes.”

“The white skirt goes with almost everything,” BB tells her as she rushes around, grabbing her last-minute items. She tugs the neon yellow Post-Its off of the door as she goes, sticking the one that says ‘passport’ between her lips as she grabs her passport from the drawer and shoves it into the backpack she’d chosen for the plane. “So don’t get anything on it, okay?”

“No promises,” Rey mutters as she pulls the sticky note from her bottom lip and tosses it towards the waste bin. “And the gold shoes?”

“Go with everything except for the silver dress. Wear the black ones with that,” BB instructs.

“Got it.” She doesn’t have it, not really, and she’s bound to lose one of the black shoes and end up having to wear the gold ones anyway, but she has a few notes in her phone about what should go with what. She grabs the charger for her phone, rolling it up and shoving it into the side pocket of the backpack.

“You’re gonna look great,” BB assures her from the other end of the line. “Seriously, you are.”

“Thanks,” Rey breathes, muttering, “Shit,” when the buzzer to her apartment rings. “BB, I’ve gotta go, the driver’s here.”

“Good luck! Text me if you get bored! I bet they have great Wifi signal on that jet,” BB tells her before hanging up. Rey doesn’t even have the chance to shake her head at the other’s comment before the line goes dead, and she pulls the phone away, shoving it into the pocket of her sweatshirt before grabbing the two suitcases and her backpack. She takes a few moments to make sure she has everything important within reach before walking out, yanking the stubborn door of her apartment closed behind her.

The elevator hasn’t worked in months, so she carries the suitcases down the stairs. Ren’s driver is waiting at the bottom for her, dressed all in black with a chauffer’s cap. She wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but doesn’t dare. She’s met the unfortunate driver a few times, and though they’re not exactly on friendly terms, she feels comfortable calling the man an acquaintance and a possible ally against her Devil of a boss.

“Hey, Mitaka,” she breathes as she sets the suitcases down on the cement in front of him.

The man looks at her strangely. “Is this it, Miss Rey?”

She puts her hands on her hips, breathing heavily after rushing down the stairs with the suitcases. “… yeah?” she asks. “Why, should I have brought more?”

“Ren did,” the driver says simply, and she rolls her eyes.

“Ren’s Ren,” she insists. “I swear the man changes three times a day.”

“Yes, Miss Rey,” the man says, popping the trunk of the black Rolls Royce and slipping the suitcases into the back. Rey can see that Ren did bring significantly more than her; three cases, at least.

“The others are already being taken to the airport,” Mitaka explains as he walks around to open the back left door for her.

“Others? There are more?” Rey asks, incredulous as she slips into the dark car.

There’s a snort from behind her. “You can’t be serious.”

Rey stops midway of putting her backpack down, glancing over at Ren, who’s staring at her in apparent shock. “… hello.”

“You’re wearing that?” he asks, taking in her leather boots, leggings and large sweatshirt with a sneer.

“… yes?” she offers, unsure of what else to say. It’s significantly more comfortable and casual than her work wear, but she’s also getting on a plane and sleeping for the majority of the flight.

He’s still in his suit, the same one from the workday, and she resists the urge to feel pity for the man when she realizes that he probably came right here from the office. Instead she just stares back at him defiantly until he turns away, looking out the window as the car stars to move. Lit-up Manhattan passes by at a snail’s pace, the traffic horrific with people going about their nightly activities.

“What time’s the flight?” she asks, reaching for her phone from inside of her bag. She grabs her wallet, too, just to check and make sure everything was in the right place.

“When we get there,” he says simply, still gazing out the window.

She watches him for a few moments before looking to gaze out her own window. Her attention’s brought back to him when she feels a light touch against her outer right thigh, startling slightly. When she looks down, his hand’s there, holding a venti Starbucks cup towards her.

“I guessed green tea with honey,” he says, just a simply as his previous statement.

She glances up at him before looking down at the cup, taking it gingerly and holding it in her lap. It’s hot, nearly burning her fingers through the cup, and she wonders how hot he’d demanded it if it was near scalding after the trip to her apartment. “… thank you,” she replies. “You didn’t have to.”

He says nothing, dark gaze returning to the city passing by.

-

As promised, the jet’s waiting for them when they arrive. The stairs are lowered as Mitaka pulls onto the tarmac, and Rey can see the warm, welcoming glow of the jet’s interior lights. The car pulls around the port, stopping just outside of the plane. Mitaka opens the door for Ren first, and Rey’s left to get herself out as the driver unloads the luggage. She swings her backpack over her shoulder, slipping her phone and earbuds back into her pocket as she watches Ren grab his briefcase.

She was wrong. Her boss has five suitcases - and Mitaka had said he had more.

She watches as her own small selection is lifted out, and hears Ren scoff.

“You truly are a joke,” he snarls.

She turns to glare at him. “Just because I don’t own as many clothes as you do doesn’t mean I don’t know how to dress myself."

The look he gives her is a strange combination of incredulous and scathing, and she immediately wants to take back her words. Of course she doesn’t know how to dress; at least, she doesn’t know how to dress in Ren’s eyes. She glares back at him as he rakes his eyes up and down her form, simply raising one dark eyebrow at her before turning and walking towards the jet.

“I’d meant for you to fill all of them,” he tells her as she follows him up the stairs. “All four.”

“How can someone fill four suitcases?” she asks, shocked at his statement as he nods at the pilot. She gives a nod as well before following him. She nearly stops at the vast space before her. A long white leather lounge fills up one corner and extends all the way to the door, a sort of hook shape of seats. Opposite are four more seats with a table in between, and she can see four more seats behind those. The seats behind are obviously the ones that fold out into beds, given the space between them. She watches as her boss picks one of the white leather seats around the table, settling back. She follows him cautiously, stopping just as he sheds his suit jacket. She almost sits across from him, which would take up his precious leg space, and decides against it. She hoists her backpack onto her shoulder, and makes to sit in the seat behind him, one of the beds, but he stops her with a stern, “No.”

Rey looks back, and sees that he’s pointing to the seat across from him, the one she’d originally planned to sit in. “We need to talk scheduling,” he explains.

Right. Scheduling. That’s a thing that exists. She does as ordered, sliding into the seat and setting her backpack in the free seat beside her.

“Right,” she says softly, reaching into her bag to pull out her notebook when a slim white leather journal is slid to her, Ren having removed it from his own briefcase. She stares at it, noting the way ‘REY KENOBI’ is embossed into the leather and filled in with gold paint.

“I had it printed,” he explains. “This way you won’t be carrying around that scuffed, highlighted thing to all the shows and events.

She stops, putting the ‘scuffed, highlighted thing’ back into her backpack before reaching for the notebook he’d given her. She opens it to find the day’s date at the top, September 24th, and a rundown of the day. Their flight is listed, though there isn’t a specific time beside it, and their approximate landing time is noted below in a classic serif font. She runs her fingers over the ink. He’s right; it had been specially printed, the letters dipping into the paper just ever so slightly. Of course it would be embossed; it's Kylo Ren. She glances up to see Ren just a bit too close for comfort, his face merely inches away from hers. She nearly pulls back, but waits as he turns the page for her with long, pale fingers.

“Tomorrow is meeting with journalists,” he explains. “We have a conference at 4, and a formal dinner with the editors of French and Italian General Fashion at 6:35. I expect you to be well dressed for that. I won’t have you coming in with something you snatched from the rack of TJ Maxx.”

“Is there anything before 4?” she questions, noticing the empty space above the meeting with the journalists.

“No. I have work to do regarding the Book, and so I left that time empty. I will be working in the hotel room, but you are welcome to walk around the city,” he tells her. “Perhaps find something a bit more … elegant than that hobo bag you’re lugging.”

She glances towards her backpack. He’s right; it’s not exactly in the best shape, since she’s had it since sophomore year of college. But the straps have held so far, and it carries what she needs nicely. “It’s just for the plane,” she insists, glaring back at him. “I have another bag in my luggage.”

He just hums noncommitally, turning the next page. “The next morning we are having brunch with the editors of the German General Fashion, and then in the afternoon I’m having tea with-“

“British and French General Fashion,” Rey finishes, glancing over the schedule.

His dark eyes stare into her, and she resists the urge to hunch her shoulders against his gaze. “… the General Fashion gala is that night,” he explains. “I will have a gown delivered to the hotel room for you.”

“I have a dress,” she protests.

“No, you don’t,” he replies simply. “Whatever you have in that tiny little selection of yours isn’t going to work for an event of this magnitude. We’ll get your measurements taken and have a gown altered. You’re thin enough that something should work, at least.”

Her cheeks flush red as she scowls openly at him. She has a dress, she thinks. It’s nice enough for a ‘gala’, if she asks BB for help with jewelry. But apparently nothing’s ever enough for the Devil.

“And the next day?” she asks, voice cautiously even.

“The next seven days will be runway shows and designer parties,” he explains. “We’re sitting in the front rows. You will be photographed, you will be seen.” He leans forward on the table, face close to hers as he stares down at her. “You will be seen with me. Do you understand this? You need to be on your best behavior.”

She stares back at him defiantly. “You say that like I’m a naughty child,” she snarls.

“You’re the one who still carries a backpack,” he retorts before looking back down to the schedule. “We head back Monday evening.” With that, he closes the schedule with something that’s not quite a ‘slap’, considering that the book isn’t really that thick. But Rey can see the force behind it, and nearly glares at him. He pushes the schedule towards her, and she takes it from him, slipping it into the front pocket of her backpack.

Ren sighs, and Rey glances towards him. Though he may try, no amount of cover-up or special serums can hide the dark bags under his eyes. He looks well and truly exhausted, and she watches as one of the attendants brings him a leather travel bag. She has no doubt that the buckles and latches on it are some sort of precious metal, but Ren seems more interested with what’s inside of it, unzipping it and nodding in approval. He waves at the attendant, leaning back against the white leather seat.

The intercom crackles briefly before being replaced by the pilot’s voice. “We’ve been cleared for takeoff, Mr. Ren and Miss Kenobi. Please fasten your seatbelts.”

Ren does as asked, and Rey fastens hers too, shoving her backpack under her seat to keep it from flying off of the chair. She watches as he leans back, nearly curling into the seat. His legs are long enough that they nearly brush the seat next to her, and she tucks her legs in just a bit more to accommodate him.

“The seats directly behind us fold out into beds,” he explains, voice low. When she looks up at him, she notices that his eyes are closed and his hand is in his hair. “The bathroom is back and to the left. I trust you ate before we left?”

“No,” she says simply.

He opens one dark eye to stare at her. “… will you be hungry?”

“I have an energy bar in my backpack,” she explains.

He just hums again. “We’ll be getting breakfast at the hotel, after checking in and unpacking our things.”

She nods, pulling out her phone and the book she’d gotten for the flight, setting both on her lap. She’s not tired, not quite yet, though it’s obvious the man across from her is.

Rey barely feels the plane leave the runway. It’s only when she glances out the window and sees the shining lights of New York that she realizes that they’re in the air. She raises the sunshield just a bit more, leaning forward and watching as the city disappears beneath them. She leans her head against the wall of the jet, eyes focused on the sparkling lights.

She’s moved slightly when she feels her boss’s shin brush against the toe of her left boot. She startles, looking up to see him holding the bag that the attendant had given him. Ren walks back to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Rey’s kind of amused to see that, even though the jet is very much private, there’s still an ‘occupancy’ light above the wooden-paneled door. She slides her boots off, tucking them under the seat before curling up with her legs beneath her. She rests her head against the wall again as she watches out the window, eyes eventually slipping closed.

-

When she opens them again, the sky below is dark and the cabin lights have dimmed. They’ve flown above the clouds, apparently, or are over water. She feels what woke her as the book she’d settled on her lap is pulled from beneath her grip, her fingertips sticking to the plastic cover as it’s eased away.

She looks down to see Ren pulling the book away from her, opening the largest pocket of her backpack without so much as a grimace and slipping the book inside of it. He’s changed; she’s never seen him without a suit on before, but she has to admit that the dark blue henley shirt and black lounge pants look good on him. They make him look slightly more human, more approachable. Though she doubts that they’re from some plebeian store like Old Navy, they look like they could be, and she decides that she likes the look on him.

“You slept for a half hour,” he mutters as she sits up, wincing softly as her muscles protest. “I was going to let you sleep, but you’re going to wake up paralyzed in the morning if you continue in that position.”

His voice is softer and kinder than she’s heard it in a while, and she nods at him as he hands her her phone and headphones. She takes them gratefully, untucking her sore legs from beneath her. He moves back to the beds that have been unfolded, and she stretches before pulling her sweatshirt up and over her head, setting it on top of her backpack. She’s left in a grey tank top, leggings, and her socks as she looks towards the bed that’s been turned down for her. She notices the glass of water on the small table that extends off of it. Grateful for it, she takes a few gulps of it before returning to rummage through her backpack for her toiletries. Finding the small bag, she looks towards Ren, who’s sitting up with the Book propped on his lap and his glasses perched on his nose.

“Bathroom’s back there?” she asks, pointing towards the door that he’d disappeared into before. He just nods, engrossed in the spread before him. She notices the red pen between his full lips, and smirks a little bit. That’s not a habit she’s seen. The end of the pen on his bottom lip, maybe, but he’s never actually had it in his mouth before. She walks back to the bathroom and quickly brushes her teeth and washes her face, pulling her hair back into a loose bun before walking back out and putting her bag back into her backpack.

“You should sleep soon,” she offers quietly as she sits on the edge of the bed. Immediately, she strokes the sheets. Of course the sheets of General Fashion’s private jet would be so much softer than the ones she owns. She actually marvels at them for a moment before looking up at her boss.

“I’ll sleep when I’m finished,” he mutters.

“Ren,” she warns.

There’s no response. He pulls the pen from his mouth, clicks it once, underlines something, and then the writing utensil goes right back between his lips.

“Ren,” she tries again, leaning forward across the wide aisle. She looks up as the lights dim slightly, and then he’s reaching up to turn the book light on.

She’s close enough that she can reach over and turn it back off. He turns it right back on, not even bothering to look up at her.

Such a child, she thinks – right down to the temper tantrums.

“Kylo,” she tries, voice softer this time.

He looks up at her, then, brown eyes tired and not quite open all the way behind his glasses.

She leans forward. “I’d much rather have you a little less murderous in the morning, if you don’t mind.”

He pulls the pen out from between his lips, raising an eyebrow at her. “Murderous?” he questions.

“I thought you were going to wring the neck of that poor girl from the shoes department on Thursday,” she admits.

“She broke the heel of a pair of Jimmy Choos,” he mutters darkly, but she notices that instead of putting the pen in between his lips or behind his ear, he slips it into the briefcase that he’d set beside his seat. “She deserves no less than death.”

She rolls her eyes at the man's "humor" as she pulls her legs up and slips beneath the blankets. It’s not long after that his book light’s turned out, and she allows herself a soft smile as she hears the rustling of the Book as it’s slipped back into its briefcase.

“Thank you,” she says.

“I just don’t want these bags to get any darker,” Ren mutters irritably. She hears him and vaguely sees him in the low light of the cabin as he moves beneath the covers, dark hair spreading across the pillow. She can hear the soft ‘click’ of his glasses as he puts them on the shelf beside the bed.

“What, you’re telling me they’re not Prada?” she jokes.

There’s a moment of silence, and she fears that he didn’t get it or, worse, she overstepped. But then she hears a soft snort. Quiet follows, but it’s enough for her as she buries her face into the pillow and closes her eyes, trying to tune out the hum of the engines and the deep breathing of the man across from her.

-

Morning comes with the sun pouring in from the windows, and a glass of what she assumes is orange juice on the side table along with water. Ren’s already up and editing when she opens her eyes, and she watches him for a few moments. He has the pen in between his lips again, gaze focused on the makeup spread before him. She remembers that section; Finn had been scatterbrained the entire day. She honestly didn’t know that photographing makeup products was so labor-intensive, but apparently it is. She’d also balked when Finn told her that the total of the products he was photographing was over 800 dollars.

“Good morning,” he mutters, and she smirks when she sees that his hair’s far from perfect. If anything, the man’s bedhead is worse than hers, and she’s sure hers is absolutely dreadful.

She lets herself lie in bed for a few more moments. “Good morning,” she says, words half muffled by the pillow she’s lying on.

“I trust you slept well. We have a busy day ahead,” he mumbles around the metal of his pen. He pulls it from his lips a moment later, making some sort of note on the page, before it returns to his mouth.

“Not bad,” she admits, finally pushing herself up from the bed. She reaches for the water, taking a sip and nearly grimacing. It’s lukewarm, and lemon-y. “What-“

“It helps with metabolism,” Ren explains matter-of-factly. “The juice next to it is papaya, orange, and grapefruit.”

She hums, reaching for that next. This juice is colder, and sweet. She swings her legs over the bed as she continues to drink, savoring each sip.

“We’ll be landing in a half hour,” Ren explains as he closes the Book and sets it down inside his briefcase along with the pen. “I’ll be using the bathroom first.”

“Of course,” she says as she finishes the juice and sets it back down on the table. She rubs her eyes as he grabs the leather bag and disappears into the bathroom. While he’s getting dressed, she grabs her phone and connects to the plane’s Wifi. On it, she finds two texts from Finn telling her good luck and to text her when she lands, and several texts from BB asking if she was alive. She smiles as she replies that yes, she’s alive, and that they’ll be landing shortly. She looks up when Ren emerges a few moments later, looking impeccable. The visible evidence of fatigue and stress she’d seen last night is covered well, and he looks like he’s just slept for ages and woke up like this. She watches him as he moves back towards the seats around the table. She stands and stretches before walking to the bathroom to brush her teeth and run her brush through her hair. She doesn’t look too awful, she decides. The bun she’d thrown her hair up into has left it in waves, and she brushes them out gently. When she comes out, Ren’s on the phone.

“Yes, we’re landing shortly,” he says. “The hotel is 30 minutes away from the airport.” There’s silence for a moment, and then a scoff. “Yes, there are separate rooms. The reservations have been made for two suites.”

Rey reaches for her sweatshirt, pulling it over her head before sliding into the seat across from him. Though he doesn’t have the Book in front of him, he is twirling his pen around his long fingers.

“Yes, I will tell you when we’ve checked in,” he says, and Rey bites her lip to hide her smirk at how annoyed her sounds. “Yes. I know. I love you, too. Goodbye.”

Her heart stops at the ‘I love you, too,’ and she stares at him as he hangs up and slips the phone back into his pocket. He doesn’t seem to notice her gaze, or is steadily ignoring it as he pulls out his own version of her white and gold schedule; his is black and silver, KYLO REN embossed on the front.

There’s a few heartbeats of silence before he asks, “Yes?”

She startles, blinking at him as he pulls his glasses from his bag and slides them on. “… who was that?”

“My mother,” he answers simply.

“You talk to your mother?”

It’s a stupid question, and the look she gets is completely justified. She wants to sink into the leather seats as he stares at her like she’s an idiot – with what she just said, she guesses she might come off as one. “Yes,” he replies, just as simply as his previous answer.

She says nothing more as she watches him adjust his Rolex to the time in Paris.

“I speak to my mother, but I rarely speak to my father,” he explains suddenly, eyes still on the watch he’s fiddling with. “I thought you would’ve known. The tabloids love the family drama.”

“I don’t read tabloids,” she replies.

“Not entranced by the lifestyle of the rich and famous?” he asks, voice taking on a dreamy, sarcastic quality.

“Not when most of it’s bullshit,” she says, propping her elbow on the table and bracing her chin on her hand. “No starlet could possibly get pregnant four times in one year.”

She gets a smile with that one. It’s not a big smile, hardly the quirk of his lips, but it’s something, at least.

“Mr. Ren, we’re descending,” the pilot says over the speaker system.

The smile falls as suddenly as it had appeared, and then Satan’s sitting where Ren was, resting bastard face already in place as the editor nods in understanding.
Rey resists the urge to sigh and pulls out her phone instead, informing BB that they’re landing.

-

Ren had been right; the drive from the airport to the hotel’s a mere half hour, and with lack of traffic in the early morning they get there fairly quickly.
Rey spends the entirety of the drive with her nose practically pressed against the glass of the window. It’s dark still, but as the sun rises she can see more people walking about. There are old men with baguettes under their arms, workers already starting their day, women walking towards the early markets. It’s a far cry from New York; there’s an elegance, an ease about it that she’s never seen before.

On the rare occasions that she looks towards Ren, he’s looking out the window as well. She likes to think that he’s enjoying the scenery as much as she is, though she doubts it.

There are two bellboys ready to take their luggage up when they get there. One of them rushes to open the door for Rey, while the other moves to get Ren’s. The assistant stares up at the magnificent hotel, taking in the carvings on the side of the stone building and the lights around the windows, illuminating the inside.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Ren,” one of the boys greets. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Ren just nods, walking in. Rey follows, at his side as he stalks towards the concierge. She’s grown accustomed to the man’s loud presence, his walk that oozes power, but it’s easy to forget that not everyone is used to it. They get quite a few stares as he walks towards the main desk, where the male concierge is staring at the editor with wide eyes.

“Do you visit Paris often?” Rey questions, looking towards the bell boy who’d recognized the editor.

“Several times a year,” Ren replies simply as he approaches the desk. “Kylo Ren.”

“Good morning, sir. We’ve been expecting you,” the concierge replies in near perfect English. Rey finds it just a bit hard to understand the man with his accent, but gets most of it.

“I’ll need the keys to my suite, and the keys to my assistant’s room,” he explains.

“May I have her name?”

“Rey,” Rey says at the same time Ren says, “Kenobi.”

The concierge nods and types the name in, and then frowns. “Sir, there is no one with the name ‘Kenobi’ under the reservations.”

“Did you end it in a y or an i?” Rey asks, folding her hands on the marble desk top. “K-E-N-O-B-I.”

The concierge tries again, and shakes his head. “No, mademoiselle. There’s no reservation under that name.”

Ren scoffs. “Are there two under Ren?”

“Non, monsieur.”

“Get me your manager,” Ren snarls.

“Monsieur-“

Rey resists the urge to wince as the concierge nearly cowers beneath the 6’3 editor. She bites her lip as the man nods and almost literally runs off to fetch the manager.

The man who emerges a few moments later from the back office has a young face, but silver hair. It seems like his entire face is scattered in freckles, but his smile is easy and amiable. Rey notices Ren relax ever so slightly next to her.

“Blaise,” Ren says. “Pleasure to see you again.”

“Ren,” the man says, flashing an apologetic smile as he heads towards the computer. Rey’s surprised to hear that the man’s accent isn’t nearly as French as she would’ve expected. “Sorry about this, I’m sure we’ll find the reservation.”

“There should be one under Kenobi, and one under Ren,” Rey supplies.

“I see the Ren one,” the manager says, frowning. “But I don’t have any under Kenobi. Could you spell it for me, mademoiselle?”

“K-E-N-O-B-I,” she repeats. The man types it in again, and frowns deeper, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, mademoiselle, there’s no reservation under that name.”

Ren stiffens beside her, and Rey resists the urge to grab his arm. There are several vases of pink and yellow roses nearby; she really doesn’t want for some poor hotel staff person to clean up the result of Ren’s rage. But he contains himself, and she's surprised to feel a sick sense of pride for the way he's handling the situation.

“Are there any available rooms?” he asks. “I will cover the charges personally.”

The manager snorts, raising an eyebrow at Ren. “Ren. It’s Fashion Week.”

“Are there or not?” The editor's fists are clenched on top of the marble.

“No. Everything’s booked, even the suites,” Blaise replies. “I can arrange for her to stay at another hotel, though I doubt there will be one close.”

“Forget it,” Ren scoffs, shaking his head. “There are couches in the room?”

“Several.”

“How many bathrooms?”

“One master,” Blaise replies.

“It’ll do,” Ren mutters. The manager nods and hands over the key cards, slim gold things with the name of the suite on it. Rey turns it over in her hand, running her thumb over the name of the hotel as Ren turns on his heel and walks to the elevators. By the time Rey catches up to him, he already has his phone out and to his ear.
“Get me Hux.”

Rey’s shoulders hunch in on themselves as she stares at her boss. Despite having heard him yell at the executive editor probably a dozen times since she started to work on the top floor, she’s never ever heard him this livid. She clutches at the straps of her backpack as he taps his foot impatiently.

“What the fuck is the meaning of this?” the editor snarls, and Rey takes half a step back from her boss. “Don’t play dumb, Hux. You were told to make the reservations. I checked them before I left the office. What. The. Fuck. Happened?!”

Rey’s eyes fall to the floor, trying to keep herself out of the line of fire. She hopes to hell and back that Ren won’t lose his temper in the elevator and strand them between floors; it’s a definite possibility, if the way he’s clenching his fingers around the handle of his briefcase is any indication.

“Hux. I’m going to ask you again,” Ren growls. “What happened to her reservation? And don’t you fucking dare tell me you don’t know.”

Rey can just barely hear the executive editor on the other line; he’s mumbling furiously, it seems, and she hears the leather of Ren’s briefcase handle creak with the force of his grip. She clutches onto her backpack straps a little tighter.

“All right, fine,” Ren snaps after half a moment. “Fine. I’ll see you on Sunday.” He hangs up, and Rey reaches for his hand a mere second before he throws his phone to the floor in frustration. She catches his fingers, gripping the device and his hand as he stares at her. She guesses she’s only getting a fraction of the heat Hux will get, but it’s enough to make her gulp as she eases his phone from his death grip before offering it to him again.

“You break that, you make my life significantly more difficult,” she tells him. “This is not the week to get a new international number.”

He stares at her as the elevator dings, and then he’s off like a shot, power walking towards the white carved door at the end of the hall. She follows him, sighing in relief when he seems to calm with every step that he takes. He opens the door for the both of them, holding it for her as she steps inside the suite.

The words fall from her lips before she can stop them as she glances around the room that they’d been given. “Holy shit…”

“The damn bastard planned this.”

She pulls her eyes away from the gold, white and black décor to stare at her boss. He’s glaring down at the set of suitcases; he has eight, at least, and her two are nestled right beside his. She stares as well, before glancing back towards the room.

The living area’s a vast space, with modern black and white couches and artwork she can’t even begin to comprehend the meaning of. A set of two doors lead into what she assumes is the bedroom, the walls white and covered in carvings, reminding her back to the art history course she'd taken in college with its lectures on Versailles and Rococo. A large flatscreen is secured into the wall, and a black marble bar extends from one of the side walls. She walks to the windows, flanked in gold curtains, and stares out onto the Parisian streets. The city’s just getting started, taxis and people moving through the chill September air.

She hears one of the doors slam, and turns to see the double-doored entrance to the bedroom open. She sets her backpack down on one of the gold wing-backed chairs, walking cautiously into the bedroom.

The first thing she notices is the bed. It’s hard not to notice the monstrous thing, the sheets and coverlet pure white with gold pillows and a black throw blanket covering the bottom of it. It’s smack dab in the middle of the room, a sleek black desk and matching black leather chair tucked into the corner. There’s a chaise in the other corner, matching gold like the rest of the room.

Ren’s standing in the middle of it, running his hand down his long face. “The bastard planned this,” he mutters, shaking his head. “He canceled your reservation.”

“I can stay somewhere else,” she offers. “The manager said-“

“No,” Ren snaps. “There are couches. I won’t have you staying in a separate hotel. It’s asinine, and if I need you it’ll take you at least an hour to get back here. No, you’ll stay with me.”

Rey stares at him before shaking her head. “Is there another option?” she asks, annoyed. “What if I don’t want to stay with you.”

“Termination of your employment,” he says flatly.

It takes her a moment to realize that he’s entirely serious, and then she’s balking. “You’re joking,” she mutters.

“I’m not.” He’s already brushing past her towards the living room.

“You can’t be serious!” she nearly shouts at him. “You’re going to fire me if I don’t stay with you?!”

“Yes,” he says as he pulls one of the suitcases into the bedroom. He sets it on the edge of the chaise and unlocks it, flipping the latches and pushing it open. He starts to unpack, pulling out suits layered between pieces of tissue paper and hanging them up in the vast closet the suite offers. “Rey, think about it. It’s beneficial to both of us. You don’t run yourself ragged going between another hotel and this one, and I have you available should I need you.”

“And you’re expecting me to sleep on the couch?” she demands.

He stops in the middle of unfolding one of his suits. “… I can sleep on the couch, if you’d prefer,” he says, finally, after a moment of hesitation. He resumes unfolding his suit and hanging it up. “If that’s what you’d like.”

She’s stunned, staring openly at him as he continues to unpack his things. It’s a mundane, strangely human practice. She’s not entirely sure what she was expecting; someone to unpack for him, or maybe she’d be the one doing it. But instead he seems content doing it himself, hanging up each suit and tux with care. She watches, suit after suit, and wonders how one man could possibly need all of them for a week.

Well, it is Kylo Ren, she admits to herself.

“The shower is just through there if you’d like to take one,” he offers, jerking his head to the left. She turns and sees another set of double doors, leading into the master bathroom.

“… yes, thank you,” she mutters before turning and walking back into the living room. She stops as soon as she unzips her suitcase after pulling it onto the couch; he’d taken the closet. She wonders if he’ll spare some space for her, maybe, or if she’ll just have to lay the nicer pieces across the backs of the couches. She shrugs and pulls out her toiletries before setting the light blue lace midi-skirt BB had picked out across the couch. She pulls out the white blouse they’d picked to go with it, and drapes it right with the skirt. The shoes and jewelry are packed in the smaller suitcase, so she grabs a new bra and pair of panties before walking into the bathroom – she’ll dress in the living room, afterwards. She doesn’t want to risk exposing the new clothes to steam, and there'll a door between her and Ren, after all, she thinks as she walks by the editor. He doesn’t even glance up at her.

The bathroom nearly hurts her eyes, it’s so white. She sets her underwear on the counter neatly before turning and locking the door behind her. The shower takes a bit of time to figure out, once she’d stripped and stepped in. But she manages it easily enough, and finds bottles of shampoo and conditioner already inside of the large glass enclosure. The water pressure’s much better than the head she has in her small apartment, and she allows herself time to let the hot water pound over her bare shoulders. After spending hours on a plane, the warmth is welcome to her sore muscles, and besides – there’s nothing on the schedule until 4 pm. She takes her time, humming at the scent of the soap she finds. It’s sweet, vanilla and something else, and she makes a mental note to steal a few for the apartment the next time housekeeping comes around.

By the time she steps out, her skin’s flushed pink. She rubs at her hair as she pulls her underwear on, and finds a fluffy white robe behind the door. Grateful she doesn’t have to walk out in a towel, she wraps it around her and finds herself nearly drowning in it. Nonetheless, it’s warm and soft, and she steps out with a hand still toweling at her damp hair.

Ren’s not in the bedroom when she emerges, and she frowns before remembering that he’d said they’d eat breakfast at the hotel. It’s possible he’d gone down to order for them, or was calling in the other room. She wrings her hair as she steps into the living area, and stops dead in her tracks.

“This is what you brought? You truly are a pathetic little scavenger.”

He’s holding one of her new tops by the shoulder, as if it’s some dirty dish towel left by the sink for too long. She stands there in horror as he picks up one of her bras afterwards, holding it up by the straps and grimacing. “You’re, what, 24? This is a training bra, from the kid’s section at Kohl’s - you’re not 12.”

“Put it down!” she snarls, stalking over and grabbing the bra from his hands. “It doesn’t make sense to make it pretty if it’s beneath your clothes.”

“Oh, really?” Ren asks, voice flat. “Tell that to Victoria’s Secret, Nancy Myer, Agent Provacateur, Bordelle, Carine Gilson.”

She scowls at him, holding the bra to her chest and trying to hide it beneath her hands. “It does the job.”

“Arguable,” he says simply, reaching for one of the new blouses BB had picked out. “This? Clearance trash.”

“It looks good with the black skirt that’s in there … somewhere,” she mutters.

“Does it?” he asks, raising one dark eyebrow at her. “Really?"

“It does!” she insists, tucking the bra back beneath the rest of the clothes so that she can cross her arms over her chest.

“And this is what you laid out for today?” he asks, gesturing to the blue lace skirt and white blouse.

“Yes,” she says.

“Go put it on,” he tells her.

“I need to dry my hair first.”

“Go. Put. It. On.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

She rolls her eyes, but grabs the clothes and heads back into the bathroom. It takes some maneuvering to get the skirt and shirt to lay right; she isn’t used to so many buttons, or having a back zipper on the skirt. She’s used to just pulling them up over her slender hips, or wearing pants. She feels awkward in it; the skirt’s tight around her legs, and she has to nearly waddle out back to the living area. She does pass a mirror on the way, though; it looks almost as good as when BB had put her in it, so maybe she did to a decent job. She runs her fingers through her wet hair, hoping the water doesn’t turn her shirt too transparent in front of her boss.
Her boss who had already criticized her bra, but her boss all the same.

She walks out and raises her arms, looking down at herself. “See? I can-“

“No.”

She glances up. He’s reclining on the far couch, long legs folded over each other and arms crossed over his chest. She’s never seen him with his arms crossed; she notices for the first time how large his biceps are, filling and nearly straining his shirt sleeves. His suit jacket’s abandoned on the couch arm beside him. He stands, walking over to her.

She’s left staring up at him, her breath nearly catching in her throat as he puts his hands on her hips. “Ren-“

“Mirror,” he says simply, turning her around and pushing her towards the full-length mirror she’d passed earlier. He arranges her in front of it, standing behind her. She stares at their reflection, eyes narrowing at him in the mirror. With the reflection, she realizes just how small she is compared to him. He’s a tall, broad man, and she seems almost mouse-like when standing in front of him.

“These,” he tells her, fingers finding her bra straps on her shoulders through her blouse. She opens her mouth to protest when he lifts them, pulling her breasts up just slightly, much to her embarrassment. She scowls at him, meeting his gaze in the mirror. He shows no emotion whatsoever as he literally holds her chest up. “Need to be higher for this blouse.” He lets the straps go, and pulls at the fabric of her blouse. “This is cheap. Polyester, at least some percentage. Never.” He reaches down to her sleeves. The cuffs of the blouse go just to the first knuckle of her thumb, and she looks down as he pulls the cuff up. “This is ill-fitting. It’s at least a size too big, and needs to be tailored accordingly.”

His large hands grip her hips next, and her breath catches in her throat at how near he is to her. She can feel him, warm and solid against her back as he leans forward, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I admittedly like the skirt,” he tells her. “Whoever helped you pick this out has an eye for color.”

“You don’t think I picked this out?” she asks.

“No.” It sounds as if he’s trying to hide a smile. He pulls the waist up and pulls it back, tighter around her natural waist where it had fallen to her hips before. “If you’re going to wear a skirt like this, it should come around your natural waist. It’s too low on your hips. You waddled like a duck earlier; not very elegant or sexy.”

“I wasn’t trying to be sexy,” she insists, looking down at his hands on her waist as he gathers the fabric. It bunches along her back, too big for her waist. He's right, though; it does look better up higher, and she doubts she'll be able to belt it. Even if she could, it would look strange - she knows that much, at least.

“Also needs to be tailored,” he explains. “Or at least better made.”

She looks at herself in the mirror, biting at her lower lip as he holds the skirt higher up on her waist. “Well, what do you want me to do?” she demands.

“I want you to find something else to wear and grab your wallet,” he says, pulling himself from her. She nearly leans back, almost missing the warmth he’d offered. She watches him as he walks back into the living room, a man on a mission.

“What?” she calls, frowning as she leans to the side, trying to follow him with her eyes.

He walks back in almost immediately, suit jacket on again and one of the dresses she’d bought draped over his shoulder. He offers it to her. It’s a simple shirt dress with a slim waist and fuller skirt, gold buttons down the front. “This isn’t horrendous,” he admits. “The rest is God-awful. Get dressed, we’re going shopping.”

“What?” she repeats.

He snaps his fingers towards the bathroom. “This was definitely not how I intended on spending my morning, but it will have to do.” His phone’s already out and he’s already dialing as she stands there with the dress in her hands. “I thought I told you to get dressed.”

“I-“ she starts in protest, and he gives her a look from where he’s standing across the room. Her mouth snaps shut, but she glares at him as she disappears into the bathroom, emerging later with the skirt and blouse in her hands and the dress on her body.

He pulls the phone away from his face for a moment, frowning at her. “Still too big,” he mutters, shaking his head at her as he hangs up the phone. “Forget it, no way we’re going to get an appointment at this hour.” he adds, jerking his head towards the door. “Forget a bag, just grab your wallet, we’ll take care of the bag on the way.”

“Shoes?” she demands, and blinks as he holds out a pair of black flats. She takes them from him, examining the soles. “… these are Louboutins,” she says when she sees the bright red color.

“So you are learning things,” he says, waiting with his hands in his pockets.

“I didn’t bring these.”

“No, I did,” he replies. “I guessed size 7.”

She bends to put them on. “I didn’t know they made anything aside from heels,” she admits, bracing herself against the bed as she reaches back to slip the left one on.

The editor-in-chief looks ready to bang his head against any kind of hard surface. “You’re truly pathetic.”

“And you’re truly anal,” Rey mutters under her breath.

“That’s what makes me the best editor-in-chief General Fashion’s ever had,” he says, and she glances up at him through her lashes, pulling the other shoe on and wiggling her toes. While they’re not terribly comfortable, they’re better than if he’d handed her a pair of stilettoes.

“Leave it to you to take ‘anal’ as a compliment,” she tells him, straightening and opening her arms to him. “All right?”

“Better than the rags and garbage bags you wear to the office,” he tells her before starting towards the door. “Come along, you’re in desperate, desperate need of Chanel.”

Chapter Text

Her stomach growls as the elevator descends. She shouldn’t feel guilty, not really, but she presses her hand against her stomach anyway.

“We’ll get breakfast first,” he says, voice sounding too loud in the quiet elevator.

“Don’t you have work to do?” she asks. “I can go out and get things myself, I-“

“No,” he snaps. “I’m going with you. You’re hopeless, and will go to some cheap department store instead of the boutiques I have in mind.”

“If you give me a list-“ she starts, annoyed, but the look he gives her makes her mouth snap shut with a ‘click’. He looks back to the doors as the elevator settles and opens, and strides out towards the small café that’s attached to the side of the hotel. She follows obediently, clutching her wallet to her as he approaches the hostess.

“Deux,” he tells her. “Somewhere secluded, please.”

The hostess nods, blue eyes wide as she realizes just who she’s interacting with, and Rey follows the large man as they’re led through the café quickly and seated around the corner in a small, cozy table tucked along the window, in a small nook. Rey moves to sit, but startles as Ren moves behind her and pulls out her chair for her.

“Sit,” he directs, and she does, letting him push her in before he makes his way to his own seat. She tucks her wallet against her side, biting her lower lip as she pulls out her phone to check her bank account balance.

Chanel, he’d said. Louboutin. She can’t even calculate what it will cost her as she logs into her bank account app and stares forlornly at the small amount in there. She’d saved up, sure, but she’d also paid a pretty penny for the clothes that he’d deemed ‘trash’.

“Café, s'il vous plaît,” she hears him saying. “Et un thé vert.”

She glances up at him as he orders for them, a slew of French following the drink orders. She’d recognized ‘coffee’ and ‘please’, and ‘green’ – she can only assume he ordered tea for her. She recognizes nothing else, but the waiter seems to as he continues to nod at the editor-in-chief.

“And quickly,” Ren adds in English, spreading the linen napkin across his lap. “We have a busy day.”

The waiter nods and walks off, black shoes clicking on the marble floor of the café. Rey watches him go before looking back down at the numbers on her phone.

She’s opening her mouth to protest, to tell him that she can’t afford it when he reaches over and presses his thumb against the button on the side of her phone. The screen goes dark immediately, and he pulls his hand back as she glances up at him.

“It’s a business expense,” he explains. “It’s covered.”

“I don’t think absurdly expensive clothes count as a business expense,” she says, grumbling slightly as she takes the napkin and pulls it into her lap.

“In this business, it counts,” he replies. “I have the required cards. Don’t worry.” His voice is surprisingly soft, and she looks back down at her phone before putting it back inside the outer pocket of her wallet.

“It feels wrong,” she admits quietly.

“Well, if you don’t want them after the trip, they’ll be taken to the according departments,” he explains, looking up as his coffee is put in front of him. She leans back a bit as her tea is placed in front of her with a selection of sugars, honey and milk. She dumps a spoonful of honey in, moving the spoon around until the sugar dissolves into the tea, and waits as it cools. Ren wastes no time in dumping a bunch of cream and sugar packets into his coffee, and she smiles as she brings the teacup to her lips, hiding her grin behind her cup.

She wants to tell him she hadn’t expected him to be a sweet tooth, that she was shocked when he first told her his coffee order. But she just watches as he sips at the coffee, sighing softly when it passes his lips.

A tray of pastries is brought a moment later, scones and flaky croissants and pain au chocolats. She reaches for a croissant, peeling the buttery pastry apart with her fingers and tucking it between her lips. He takes a pain au chocolat – she’s not surprised, considering the chocolate inside of it. She’s sure it’s some bittersweet, excellent quality chocolate, but she smiles as he takes a bite and follows it quickly with some of the sweet coffee.

They eat in silence, Ren putting away three cups of coffee and two pastries. Rey eats one and has a few cups of tea before Ren pays for the meal and stands, jerking his head to indicate she should stand as well. She follows him towards the front desk.

“I need my car,” he says, and the poor concierge just nods frantically, reaching towards the phone. He speaks in rapid French, and then Ren’s putting his hand on the small of Rey’s back and leading her towards the front door.

“We’ll start at Le Bon Marche,” he mutters. “It’s not preferred, but they have the most amount of luxury boutiques in a small space. We can hit more that way.”

“Exactly how much are you planning on purchasing?” she asks, frowning up at him.

“Enough,” he says vaguely as the chauffer opens the door for them. Ren slides in first, Rey slipping in after. “Le Bon Marche,” Ren declares, leaning back against the seats of the sleek sedan that had been brought around for them.

Rey leans back, crossing her legs as she glances over at Ren. “What do you think I need?” It comes out a bit more rudely than she intended for it to, but Ren either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind.

“Everything,” he replies. “Makeup. Shoes. Clothes. Accessories.”

“I don’t need makeup,” she insists.

The look he gives her is dubious, and she’s ready to scowl back at him as he looks back towards the city passing by them. “Yes, you do.”

She glares at him before looking down at her hands, folded in her lap. She startles when he reaches for her right one, taking her much smaller fingers in his large hand. Rey’s still as he holds her hand in his, before she realizes exactly what he’s doing as he runs his thumb over her bare nails. “Have you ever had a manicure in your life?” he mutters, sounding disgusted as he lets her hand go. She sets it back into her lap.

“No,” she admits, and he sighs heavily as he pulls out his phone again, fingers flying across the screen.

“A pitiful little creature,” he mutters, more to himself than to her.

She glares at him, but it goes unnoticed as he finishes whatever he’s typing and tucks it back into the pocket of his grey suit jacket.

The rest of the ride is spent in silence, and then they’re pulling up to a large, old building. The chauffer opens Ren’s door, and Rey presses down on her side to find it locked. “I-“ she starts, but then Ren walks around and opens it for her.

“Shall we?” he asks. “We only have until 4, and God knows that’s not nearly enough time.”

She wishes she had heels on, now; she bets it would hurt more if she stomped right on his designer-shoe-clad foot.

-

“No.”

It’s apparently her new boss’s favorite word. She retracts her hand from where she’d been reaching towards a plain brown jacket and stares at him as he walks to the attendant in the Valentino boutique. He speaks in rapid, fluent French to the man working there, gesturing more than once to Rey.

Rey stands there somewhat awkwardly as the man looks her up and down. While his gaze is judgmental, it’s also a lot kinder than Ren had ever looked at her. She clasps her wallet in front of her as Ren walks around the store, pointing to things as he goes. The man follows behind, nodding. She can just barely hear them talking in French. She catches her name a few times, but that’s about it.

She’s debating whether she should sit down on one of the leather chaises around the boutique when Ren returns, hands in his pants pockets. “Rey,” he says, pulling his right hand out to gesture to the man. “This is one of my good friends, Theo.”

“A pleasure, mademoiselle Rey,” the man offers.

Theo’s older than Ren, but not by much. She can see the hints of grey starting at his temples, and the starts of wrinkles behind his fashionable tortoise shell glasses. He’s dressed as impeccably as Ren is, in a navy blue suit and vest set, pocket square included.

“The pleasure’s mine,” Rey says politely, offering her hand for the man to shake. She stares, eyes widening as he takes her hand and kisses her knuckles instead.

“Monsieur Ren tells me you’re in need of assistance?”

“Dire assistance,” Ren offers.

Rey wants to smack him.

Theo just smiles, and nods, releasing her hand from his grip. “He’s pointed out a few things that he’d like for you to try. I’ll fetch them and we can get started. Do you know your dress size?”

“4,” she replies immediately, glancing towards Ren.

“The skirt you’d bought was a 6,” the editor says. “And you say your size is 4?”

“They didn’t have any 4’s, and the next smallest was a 00,” she insists.

The man looks like he’s about to roll his eyes, but he just scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll be doing the selections.”

“Yes, sir,” Theo replies, nodding. “Just show me which ones.”

“You,” Ren directs, looking towards Rey. “Sit. Somewhere, while I deal with this.”

Rey’s more than happy to oblige, as much as him ordering her annoys her. However, she’s dealt with worse orders in the past few months than just ‘sit’, so she finds one of the leather chaise lounges and settles down, her wallet on her lap.

She turns her phone on just to look at the background. It’s a little bit blurry, given that she’d taken a picture of a photograph, but it shows her and her grandfather, Ben Kenobi, well enough. She smiles, stroking her thumb along his bearded face before seeing black, shined shoes stop in front of her. She glances up to see Ren holding a dress, a muted mint green in color. She stands immediately, looking at the flowing sleeves and high neck. It’s beautiful on the hanger, but she doubts that it will look as good on her. “Will that fit me?”

“It’s a 4,” he replies flatly, holding it out to her.

“I’ll unlock the dressing room,” Theo says from across the boutique, striding over with the keys in hand. “Would you like help, mademoiselle?”

“If the zipper’s in the back,” she replies, reaching up to take the hanger from Ren. She can feel his eyes on him as he watches her move into the dressing room. She smiles at Theo with a soft, “Merci,” and closes the door behind her. Rey sighs softly as she sets her wallet down on the plush chair inside the room before reaching up to hang the dress up. It really is a pretty thing, the color gorgeous and skirt flared just a bit. She rubs the fabric between her fingers, not having a clue as to what it could be made out of, and then starts to unbutton the shirtdress.

-

Kylo watches her disappear into the dressing room, and looks towards Theo. “Of course, the most capable assistant I’ve ever had ends up to be a total frump,” he says in fluent French, uncrossing his arms from over his chest and walking to walk along the walls. He holds up shirts and pants and skirts and dresses, holding a few size 4’s on his fingers before walking back with them.

Theo just smiles kindly, shrugging. “She can learn,” he replies. “You did.”

“Don’t remind me,” Kylo mutters as he returns with a few more articles of clothing He drapes them over the couch in front of the dressing room, and stands to wait.
She emerges a moment later, the fabric of the dress loose around her shoulders. “I can’t reach it all the way,” she says, sounding apologetic.

“Let me,” Theo offers, stepping forward. She turns around and lifts her dark brown hair up so that he can pull the zipper the rest of the way up, and then she’s turning and looking at Kylo expectantly.

It’s a nice color on her. It fits a hell of a lot better than the dress she’d had on before, and is a lot more form-flattering than the matronly get-up she’d put on that morning. He nods as she turns awkwardly, small feet bare as she plucks at the flared skirt.

“Better,” he tells her. “Much better.”

She glances up at him. “It’s almost 3,000 dollars,” she tells him.

“And it will be covered,” he replies, waving his hand at her. “Take it off and try this one on.” He grabs a black sleeveless dress from the pile. This one has a high neck as well, however there’s a crocheted panel down the middle and around the waist. It’ll reveal some of her pale skin. He hasn’t seen much of it with the sweaters and pants she wears near constantly. “With these shoes.” He extends a pair of black patent leather pumps towards her, the heel thick and ankle strap thin.

She lifts her hair again, and Theo pulls the zipper down before she steps into the dressing room once again with the other dress and pumps dangling from her fingers.

Kylo settles himself on a spare section of the chaise, draping his arm across the back as he watches her come out again. It’s a nice dress; she looks good in black, he thinks. He just nods, and she goes back in.

It goes on for two hours. His favorite is the white long sleeve dress that hugs her figure and flares out a few inches above her knee, her waist cinched with a slim black belt. It’ll look wonderful with a pair of classic Louboutin pumps, he thinks as he watches her turn in it. Throw on some red lipstick, some fake lashes, and some eyeliner and she’d be gorgeous. Well, even more gorgeous than she already is, he thinks absentmindedly as he tilts his head, watching as she plucks at the hem and sleeves.

“Wear that one out with the black pumps,” he tells her, handing Theo the card from between his fingers. The clerk had been wrapping their purchases up as Kylo approved them, and the editor-in-chief now has three bags at his feet full of the clothes and shoes he'd picked.

“This one?” she asks, frowning down at the white dress she’s wearing. “It’s plain, though.”

He raises an eyebrow, feeling laughter bubbling up his throat. It spills between his teeth despite his best efforts, and she looks up at him, startled at the sound.
“Think of what you wear every day,” he says. “And you say this is plain?”

She glances down at the dress again, saying nothing as Kylo stands, picking up the shopping bags and offering them to her on a two long, pale fingers.

“Come on, we have a lot more work to do,” he tells her as Theo returns with the credit card. “We need to get to Chanel, and Dolce and Gabbana. But we're not even going to bother with Oscar de la Renta, his fall collection is absolutely hideous.”

-

She has Valentino, Chanel, Yves Saint Laurent and Marc Jacobs, and a few others she doesn't know very well dangling from her fingers as they step out of the department store. She feels slightly sick at the idea of how much money she’s holding, glancing down into the tissue-paper-topped bags. She looks down at the new purse she has hanging from her elbow, and it’s incredibly strange to know that the clicking sound is actually her and not some other woman or Ren.

The man had paid for everything. In Yves Saint Laurent, she noticed that instead of the company card, he’d reached for his own instead. She’d bitten her lip, unsure of whether to mention it or not as he handed it over. Optimally, she’d decided against speaking out. The man always knew what he was doing. It’s incredibly rare that she’s a step ahead of him, so he had to have known.

Her face feels heavy with the makeup they’d put on. She’s unused to foundation, powder, highlighter, bronzer – the works. But the lipstick isn’t nearly as sticky as she remembers it being back when she'd last worn it at senior prom, and though her eyelashes feel heavier, the mascara, eyeliner and eye shadow they’d applied also made her look a lot more awake and a lot more natural than she’d expected them to. The red lip is the only thing that could be considered a veer away from the natural look, though Ren had purchased several other colors and products with the promise that he’d assist her in applying it. She finds herself trusting him; after all, if he can cover the bags under his eyes to the point where they’re barely even noticeable, the man has to have some knowledge of makeup.

The driver takes the several bags from her and sets them in the back, opening the door for her and Ren. Ren slides in first, and Rey moves to get in when a hand on her hip stops her.

She turns, startled, and looks down to see Ren holding onto her hip. “What?” she asks, staring down at him.

“Sit first, then swing your legs in,” he directs her.

She frowns, but does as asked. It’s not the most efficient way of getting into a car, she finds, but it’s not bad. “Why?”

“It’s elegant, and prevents you from flashing your Care Bear underwear to all of Paris,” he replies sarcastically as the door closes behind her.

Rey gapes at him for a moment, before her gaze turns into an all out glare. “You know what, Ren-“

“64 Boulevard Haussmann,” Ren tells the driver. “Agent Provocateur.”

She stares at him. “I’m not going lingerie shopping with you,” she says, once the words hit her. He’d mentioned them along Victoria’s Secret, and in the context of insulting her bra, so she can guess where he’s taking her next.

“The best outfits start with a good base,” he explains, pulling out his phone again. “You have an absolutely pathetic base.”

“They’re not pathetic,” she starts, but he holds one hand up to her, silencing her.

“Tell me,” he says, not bothering to look up from the screen. “When did you last have yourself measured?”

“Last year,” she lies.

“Liar,” he replies. “Your cups are too big, and the band is too tight. Your bra’s a 30B, when you’re more likely a 32A.”

“Should I be worried that you can guess my bra size?” she asks flatly.

He does look up at her, then, and gives her half of a smirk in response. “Do you know how many lingerie shoots are directed for the magazine each month? It wouldn’t look good if the models all had ill-fitting bras, would it?”

She has to admit that it wouldn’t, and shakes her head.

He nods at her. “Exactly.”

“… that still doesn’t mean that I want my boss buying me lingerie,” she snaps, glancing out the window as Paris moves by.

“I won’t look.”

She turns to look at him, and can see his smirk in the reflection of the window as he watches the world pass by as well.

“I’ll just hand them the card.” He turns his gaze towards her, smirk still in place as he finishes with, “That’s all.”

-

The woman who helps Rey is a sweetheart, she decides about thirty seconds into meeting the girl. She’s young, and blonde, and has a smirk that rivals Ren’s in sin-factor. Her hips are wider than Rey’s, her breasts bigger, but her smile towards Rey is warm. “When’s the last time you were measured, love?” she asks in her sharp British accent. Rey’d sighed softly in relief when Ren stays just near the door, settling himself on one of the velvet couches. She’s sure he’ll look around, try to find things for some spread or another, but for now he’s safely near the front of the store as the woman leads her to the back.

“About three years ago,” Rey admits. The woman helps her unzip her dress, and smirks again when she sees Rey’s pale nude t-shirt bra.

“And when did you get this little number?” she asks, plucking at the straps.

“… senior year of high school?” Rey offers.

“Let’s try a 32A,” the woman decides. “I’m Maggie, by the way,” she says as she walks to a rack of bras. She moves through and picks a few, holding the slim, velvet-covered hangers up to Rey.

“Pleasure,” Rey says simply, picking up one of the bras and looking at it. “… is it supposed to be this … low?” she asks. The cups are barely cups, and what she’s sure is supposed to cover her is barely going to if it does at all.

“That’s a demi,” Maggie replies. “It’s not supposed to go up all the way.”

“Oh,” Rey says, looking back down towards her t-shirt bra. “I don’t know-“

“Just try one,” Maggie insists. “I’ll tell you what I think, all right? Monsieur Ren doesn’t have to see them. There’s a tie on the curtain, I’ve made sure it can’t be pulled back.”

“Thank God,” Rey mutters, pulling the straps down her arms and moving her hands back to unlatch the back of the bra. “Can you maybe help me with this?”

“Of course,” the blonde replies, guiding one of the newer bras onto Rey’s arms and securing it in the back for the brunette. Rey looks down at the black lace as it covers her breast and lifts them slightly, and glances back in the full length mirror as Maggie adjusts the straps so they won’t slip off of Rey’s slim shoulders. When the blonde deems them right, she steps to the side.

Rey’s panties are just simple black bikini pair, but already the girl in front of her is a far cry from the college student with mismatched underwear that’s seen better days.

“All right, I kinda get it,” she admits as she turns to look at her breasts from the side, and Maggie just laughs.

“How is it?”

Ren’s voice is a bit too close for Rey’s comfort, but there’s a thick black curtain between them, so Rey feels better turning towards his voice. “You were right,” she calls back.

“I was right about what, exactly?”

“32A!” she calls back over the curtain.

She tries to imagine his reaction, and finds that she can’t. So she covers herself with the curtain and peeks just her head out, and finds that he’s smirking like the asshole he is, arms crossed over his chest.

“32A?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her. “A shocking coincidence.”

“You’re insufferable,” she mutters, pulling the curtain back to where it was and securing it with the tie that’s available.

She hears him snort around the other side of the curtain. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

-

“Maggie?”

The blonde had disappeared minutes ago to fetch the matching bottoms for the shapewear she’d forced Rey into. The assistant stands in front of the mirror, frowning at the sheer lace corset the blonde had talked her into trying on. “You’re wearing a gown,” the blonde had told her once Ren told the girl of their plans for the rest of the week. “You need something under it to shape it.”

She didn’t even know what gown she’d be wearing. They hadn’t gotten quite that far yet in their shopping excursion, Ren leading the way through the day.

Rey takes in a deep breath and tries to press her chest outward, stretch out the shapewear just a bit more, but finds that she can’t. Clawing at the back doesn’t help; the clasps are too small, too hidden in the design. She turns her back towards the mirror in an attempt to undo it, but it’s hopeless. She just huffs, running her hand through her hair to get it out of her face. It’s a pretty piece of lingerie; she would never ever pay over 500 dollars for what is pretty much lace and some kind of boning, but it’s pretty all the same. “Maggie, I can’t breathe in this thing! I need it off, now!”

She’s prying at the front, trying to see if there’s an escape rout that way when she feels fingers at her back. “Oh, thank God, it’s tight as hell and-“

She freezes, back stiffening when she realizes that those are most definitely not Maggie’s fingers at her back. They’re a lot larger, and the presence behind her is definitely not the clerk.

She jerks away from Ren, arms wrapping around herself as she tries to meet his gaze in the mirror.

The bastard’s expression betrays nothing as she glares at him with all the force she can muster. She does notice his eyes are downcast, down to her back. “What the fuck are you doing?!” she demands, voice gruff in anger.

“Rescuing you from this torture trap,” he mutters, and then his fingers are at her back again, unlatching the clasps. After the first four are undone, she can breathe a little easier.

“I thought I told you not to look,” she snaps.

“I’m looking at the clasps,” he explains. “I’m not looking at you.”

“Good.”

She can hear the clicking as he continues to release her from the corset. With each clasp, she can breathe a bit easier, and she has to admit that it’s a wonderful, kind of orgasmic feeling to be able to breathe deeply again.

“I could call HR,” she mutters. “My boss undressing me without my consent.”

“You could,” he says simply, and she feels him untying the satin bow that laces the bottom half of the corset. “And you would be totally in your right.”

She holds it to her body as he finishes, and she indulges in a sigh as soon as all the pressure is gone from around her torso.

“But I really did just come in here because you sounded completely panicked. I’m not looking at anything.”

She looks up, and sees that his eyes are indeed downcast, towards the black carpet and away from her. She stares at him in the mirror for another moment, before looking down at the corset.

“… why the hell would someone pay over 500 dollars for something that makes it painful to breathe?” she mutters, and she hears him snort behind her. A glance up proves he still hasn’t lifted his gaze from the floor.

“Beauty is pain,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“Beauty isn’t everything,” she replies in the same tone.

“No, but it certainly helps,” he says, turning on his heel and holding the curtain as Maggie rushes back in.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I was looking for the next size up,” the blonde apologizes, holding the same shapewear in her hands but slightly larger. “… you got out of it?”

Rey glances towards Ren’s disappearing back in the mirror. “With a little help, yeah.”

“Oh, great,” Maggie says, before holding the next one up. “Should we try this one? It’s the same cup size, just a bit wider on the waist.”

“… I’ll just take it,” she admits, looking down at the loose corset nearly falling off of her form.

-

She’s the one who stands at the counter with Ren’s card between her fingers, this time. He’s since gone to get a cup of coffee from some Starbucks down the street, and she’s grateful for it as Maggie folds the scraps of lace and silk that had been selected. Rey wiggles a little, feeling the new pieces under the dress; she longs for the t-shirt bra and cotton boyshorts in the back trashcan of the store, but Ren had been right. They’d seen better days, for sure. And though the bra and underwear set she’s wearing underneath the new dress aren’t exactly the most comfortable, they’re more comfortable than she’d been expecting. She’d been relieved at Maggie’s laughter when she asked if all they carried were thongs, and had beamed when the blonde shook her head and assured the assistant that those weren’t the only option.

She carries these bags herself as she walks out, and nearly runs into Ren holding two Starbucks cups. She shifts the bags to her elbow when he extends one of the cups to her.

“Green tea, one spoonful of honey,” Ren explains as Rey takes the mug from him.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, intent on waiting for it to cool a bit before she takes a sip from it.

The man just nods, walking towards where the chauffer is waiting with the car. “I’ve arranged for a few designers to bring some pieces by for the gala,” he explains. “You have enough pieces by now for the events we have for the upcoming evening and tomorrow morning. After I have tea with the British and French editors, we will decide which one you’re going to wear.”

“All right,” she replies. She’s glad they're apparently done for the day. She’s not sure she could walk or be on her feet for much more as she slides into the car after her boss, tucking the bags underneath her legs and holding her new bag close to her side.

“I’ve rented several pieces of jewelry to choose from. They’ll be delivered to the hotel before the press conference this evening.”

“I really don’t need all of this, Ren.”

She’d meant for it to come out as assertive, somewhat snappish and irritated. Instead it comes out as tired and kind of pathetic. She winces at her own tone, eyes on her nails that they’d had extended with acrylic and painted a pale pink earlier. She’s not used to them, even as short as they are for fake nails, and she finds herself running her thumb over the edge of her pointer finger nail as she stares at them.

“… you will if you decide to continue being my assistant for the week,” he mutters from the other side of the car, and she glances up to see him looking out the window. “If you’d like to return to those god awful outfits you put together when we return to New York, you can. You’re the most capable assistant I’ve had. Your clothing doesn’t change that.”

He turns to look towards her, and she meets his gaze head on. She watches as he looks her up and down; she’d changed out of the Valentino pumps into Louboutin, and added a Yves Saint Laurant belt to the Valentino dress at his suggestion. She knows that her bag is Chanel, and that she’s wearing hundreds of dollars of makeup on her face.

“… but you look good,” he admits, finally. “A far cry from the drowned desert rat I ran into in the elevator.”

“Oh, God,” she groans, head falling into her hands. “Not the best first day.”

To her surprise, she hears him chuckle beside her, and looks up to see that his gaze is still on her. He says nothing, though, and she’s left with silence as they head back to the hotel.

-

“No, not that one.”

“You bought eight black dresses, how am I supposed to know which one you want me to wear?”

“The Dolce and Gabbana one.”

“That’s three of them. Which Dolce and Gabbana one?”

“The sleeveless one.”

“Ren, they’re both sleeveless.”

He stalks over to where the piles of clothes are laid out and grabs the hanger, moving and offering it to her with a dark brow raised.

“Okay, that Dolce and Gabbana one,” Rey replies snappishly, taking it from him. “You could’ve said ‘the dress with the lace’.”

“And there are at least two of those,” he retorts, pushing his way past her into the bedroom. “There’s another closet on the other side of the room, just next to the desk,” he calls. “I expect your things hung up nicely.”

She pads into the bedroom with the dress for the formal dinner and two more draped over her arm. She’d abandoned the pumps as soon as she walked in the door, the shoes now lying on the floor near the couch. She lays the dress on the bed before going to hang the others up. She walks back, grabs a few more pieces, and starts to put those up as well, following the practice of two fingers between the hangers out of habit. One time she’d forgotten, and put them as close as she could, but Ren practically blew up in her face (and everyone else’s) in annoyance. She carries the shoeboxes in a few at a time, stacking them according to brand. Jimmy Choo, Prada, Valentino, Louboutin. Ren’s apparently a fan of the Louboutin, because she has five pairs now in varying colors and styles. Rey does have to thank him for giving her at least two pairs of flats, though; she’s not sure she could last an entire week on heels alone.

“What time is it?” she asks as she emerges, walking into the other room to grab the bag of lingerie.

“2:50,” he replies. “We should leave by 3:40, at the very very latest. 3:20’s preferred.”

“No time for a nap, then,” she mutters, trying to hide a yawn behind her hand. He glances up from where he’s sitting on the chaise, schedule in his grip.

“No, there’s not,” he replies as she starts towards the closet to put away her new undergarments. “… did you find some things you liked?” he calls.

“I prefer comfort over sexiness,” she calls back. “… but, yeah, I did.”

“Good,” he says simply, and when she walks out he’s examining the schedule again. She runs a hand through her hair, sighing softly as she sits on the bed and rests her feet for just a moment.

“Do you have any idea how much you spent today?” she asks, gazing down at the dress she’s wearing and then towards the things hanging in her closet.

“I have a general idea,” he replies quietly. “I’ll pass it off as a business expense, though, and gain the money back.”

She just hums, letting herself fall back against the covers, hair fanning out around her head. She turns a bit into the soft sheets, eyes slipping closed.

“Rey. We don’t have time for sleep.”

“Just five minutes,” she begs, opening her eyes to stare at him.

He’s staring right back at her, gaze raised from the schedule he has in his hands. “… I’ll wake you in ten,” he replies, looking back down at the notebook.

She’ll take it. She lets herself close her eyes, the sensation of her mascara-d lashes against the pillowcase novel and incredibly strange as she drifts off.

-

She wakes up to a large hand on her shoulder, fingers brushing across her arm gently.

“It’s been ten minutes,” Ren tells her gently.

She nods, sitting up and resisting the urge to rub at her eyes in fear of messing up the wonderful job the artist had done. Instead she rubs underneath her eye, knowing that there wasn’t much makeup there.

“The dress you have on now is fine for the conference,” he informs her. “We’ll be back before the dinner. I have to change as well.”

She just nods again, standing and trying to straighten out the dress. Thankfully, there aren’t too many wrinkles, and she just has to move the belt back to where it was before padding out to the living room to grab her shoes. She finds the red lipstick in her bag and applies it in the mirror just to the right of the door, frowning as it doesn’t look quite as smooth as it did when the makeup artist had applied it.

“Let me.”

His hands are there to help her, and her breath stops and stays in her chest as he bends in front of her, large hand cupping her jaw and swiping the color across her lips. He uses the flat of his thumb to brush down along her cupid’s bow, removing any excess that had gotten on her skin. He pulls back once he deems it acceptable, and gestures to his own mouth. “Put your thumb in your mouth.”

“What?”

“Do as I say.”

She obeys, frowning as she slips her thumb between her lips, careful not to have the lipsticked-skin touch it.

“No, let your lips fall around your finger,” Ren says, sounding exasperated with her. She does as asked, and then he makes the motion of pulling his thumb out and away. “Now slide it out.”

She pulls her thumb out of her mouth and stares at the red marks covering her finger. A moment later her finger’s being wrapped in a tissue, and he’s rubbing away the lipstick from her skin.

“Now you won’t have it on your teeth,” he explains.

“That’s a trick some of my classmates could’ve used,” she mutters, and she just barely sees him smile as he tosses the tissue into the wastebasket by the door.

“Grab your bag, the car’s downstairs.”

The smile’s gone as quickly as it had appeared, and she reaches for the Chanel clutch he’d bought her that morning. She pulls the strap around her wrist, checking that she has the room key and her I.D. and passport as he holds the door open for her. One can’t be too careful, she thinks as she slips by him, nearly teetering on the heels that he’d bought her.

“Walk with your heel first,” he directs.

“What?”

“Heel, toe, heel, toe,” he explains, putting a hand on the small of her back to keep her from falling over as she nearly topples. “It will help you keep your balance, and looks more natural.”

Rey does as directed, taking a few cautionary steps towards the elevator. She’d exchanged the chunky Valentino pumps for Louboutin stilettos, but she hadn’t had much time to actually walk in them. “This is ridiculous,” she mutters darkly as she steps into the elevator, nearly catching her heel in the slit between the two floors.

“Perhaps,” Ren says, stepping in beside her and letting his hand fall from her back. “But it makes your legs look fantastic.”

“Doesn’t matter if they look fantastic if I break them,” she continues, looking down at her feet and trying to ignore the fact that her boss just told her that her legs looked good.

“True,” Ren replies. “So don’t break them.”

“Easier said than done,” she admits as the elevator takes them down.

“Can you at least make some sort of effort not to break yourself?” Ren asks with an irritated huff.

“Yes, sir,” she replies, trying to keep her smirk out of her voice. In the reflection of the elevator’s gold walls, she can see her boss roll his eyes, and lets herself smile.

Chapter Text

He’s used to cameras. With a job like his, paparazzi and their cameras simply come with the territory. He’s used to being blinded, being poked and prodded and pushed along in the crowd of the curious.

His assistant, however, is obviously very much not.

As soon as they step out of the car, he’s striding through the path that the guards have created with ropes and barriers. He’s taken about ten steps before he realizes that she’s not behind him, and turns to see her standing, wide-eyed and frozen, right next to the car.

He turns back immediately, moving and blocking her from view for a good portion of the lenses. “What’s wrong?” he demands.

She shakes her head. “I’ve never-“ she starts, and he snorts, because of course she hasn’t. He’d frankly be surprised if she’d been the subject of even newspaper fame in whatever scrappy little home town she came from. Of course she’s not used to the blinding bulbs and questions literally screamed at her.

He puts his hand on the small of her back, tucking her in to him just slightly. “Come on,” he mutters, a little bit gentler than he’d intended as he guides her through the crowd. His strides are long so as to get through the door more quickly, and he can feel her back stiffen every time she nearly trips as she tries to keep up with him. He gets her in quickly, guiding her away from the cameras and crowd.

“There will be journalists, there will be press inside the room,” he directs. “They will ask you questions. Do not answer them.”

Her hair’s not quite right since he’d pushed her through the crowd, and he reaches down to fix it. A piece here, a piece there, and she looks professional once again. He notices that the side of her lipstick has been smudged just slightly, and uses his thumb to brush away the smear of pink across her pale skin. She frowns, bringing her fingers to her lips directly after he pulls his hand away. He takes her and yanks it away from her mouth.

“Don’t touch it,” he orders, and she looks up at him with those doe-eyes again. God, were her eyes always that big? He knows the majority of it is the makeup, the shadow and mascara and liner surrounding her light brown eyes, but he can’t help but wonder. “I’m going to be answering the questions. You just stand there and look pretty. We need to leave at 5:40 to prepare for the dinner.”

She nods, shoulders back as she asserts herself. He smirks.

“Do you think you can do that?” he asks, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“I think I can manage standing up,” she retorts.

“There will be a chair behind you if you decide to sit,” he explains. “Those heels aren’t exactly prime shoes to be standing in for an hour and a half.”

He watches as she looks down to the Louboutins, moving her feet in the shoes to get a bit more comfortable. “I should’ve worn the flats.”

“Perhaps,” he says as he turns and starts to walk towards the conference room. Guards are already there to open the door for them. “Walk beside me.”

“Yes, sir.”

The little thrill that zips up his spine when she calls him ‘sir’ is especially sharp today. He glances down to see that she’s right by his side, trying to keep her balance as best as possible in the black pumps. She looks determined not to fuck this up, and he allows himself a small smile as they walk into the room.

He keeps one hand in his left pocket and his right hand free should she need some prompting. She does well, though, except for a very slight pause at the beginning of the aisle down to the podium. She holds her own, though, and walks to stand next to him as he waits for the head journalist to introduce him.

Rey stands perhaps a bit too close, but he pays it no mind as the woman introducing him speaks in rapid French, introducing him as Kylo Ren, editor-in-chief at General Fashion. She takes the time to list some of his accomplishments, and he takes the time to look over the crowd. There are a few familiar faces; journalists he’s spoken to before, done interviews with. He just smiles slightly as she switches into English. He can feel Rey stiffen slightly beside him as the woman continues to ramble on about the things that he’s done, and he can’t help but smirk a bit. As soon as the speech is over, he takes the podium, and the room looks to be entirely hands up in the air.

He nods towards one of the women down in the front, gesturing to her vaguely. She lights up like a light bulb when she realizes that she’s been picked, and she stands with her microphone. “Have you gotten any sneak peeks of the designers collections this season? If so, what can you tell us?”

“Even my title as Editor-in-Chief of General Fashion doesn’t allow me previews,” he tells her simply, looking towards a man in the back and gesturing to a young man who’s obviously new to the journaling world, practically shaking in his ratty Converse. “Yes?”

“Oh! Me?” The man asks, pointing to himself, and Ren resists the very tempting urge to roll his eyes as he nods and waves his hand for the man to continue.

“L-last year you were accompanied by a Mr. Brendon Hux,” the man says, stuttering slightly before barreling on. Ren raises one dark eyebrow at the statement. “Is he going to be joining you this year, and who is with you now?”

“He will be attending Fashion Week, but he won’t be with me,” Ren says simply. “This is my new assistant.”

He glances over to her to see that she’s stiffened, gazing out at the room in surprise that she was even noticed. He doesn’t mention her name, respecting her privacy, so he just moves onto the next question.

-

Ren was right. She does need the chair after fifteen minutes, her calves and the balls of her feet protesting at standing in the black T-strap heels for so long. She sits, crossing her ankles and folding her hands in her lap as she watches her boss answer questions.

Most of the questions are professional, asking about the fashion world and his work on the previous issues. However, some ballsy journalists ask about his personal life. They’re quickly shut down, either by the moderator or Ren himself by a sharp, scathing, “No comment.”

She stiffens when a particularly disrespectful reporter shouts out a question about her boss’s sexuality. She turns her head to watch Ren and his response, biting at her lower lip as she waits.

If he’s bothered by the question, he doesn’t show it. His back’s just as straight as always, face completely blank as the phrase, “No comment,” falls from his full lips once again.

The reporter looks incredibly disappointed, sinking down into his seat with a slight pout. But Rey continues to stare at Ren, frowning at him as he continues without so much as a flinch. The rest of the questions remain, thankfully, professional, and by the time 5:30 rolls around the reporters are fairly sated with the information Ren’s provided them.

Rey stands, prepared her feet to hang on for the remainder of the ten minutes, when Ren glances over at her. She meets his eyes, and she blinks in surprise at the humor in them. This is funny to him, she realizes, and she continues to watch hin play the room until he glances down at his watch and realizes that it’s now 5:41.

“Thank you for your time and questions,” he says simply into the microphone, and then he’s walking off the stage. There’s a flurry of cameras and questions yet to be asked, and Rey hurries along behind him. When the aisle widens, she ducks next to him, on the other side from the reporters and journalists. His hand finds its way to her lower back again, and she has to admit that she appreciates the gentle gesture as she’s led through the paparazzi back to the car. He lets her slide in first this time, and she turns as he lets out a heavy sigh as the door’s closed on them.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, and she frowns, watching him as he runs his hand through his hair, messing up the dark locks. “Some of those questions… I could tell they were asked to settle office gossip and gain a pretty penny.”

She says nothing and instead stares down at her new nails, forefinger stroking across the smooth surface of her pink thumbnail.

The ride back to the hotel is blissfully quick. The silence isn’t exactly awkward, but Rey can tell Ren’s on edge. He’s out of the car before the chauffer’s even finished opening the door, slipping his broad body between the frame and the door and heading towards the front entrance. She follows as quickly as possible in her heels. “Ren!”

He says nothing. He doesn’t even wait for the door to be opened for him, instead pushing it open himself with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

She tries to walk quickly after him, but she’s not used to the shoes, and just huffs in annoyance. It takes a moment or two to pry them off her feet, but then she’s holding them by the heels and stalking into the hotel after him. “Ren, wait!”

He doesn’t. She hadn’t expected him to. He’s in the elevator by the time she catches up with him, barefoot and irritated. The door’s about to close when she jams her fist against the button, and the door pulls back to reveal her practically seething boss.

She meets his eyes before lowering hers and stepping in beside him.

“If you destroy the elevator while we’re in here, I will murder you,” she says simply, keeping her tone even.

“You took off your shoes.”

She looks down at her bare toes, painted pink to match her fingers. “It’s a little hard to run after your boss in stilettos,” she admits, holding up her shoes to show him.

The man looks like he’s about to explode. A ticking time bomb, and she’s pretty sure she just lit the fuse.

But then he smiles. It’s not much, just the side of his mouth quirking and a hint of white but crooked teeth. He makes a sort of snicker/snorting sound before looking down, shaking his head. He gives her no explanation as she stares at him, surprised at his reaction. She could’ve sworn she was about to witness the wrath Hux had taken so many times now.

The elevator arrives at their floor, and he steps out. She follows him obediently. He seems at ease now, all the tension from his shoulders gone as he walks forward and opens their hotel room door. He pushes it open, and jerks his head to gesture her inside. She steps in, walking to the closet to put the shoes back in their box.
When she turns back to look at him, he’s shed his suit jacket and is in the process of unbuttoning his dress shirt, his back to her.

“Hang your dress on a hanger and put it on the door,” he tells her as she turns away, avoiding looking at him as he undressed. “Call the front desk tomorrow morning and ask to have them dry cleaned. I’ll need my suit cleaned as well.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies automatically, walking into the room and steadily avoiding looking at him as she grabs the dress that he’d told her to wear. She looks up at the slamming of a door, and finds that he’s closed the bathroom door, his shirt and suit jacket on the bed.

She sets her dress back down and reaches for the clothes, still warm from being on him. She hangs them up on one of the free hangers in his closet, and then goes to hang it on the outside of his closet door. His pants are MIA, as are one of his dark blue suits; she assumes he wore the pants into the bathroom, and is changing into the suit. She takes care of what she can, grabbing the shoes he’d taken off and setting them with the rest that he’d brought.

She moves to the living room to change into the dress that he’d picked for her. It’s a pretty sleeveless black number, lace at her chest and shoulders. It comes mid-calf, and it hugs her small waist as she pulls it on. She manages to get the zipper halfway up; when it comes to her mid back she can’t contort herself anymore, and has to walk out to where Ren’s standing in the middle of the bedroom, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt.

“Help?” she asks, lifting her hair and turning her back. She’s hyperaware of the fact that he can see the lace band of her bra, but it’s better than jury-rigging some kind of zipper help system like she’d seen on Pinterest.

She hears him before she feels him, his steps still assertive and heavy on the hotel floor despite the fact that he’s not wearing shoes. She feels his hands on her back, one on the dress itself and the other on its zipper as he guides it up with gentle fingers. She turns when he’s finished, and looks up at him.

“Thank you,” she says meekly. “I hung up your shirt and jacket, but couldn’t find the pants.”

“I’ve hung the pants,” he explains as he nods and walks back to where his cufflinks are spread in a small, wooden box with different sections. She stares at the selection of many a dozen pairs of cufflinks; does a man really need to have that many? She nearly gapes as he pulls the first tray out, revealing a second underneath with just as many sections.

“What time do we need to leave?” she asks as she watches him slip the cufflinks into the holes of his shirt, long fingers securing the cuffs into place.

“6:15,” he replies. “It will take 20 minutes to get there.”

It’s 6:05. She walks to the closet, but he beats her to it, pulling out a pair of suede Prara heels and handing them to her. “These.”

“Thank you,” she says again, taking the shoes and removing them from their packaging. She straps them onto her feet as quickly as she can, sitting on the bed, and when she looks up, a bright pink Yves Saint Laurent clutch is being offered to her. He towers above her as she stares at the bag.

“I’ve transferred everything,” he explains. “Your passport, I.D., cards and phone are inside.”

She takes it from him and glances down at the gold YSL monogram before her chin’s tilted up and her lips are being rubbed at with some kind of wipe. “What-“

“Lipstick wipes,” he tells her, holding her chin with gentle fingers as he rubs at her skin. “You’ll be wearing pink with this.”

She can’t speak with his fingers at her lips, but if she could, she would’ve only offered an, “Oh,” as he removes the red. She pushes her lips together when he pulls back, the solution oily but not entirely unpleasant against her skin.

“… can I ask how you know how to apply lipstick?” she asks, genuinely curious.

He hums as he opens a slim liner, still holding her chin in his hand as he lines her lips. She feels him go slightly over the natural line of her lips, giving the illusion of a fuller pout. He sets the liner on the bed as he unscrews a pink lipstick and brushes it across her lips. She frowns at the fact that it’s liquid, nearly pulling away, but his fingers grip her harder and pull her right back.

“Are you asking if I’m secretly a drag queen?” Ren asks bluntly, face completely straight as he uses his thumb to rid her skin of excess color.

“… what?” she manages when he pulls the lipstick away for a moment.

“Press your lips together,” he instructs, and she follows orders, pressing her lips together. He cleans up a bit, thumb moving along the bow of her lips and the line of her bottom one to remove the pink. “It’s a question I get asked occasionally, along with if I have a secret male lover, a secret female lover, or if I'm screwing some young, impressionable star.”

“Do they really ask that?” she asks, smacking her lips again as he pulls back and screws the cap back onto the liquid lipstick.

“Yes,” he replies, grabbing her bag from her and tucking the lipstick inside of it. “Amongst other, ruder questions.”

“Who asks them?” she demands.

“People who don’t have the right to be called journalists,” he explains, handing her bag back to her. “And the answer is no. I simply find makeup interesting. How you can turn something so plain into something so beautiful with a little color and accentuation.”

She’s still as he walks to get his suit jacket on, watching him with narrowed eyes. “… plain?” she questions.

“Yes, plain,” he replies matter-of-factly. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

She stands and nearly topples. This time, his hand on the small of her back doesn’t feel quite so warm as it did before. Instead, it feels almost like a brand, hot and burning as he leads her to the elevators.

-

She realizes with startling clarity that she knows neither French nor Italian as they walk into the dining room of the hotel that’s been rented out by one of the other General Fashions. The carpet of the lobby was plush enough that she could feel her heels sinking into it, and she nearly wobbled a few times. With her rank in the fashion world, she has to stand slightly behind Ren, and thus she loses his hand on her lower back, loses the one thing helping to keep her steady. She has to try extra hard not to trip and fall flat on her face (or ass), and it’s making her calves ache as she stands just behind him.

The man’s apparently fluent in both languages. She’s not surprised, really. She hears him say her name a few times, his adopted accent making it seem much more beautiful than it actually was. She smiles politely as editors, creative directors, and others high on the ranks of fashion journalism take in her appearance. Her hand’s kissed multiple times, much to her discomfort, but she smiles through it all and offers what she can of ‘thank you’s. Thankfully, most of the other editors speak English as well, and though their voices are heavily accented, she can catch most of what they're saying.

When champagne comes around, she grabs a glass for her and a glass for Ren, offering the flute to the man when he finishes his conversation with some older Italian woman dressed entirely in red lace. He takes the flute with a soft, “Thank you,” and then he’s walking towards a woman who looks more goddess than human.

Rey’s dwarfed next to the woman, who’s a vision in black and red. Her hair’s obviously not natural, a shocking platinum blonde, but she pulls it off well. Her smile towards Ren isn’t exactly kind, and Rey straightens her back, on guard as Ren takes the hand of the beautiful woman and kisses her knuckles. Rey can see the woman’s long, decorated nails, and is somewhat surprised to see studs decorating the nails of her middle fingers.

“Monsieur Ren,” the woman practically purrs, and Rey resists the urge to shiver as the woman’s voice sends chills up her spine.

“Enna,” Ren greets simply, releasing her hand and offering her the champagne flute that Rey had given him. The woman takes it with pale, slender fingers and a smirk. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The energy between the two is odd, a kind of tension that Rey wasn't expecting, and Rey watches as the woman nods, looking towards her with dark eyes. “… have you finally replaced Hux?” she asks in her heavily French accent.

“Unfortunately, no,” Ren says. “This is my new assistant, Rey Kenobi. Rey, this is Enna Reneux, the editor-in-chief of French General Fashion.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Rey offers, trying to keep her tone amiable as she extends her hand.

“Likewise,” the woman says somewhat coldly, glancing at Rey’s hand before meeting her eyes again and making no move to take it. Rey resists the urge to clutch the glass in her hand until it breaks, and pulls her hand away to hold her bag properly instead of letting it hang from her wrist.

“Shall we eat?” Ren asks, eyes still on the other woman.

Her smile isn’t kind in the least, but she nods. “Yes, we shall.”

Rey watches as Ren moves to stand by Enna’s side, and her blood runs cold as he places his large hand on the small of the slender woman’s back, leading her to the table. She stands still, completely unsure of where to go and shifting on her tall heels uncomfortably.

“Rey.”

She startles, and looks up from where she’d been slightly dazed to see Ren looking at her, confused. “Yes, sir?”

“You’re sitting next to me.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies, walking as quickly as she can to keep up with her boss. His hand’s still on the other woman’s lower back, and Rey watches as he helps her into her seat. Rey’s left to tend to herself as he pushes the other editor in, and then he’s sitting to Rey's right, between the two women. The chairs are close enough that if she leans over just slightly, she can brush his shoulder with hers. She tries to make herself as small as possible as the woman starts to speak in French, Ren replying right back in the same language. Rey feels impossibly out of the loop, trying in vain to latch onto words she knows and failing miserably. In the end she just keeps her eyes downcast, focused on her hands in her lap as she tunes out the conversation.

“Ren.”

She glances up, and hears the conversation stop beside her.

Ren turns at the voice and stands, muttering a soft excuse to the platinum blonde woman. “Tony.”

Rey stares up at the older man who’s extending a tan hand to Ren with a thousand watt smile. Again, it isn’t exactly kind; Rey’s starting to wonder if every person she meets in the fashion industry will have that smile, the one that is a bit too stiff to be friendly and doesn’t quite reach the eyes of its wearer. He’s at least ten years older than her boss, hair curly and dark and firm jaw covered in fashionable stubble. He’s dashing in a black suit and red tie, his colors much like the other editor-in-chief at the table. Rey wonders briefly if Ren had missed the memo to look as intimidating and vampiric as possible.

“Antonio Renaldi, editor-in-chief of Italian General Fashion,” Ren explains, gesturing down to Rey. “Tony, my new assistant, Rey Kenobi.”

She stands, even though the other man protests. “No, no, signorina, don’t get up.”

“It’s fine,” she insists, plastering a smile on her face and offering her hand to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Believe me, the pleasure’s all mine.”

His hand’s warm, and surprisingly rough for a man who spends his time editing pages of magazines. She watches as he kisses her hand, eyes focused on hers as he lets his lips linger for perhaps a bit too long.

Ren’s hand is immediately at her back, and she turns to look up at him, retracting her hand from the Italian’s grip. “She’s new to the fashion world.”

“Well, she fits in perfectly,” the other man says, smiling again as he moves around to the other side to sit next to the platinum blonde. “Enna.”

“Tony.”

Rey looks back towards Ren, who’s since sat down again. He doesn’t meet her gaze as he looks down at the menu that had been provided.

“Signorina?”

The Italian editor’s voice prompts her into looking up, her eyes widening in surprise when she realizes that he’s speaking to her instead of the beautiful woman just beside him. “Yes?”

“How are you liking Paris?”

-

He notices. He notices her looking down at her hands, he notices the way she’d stayed behind as he’d walked with Enna. It’s pathetic, really; he needs to associate with Enna, seeing as she’s the editor-in-chief in France. It’s not like he’s attracted to the woman.

Still, he casts glances over at his assistant throughout the dinner. She doesn’t eat much of it, and sticks to water instead of champagne. He allows himself a flute of champagne and a glass of white wine before cutting himself off.

She speaks to Tony, occasionally. The Italian’s obviously more interested in her than she is in him; he hangs onto every word, even as curt and uncomfortable some of her responses are.

“Who is she?”

He looks towards Enna, who has her elbow braced on the table. Her palm’s facing the tabletop, long fingers dangling elegantly and chin resting on top of her wrist. She'd asked the question in French; he glances towards Rey to see if she'd heard, but her attention's focused on the Italian man in front of her.

“My assistant,” Kylo says simply, taking a sip of the water that had been brought.

“She’s a pretty little thing,” Enna purrs, casting dark brown eyes towards Rey, who’s explaining something about Arizona.

“Hadn’t noticed,” Kylo replies. “I hired her for her capabilities as an assistant and nothing else.”

Enna just hums. “And Hux?”

“She won’t suck his dick. Hux loathes her.”

She lets out a bark of a laugh, startling Rey into stopping her story. Kylo just waves his hand, shaking his head to indicate the assistant should continue.

“Keep her,” Enna says, reaching for her champagne. She leaves deep, blood-red stains on the flute of the glass.

“I plan to,” he admits, glancing towards Rey again, who’s smiling uncomfortably at the Italian editor-in-chief. Kylo frowns, glaring at the man over the table. “Tony.”

“Hm?” the editor asks. Out of the corner of his eye, Kylo can see Rey visibly relax as the attention’s taken off of her.

“Keep it in your pants,” Kylo says, tone scathing.

He suddenly hears a choked sound beside him, and whips his head around to see Rey cupping her hand under her chin, her flute glass in her other hand. Champagne is dripping from her palm and chin, and she hastily reaches for the napkin in her lap, wiping her hand and dabbing at her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“Go clean yourself up,” Kylo says. He can see even in the dark light of the dining room that her cheeks are turning bright red, and she’s avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes as she nods and stands from the table, grabbing her clutch from beside the chair and walking off to find the restroom.

“Hux have a claim on her?” Tony asks, raising one dark, bushy eyebrow at Kylo.

The American editor-in-chief narrows his eyes, trying to contain his temper as the Italian leans forward, eyes curious. “No one has a claim on her.”

Tony just smirks. The man’s never been Kylo’s favorite; though he does a good issue, visually, Kylo’s never been a huge fan of the articles the man chose to have published within the issue. “You sure about that, Ren?”

“She owns herself,” Kylo snarls, reaching for his water glass.

The man's smirk broadens. “I see - she's yours. Finally taking after your creative editor, Ren?”

The glass shatters beneath his grip, silencing the tables around them as their occupants turn to look at the source of the destruction. Ren grimaces, shaking his hand free of water and broken glass. Enna helps, reaching into her lap and giving him her own napkin when his becomes soaked. Though it doesn’t feel as though he hurt himself, he examines his hand anyway. The glass had broken into larger pieces, so he doubts that he’d done anything.

He can vaguely hear Enna lecturing Tony on professionalism in rapid-fire French, and Tony’s indignant protests in quick Italian. He wipes himself off as best as he can, grimacing at the shards of glass on the table.

“… Kylo …?”

Shit.

He glances up to see Rey staring at him, brown eyes narrowed in … something akin to anger, or very very deep annoyance as she looks between his soaked napkin, and the broken glass on the table top.

Fuck it. The desserts are always too small at these occasions anyway.

He stands, looking towards Enna who’s still speaking with Tony. He reaches down to touch her shoulder gently, and her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes immediately snap up to his.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he mutters, and she nods, gaze flicking towards Rey before she looks back at him.

“Yes, of course.” She looks back towards Rey. “It was a pleasure, Miss Kenobi.”

Rey offers a nervous smile in response, and a nod.

“Tony,” Kylos says darkly, before putting his hand on his assistant’s elbow this time with his good hand and leading her towards the door. He clenches and unclenches his fist as he walks; though he’s also checking for any hint of broken glass in his palm, he’s also resisting the urge to deck someone.

She's yours.

He quickens his pace, hand falling from her arm as soon as they’re out of the dining room. He gets some sort of satisfaction in the loud, assertive sound of his shoes as they cross the marble hallway towards the lobby. She stays at his side as he calls for his car, the chauffer pulling up shortly after. There are a few cameras outside of the hotel, but someone must have gotten ahold of the schedule for the evening because most seem to be waiting for everyone to come out of the dinner. He puts his hand on her waist to guide her away from the few journalists who dare to scream out questions, and he lets her slide in first before getting in beside her.

He sighs heavily as soon as the door’s closed, letting his eyes slip shut and his head hit the back of the seat.

“Want to tell me why you broke a glass?”

Whatever charming demeanor she’d put on at the beginning of the evening is gone. He opens the eye closes to her, watching her out of the corner of it. She’s not looking at him. She’s watching the city of lights outside, but her voice indicates that she’s pissed with him.

“Tony made a rude remark,” he mutters, closing his eyes again as he reaches a hand up to bury in his hair. He sighs at the motion, calming slightly already as he feels his fingers against his scalp.

“And so you broke a glass.”

“I could’ve thrown it at him,” he retorts. "But I didn't. You should be proud."

He’s rewarded with a snort, but he can tell she’s not really amused by his little tantrum.

“It was about me, wasn’t it?”

He sighs again, looking towards her across the car. “I-“

She’s looking at him now, brow furrowed and pink lips downturned. “I don’t need you defending me, Ren.”

“I didn’t say you did,” he insists. “It was disrespectful, and entirely unprofessional. He shouldn’t have made it, and I overreacted. I apologize.”

She’s quiet for a moment. She’s still staring at him, but then she sighs and holds out her hand. “Give me your hand. Whichever one you broke the glass with.”

He reaches over to give her his right hand. He stays still as she runs small, soft fingertips over his skin, checking for glass. She occasionally presses down, looking up at his face to gauge his reaction. When he gives her none, she pulls away.

“I want you to wash it well when we get back to the room,” she tells him. “I won’t have you getting an infection, not while we're international.”

He takes his hand back, settling it into his lap. He doesn’t offer her a response, his eyes shifting towards the passing city and golden lights illuminating the car.

-

She’d come back from reapplying lipstick to a wet table, two bickering foreign editors, a shattered glass, and a sheepish-looking Ren.

She has to admit, she’s a bit surprised he hadn’t laid waste to something sooner.

Whatever rage he must’ve exhibited at the table is gone by the time they get in the car, though she can’t hide her own anger at his stupidity. Seriously, the man should learn to control his temper by now. He’s a professional; a high profile one, at that.

When they reach the hotel, Ren gets out first and opens the door for her. She’d unbuckled her shoes on the ride over, and she has the straps on her fingers as she steps out onto the cool asphalt. If he minds, he says nothing, leading the way through the lobby to the elevators. The cool tile of the hotel lobby is paradise on her aching feet; the freezing marble of the elevator floor is heaven.

“You’re still mad at me.”

“Yes,” she says simply.

“Why?”

“Because you overreacted to something that could’ve very well been left alone,” she retorts, closing her eyes as the elevator ascends. “I wasn’t flirting back, you know.”

“But he wasn’t taking the hint.”

“I could’ve handled it myself,” she snaps. It’s a lot sharper than she meant it to be, and she winces at the silence that follows. “I’m sorry, I-“

“I don’t doubt that you could’ve.”

By the time she lifts her head to look at him, the elevator doors have opened and he’s already walking towards the suite. She follows him with a sigh, relishing in the soft carpet against the balls of her feet. She makes her way into the closet and tucks the shoes back into the box, before reaching around to unzip the dress. She stops when she realizes that she can’t get it. “Ren-“

His hands are already at her back before she can get her full request out, and she feels cool air on her back as he unzips her and then steps back. By the time she turns around, the bathroom door’s being shut with a ‘slam’ and she’s left alone in the doorway of the closet.

“Bastard,” she mutters, shedding the dress and hanging it on a free hanger. She walks in the lingerie to the living room, tucking her hair behind her ear as she rummages in her suitcase for her pajamas. She has no doubt that Ren’s sleepwear costs a pretty penny, but that doesn’t mean hers has to. She tugs out a pair of Finn’s old grey sweatpants, the original tie replaced with a ribbon and the legs cut to hit at her ankles. She’s in the process of pulling a plain red ribbed tank top over her head when she hears him come out of the bathroom. She chances a peek at him as she reaches around to unlatch the bra in the back, pulling it out of the top and letting it slide down her shoulders. “I’ll take the couch,” she calls, taking her suitcase and putting it on the floor of the living room before walking towards the bathroom.

He says nothing, instead looking her up and down. His face betrays nothing, but she can assume what he’s thinking. She rolls her eyes, walking past him.

“They’re pajamas, Ren,” she snaps as she starts the sink and puts her hand under the water as it warms up. “How do I get this stuff off?”

“Stuff?” he asks, and she nearly splashes herself as he appears in the doorway. “Did you just call makeup ‘stuff’?” He sounds slightly amused; very, very slightly amused.

“Yes,” she says, reaching for a washcloth and rubbing at the pink of her lips, leaving smears on the white cloth.

“… you are truly miserable,” Ren mutters, leaving and coming back with a cloth, a tub of cream, and whatever wipes he’d used before. He takes the washcloth from her grip, and she opens her mouth to protest when he opens the tub and dips the washcloth into it.

“This is cleansing cream,” he explains, handing the washcloth back to her. “It will get rid of the ‘stuff’ and clean your face at the same time.”

She takes the cloth from him, trying to clench away the disappointment that’s blooming in her chest. She has no idea why she was expecting him to show her, maybe do it for her the first time. It’s not his place, and not his job to show her how to get the makeup off of her face. But since he’d helped her put it on, she guesses she just assumed that he’d help her get it off. She watches as he walks back into the bedroom, leaving her with the washcloth and the sink running.

It doesn’t take too long to rub off. It takes a few passes, sure, but it all comes off eventually. Though her skin’s a little pink from the hot water and the cloth against her face, she feels a bit better when she recognizes the face in the mirror across from her. This is the face she’s used to; not the one with doe-eyes, long lashes and bright pink lips. She brushes her teeth quickly, eager to fall into bed after the day she’s had.

She sighs as she walks into the bedroom, running a hand through her hair. She stops when she sees that two pillows, a sheet and a blanket have been set out for her on the bed. Ren’s already in it, the Book propped up on his knees and glasses perched on his nose. The pen’s back in his mouth, and his hair looks as if it’s been pushed back a few times.

He pulls the writing utensil out from between his lips. “I called downstairs for them while you were in the bathroom,” he explains.

“That was fast,” she mutters, reaching for the pillows and blankets and gathering them into her arms.

He glances up at her, looking at her through his black-rimmed glasses. “… I’m Kylo Ren.”

“Can’t argue with that,” she admits as she carries everything back into the living room. She finds the biggest couch and spreads the sheet and blanket over top before propping the pillows up. She walks back and leans against the bedroom door.

“Don’t stay up too late editing.”

“I had planned to spend the majority of my day fixing this, and instead I fixed something else,” he mumbles around the pen. “Forgive me if I need to spend a bit more time on this catastrophe of a draft.”

Something like anger flickers in her. Her annoyance with him increases tenfold at his flippant insult, but it’s also accompanied by a hollow, sickening feeling she recognizes all too easily as dejection.

Fixed.

She crosses her arms over her chest, opening her mouth to protest, maybe even argue with him. The words “I didn’t need to be fixed,” are on the tip of her tongue, but they catch right behind her teeth.

It’s not worth the effort, or the energy.

“What time do we need to be up tomorrow?” she asks quietly.

“The brunch is at 11:30,” he replies. “So it depends on how long you think getting ready will take. I’m betting two hours.”

“Two hours?” she demands. “It’ll take me twenty minutes, maybe.”

“Not if I’m doing your makeup,” he replies, not even looking up at her. “That will take a half hour, at least. 45 minutes is more likely. If you need to shower, plan accordingly.”

“Right.” Makeup. That needed to be done, now. And by him, no less. She uncrosses her arms and pushes herself away from the doorframe. “…. Please don’t stay up too late. You’re a menace when you don’t get enough sleep.”

“And I’m not when I do?”

There it is. The soft little half smile. She can just barely see it, since he isn’t facing her, but she can tell that it’s there.

“Just get some sleep, please, Kylo?” she whispers, shaking her head as she retreats to the living room. She tugs the double doors closed, and makes her way over to the couch. The golden lights of Paris illuminate the room, and she walks over to tug the curtains closed. Though there are a few slivers of gold light, it’s better than it was, and she’s satisfied with the darkness of the room as she walks to the couch and curls up, grabbing her phone from where she’d set it on the pillow.

Message from: Finn
Hey, peanut. How’s Paris? Missing you! XX

She tries ‘fine’. She tries ‘good’. She tries ‘all right’. None of them quite fit what she’s feeling, so she tries another approach.

‘Ren is an asshole’.

Sent.

Chapter Text

Morning comes with the smell of strong coffee and a crick her neck.

Rey groans, trying to find the pillow that she’d fallen asleep with the night before. No luck. It’s not to her left, to her right, or above her. She opens her eyes, wincing at the brightness of the room, and looks down to see the pillow on the floor instead of where it should be – beneath her head.

That explains her neck, then.

She sits up with another wince, running her hand through her hair and hiding a yawn behind her hand as the bedroom door opens. Ren walks out, and she blinks at the expanse of pale skin, dark moles, abs and hipbones before her.

Well, fuck.

“Morning,” he says, voice gruff with sleep as he walks towards the cart with the coffee. It must’ve been delivered while she was asleep, she guesses. She watches as he pours himself a cup, dumping cream and sugar into the mug and stirring lazily. Black pajama pants are slung very low on his hips, and he has bed-head again, his glasses perched on his nose.

The image shouldn’t be endearing. It shouldn’t be sweet, not at all, and it certainly shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. She watches him, pulling the blanket around her shoulders to shield her bare skin from the cold of the room as he drinks, not entirely awake yet and just standing there.

“You can shower first,” he offers, voice slightly muffled since he’s speaking around the lip of the mug. “Ladies first.”

“Oh,” she says simply, breaking her gaze and standing. Her back screams in protest, and she makes a little whining sound at the pain. Her hand flies to her mid-back, where it hurts the worst, and she winces.

“Are you all right?”

She’s still half-asleep. She has to be, because he sounds genuinely concerned for her. “Yeah,” she breathes, shaking her head. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. It’s just … I don’t think that couch is designed for sleeping on.”

“What hurts?” he asks, and she looks up at the clinking of porcelain on porcelain. He’s set the mug down and is walking towards her, brows furrowed in what might be worry if she didn’t know the asshole as well as she does.

“Back and neck,” she admits. “Mid-back.”

She isn’t expecting his hands on her back, and she definitely isn’t expecting his thumbs pressing against the sore muscles. She gasps at the sharp pain that comes with the pressure, nearly bucking away from him.

“You’re tight,” he tells her. He jerks his head towards the bedroom. “Shower. Put it on the hottest temperature you can stand. I have some pain medication in my briefcase. Tea or orange juice?”

“Both?” she offers weakly, her hand moving to her back and rubbing at the muscle. She winces at the pain, and he has the decency to look concerned.

“Shower, then pills,” he says, jerking his head again. “Go, I’ll make the tea.”

“Thank you.” It sounds more sincere than she intends, but she does mean it as she makes her way to the bathroom.

She thanks every deity she can think of for the fantastic water pressure as she lets the nearly scalding water pound against her sore back. She stands there for perhaps a bit too long, just sighing in relief when the pain all but disappears with the water. She’s sure it’ll come back with a vengeance when she steps out, but for now it helps. After she’s stood there for what she’s nearly positive is almost an hour, she steps out and wraps herself in one of the robes again, stepping out and finding Ren sitting on the bed with the Book next to him, for once closed as he sips his coffee and reads something on his phone.

“Pill, tea and orange juice are on the desk,” he explains, not looking up from his phone.

“Thank you,” she breathes, back starting to hurt again now that it’s away from the water. She takes the two pills and downs half the juice before she reaches for the tea, still hot despite her long shower. By the time she turns around, her boss has disappeared into the bathroom, the door closed behind him.

It’s with sudden, stark clarity as she hears the shower start that she left her dirty clothes in there, in a pile on the floor. Including the underwear she’d just bought.

“Fuck,” she hisses, running her hand through her damp hair as she stares at the closed bathroom door.

Maybe he didn’t notice, she reasons. Maybe he didn’t see anything.

She’s been unlucky enough this trip that she immediately rules it out as a possibility.

Maybe if she gets it, really quickly? That seems like the best option to her still-sleep-addled brain, and she steps towards the bathroom door, opening it as quietly as she can.

The roar of the water covers the sound of the door opening, and she’s hit in the face with steam as she steps in. Her sweatpants and tank top are lying on the floor, lacy underwear still in the sweatpants. She darts for it, grabbing the fabric and going to pull back when he speaks.

“If you’re going to be in here, close the door. You’re letting the cold air in.”

She freezes, dead in her tracks. It’s on instinct that she looks up, and her face flushes pink as she sees him beyond the steamed-up door of the shower.

Fuck, that’s a lot of skin.

She darts back and pulls the door closed so quickly and forcefully that it rattles in the frame, eyes wide as she tries to forget the dark moles and freckles speckled across his bare back, extending even to his ass.

She groans, resisting the urge to flop down on the bed and press her face into the mattress until she suffocates.

All right. So she just saw her boss’s ass. She just saw Kylo Ren’s very bare, admittedly very nice ass. Fuck. He’s going to fire her, isn’t he?

Well, it was kind of nice while it lasted.

Fuck.

She drops her pajamas and the underwear into her suitcase before walking around to the closet, pulling new underwear out and shedding the robe. She pulls it up her legs and is in the process of adjusting the straps of the bra when he emerges, white towel wrapped around his hips and another one rubbing at his dark hair.

She stands, frozen and waiting for the verdict, as he walks to his closet to get his clothes. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look at her as he gets his dark pants and grey blazer, moving to select a shirt. She should cover herself, she knows, but she can’t bring herself to as he makes his way back into the bedroom and sets his things out.

Finally, he looks up at her, and she wishes that she had actually covered herself. She tries to ignore the heat that’s still in her cheeks, still flushed across her chest. The bra’s a low thing, pushing her chest up with ballet-pink silk and black lace, and the panties aren’t much better in terms of hiding things. But in a stroke of inspiration, she gestures to her own nearly-bare body. “… call it even?” she asks, proud that her voice wavers only slightly as his dark eyes roam over her skin.

He doesn’t react for a while, and she realizes with startling clarity that she is definitely, definitely going to be fired, maybe in the next 30 seconds.

But then he smirks, and straightens from where he’d been bent over the bed, and crosses his arms over his bare chest. “Green dress,” he tells her. “The one from Valentino. Wear that to brunch.”

She stares at him openly as he walks to where the bag containing the makeup is, grabbing it and setting it on the desk. “Dry your hair,” he orders. “Don’t put the dress on until it’s fully dry.”

“Yes, sir,” she says weakly, trying to keep the roaring out of her ears and her heart rate down. She’s not fired. Not yet, at least.

Her hair doesn’t take too long to dry. The dryer’s of a pretty good quality, probably because of the suite they’re in, and she’s grateful she hasn’t put clothes on yet since the bathroom’s still steamy and the air from the dryer’s near burning. She brushes it out until it falls to her shoulders in smooth waves, and then she steps out of the bathroom.

Her dress is already laid out on the bed, a pair of low black pumps with red soles next to them on the covers. He’s standing near the full length mirror, adjusting the grey blazer. He’s not wearing a tie, opting for a grey button-down shirt that’s just slightly darker than the stone of his blazer. He’s still wearing his glasses; odd, since she rarely sees him wear them outside of the office. But he’s wearing them, the slim black frames perched on his nose as he adjusts the shirt beneath the blazer.

“I’ll be doing your makeup first,” he explains. “Put the robe on. I won’t have a Valentino dress ruined by you jerking away from a mascara wand.”

Right, makeup. She grabs the robe she’d abandoned earlier and pulls it around her as he gestures to the desk chair. She sits in it obediently, and lets her skin be prepped with moisturizer and primer. His fingers are a lot larger than the woman at the makeup counter, and cover more area quickly, but they’re also slightly rougher due to his constant usage of pens. His thumbs brush across her cheekbones, rubbing the gentle primer in before he reaches for the foundation they’d matched her with.

The sponge he uses is soft, and she leans into it as he taps at her skin. There isn’t much to cover, she knows, but she has freckles – dozens of them, scattered across her nose and cheeks and forehead, and she’s sure they need to be covered in this world where flaws are god-awful and need to be fixed.

He swipes a bit of bronzer across her skin, and she resists the urge to sneeze at the powder of it. Apparently he can tell, because he smirks as he contours her cheeks, adding some light-colored-something-or-other to the tops of them before working blush into her skin. She wants to watch, wants to pay attention, but a damnable part of her also doesn’t want to absorb any of the knowledge and just let him do it. As tedious as the process is, she also doesn’t mind his hands on her skin, and she has to admit that it’s a bit relaxing to have soft brushes on her skin.

He does something with her eyes. She can’t tell what it is, but there’s green and black shadow involved as well as some gold, and then there’s the tugging of pencil eyeliner and the cool line of liquid eyeliner and then she’s being told to look at him and keep her eyes open as he applies primer to her lashes.

“I won’t make you use false ones,” he mutters, face close to hers as he uses the want of YSL mascara to lift and darken her lashes. “They can fall off with the wrong glue, and you’ll rub at them and destroy my work, and then where will we be?” he asks, putting the mascara back into the case that he’d purchased to hold all of the products. “No, just this will do.”

She says nothing, unsure what to say in response, as he swipes some sort of liquid something or other across her lips. It’s softer than the rest of the lipsticks she’s worn, a bit oily, and she smacks her lips in response, tongue darting out to taste it. There’s something vanilla and orange about it, taking her right back to junior high and the magnetic flavored gloss all the girls in her class kept in their locker. She had her select few, but her lips became even more chapped with it since she licked it all off. This isn’t quite as sweet, but it doesn’t taste waxy or chemically, and she’s grateful for it as he puts the final touches on her face.

“Done. Don’t rub your eyes,” he orders, stepping back after spraying her skin with some sort of setting spray (at least, that’s what the bottle says). “Go get the dress on, we’re almost late.”

She stands and walks to the bed, tugging the dress up her legs and over her shoulders. Before she can even ask him to help her, his fingers are guiding the zipper up. She gives him a soft, “Thank you,” as she reaches for the heels.

“It’s cold,” he explains as he returns with a quilted black leather jacket she recognizes from Versace. “Wear this.”

She obeys, taking the jacket and pulling it up over the dress. It’s a bit strange with the sleeves, but when she looks in the mirror she has to admit it’s a nice touch to the feminine dress. Though the makeup isn’t as heavy as what they’d put on her yesterday, her eyes are dark and rimmed in liner, and whatever green, black and gold he’d picked went well with her dress and jacket.

“Clutch,” he instructs, holding out the fraternal, nude-colored version of the clutch she carried the night before. She takes it from him, and follows him out of the room. The heels he’d picked are lower, and for that she’s grateful as she walks fairly steadily with him to the elevator.

“French and British General Fashion, right?” she asks, glancing up at him.

“Yes,” he replies simply.

She looks down at her clutch. “About this morning-“

“We’re even,” he says just as simply, not even looking at her. “No harm done.”

His voice betrays absolutely no emotion, but it does calm her nerves slightly. “So I’m not fired?” she asks, hesitantly.

The sound that comes from him is startling in how loud it is. It sounds like half genuine laugh, half snort, and she stares as he smiles.

“No, you’re not fired for seeing my ass,” he replies, voice kinder as the elevator dings. Its doors open, and he steps inside. She follows, standing next to him as he hits the button for the ground floor.

“Oh,” she says, because she can’t think of anything else to say. “… thank you?”

He just continues to smile, shaking his head ever so slightly as the elevator takes them down.

-

The same woman from before is there, dressed in some pale pink number that Rey idly thinks would match her lingerie perfectly. She has a long black duster on to match, and sky-high heels that leave her even taller than Ren. Her platinum blonde hair’s swept back into some sort of updo, but she still manages to look casual. Rey envies her slightly as Ren moves in to kiss both of her cheeks, light but a little lingering.

“Enna, you look beautiful,” he mutters, pulling back. “I trust that you gave Tony a piece of his mind?”

“Stilettoes hurt like a bitch when applies properly,” she tells him sweetly, and Rey resists the urge to smile at the woman’s comment. “He won’t be bothering your assistant anymore, don’t worry.”

“Good.”

She startles at his hand on the small of her back, and then she’s being pulled forward to greet the taller woman.

This time, the woman’s smile is slightly warmer. “I’m sorry you had to deal with him,” Enna apologizes.

“It’s all right, really,” Rey insists, shaking her head. “I’ve dealt with-“

“Ren!”

She turns her head at the new voice. Her boss turns as well, and his hand falls from the small of her back as he walks towards the brunet man walking towards them.

Rey stares at the man as he opens his arms, bracing his hands on Ren’s shoulders and grinning, leaning in to press two kisses to Ren’s cheeks.

In all honesty, as crude as it is, she thinks – even gay-as-hell Finn seems like a fratboy compared to this man.

He’s a small thing, a good head below Ren and half his width, but his blinding smile makes up for it.

“Renolds,” her boss greets. “Pleasure to see you again.”

“I only see you when we both come to Paris, why is that?” the other man demands, and Rey bites her lip to hide her smile as his green eyes meet hers. “… who’s this little thing?”

“My new assistant,” Ren explains, stepping back to gesture to Rey. “Elliot Renolds, head of the British General Fashion. Elliot, this is Rey Kenobi.”

She tries to get out, “Pleasure to meet you,” but as soon as she opens her mouth she finds her cheeks being kissed as Ren’s had.

“I love your pairing of Versace and Valentino,” he gushes as he steps back, grinning.

“She didn’t dress herself,” Ren says bluntly. “I put the outfit together.”

“Well, she models it beautifully,” the man insists, and Rey finds herself smiling despite herself.

“Thank you,” she says, and the other man just grins, taking her hand and guiding her arm up.

“Come on, turn, I want to see all of it,” he guides, and Rey’s suddenly reminded very much of BB as she turns under his hand. “Lovely, lovely. Where’d you find her, Ren?”

“She found me,” Ren says, and as Rey finishes turning she meets his eyes to find they’re surprisingly soft and kind, and that the corner of his mouth’s quirked up slightly.

“Well, thank God she did, she’s precious,” Elliot says. “Come on, mimosas are being served somewhere around here. We have a private room just to the left.”

He starts walking, and Rey watches as he goes, trying and failing to hide a smile. “Whatever he’s on, I need it,” she tells Ren as he comes to stand beside her.

“I’m going to guess 12 cups of coffee and at least 3 5 Hour Energy’s,” Ren says wryly. “Come on, let’s go before he drinks the entirety of the bar.”

His hand returns to her lower back, and though she really doesn’t need it with the low height of the heels that she’s wearing, she appreciates the gesture and lets him lead her to the private room that’s sectioned off for the heads of the magazine.

-

Mimosas are good, she discovers. Mimosas are a bit too good for almost noon, and she feels light and bubbly as the drink she has between her fingers as she watches Ren.

The man’s sitting next to the British editor, and she smiles around the lip of her flute glass several times at the stark contrast between them. Elliot’s animated, talking with his pale hands and nearly knocking his glass over a fair few times. Ren’s significantly less so, but the way his body’s positioned towards the other man shows that he’s truly interested in what the other editor has to say. She’s positioned next to Ren, with Enna and her assistant on the other side of her.

Enna’s assistant is a blonde little thing with a British accent and the personality of a peanut, Rey discovers quickly, after trying to speak with her twice.

She thinks back to all the assistants Hux claims Ren’s had, and wonders if she’s the blatant outlier in a trend.

“No, no, don’t go with Givenchy, horrible selection this fall. I’m all for black, but show some skin with it,” Elliot’s saying, reaching for his mimosa and taking a sip before continuing. “No, don’t do Givenchy.”

“All right fine, it was just a thought,” Ren says, holding his hands up before reaching down for his knife and fork as he cuts into his crepes again. Rey watches as honey and cheese oozes from between the crepes, the same as hers. But she watches as he puts a bite in his mouth, licking honey from his full bottom lip as he continues to listen to Elliot listing off designers.

She bites her own lip as she watches him, before she looks down at her own crepes, cheeks flushing as she suddenly remembers what happened that morning. She closes her eyes and tries to breathe deeply.

The plan backfires as she hears, “Rey?”

She looks up immediately, eyes wide as she turns to see Enna beside her, concerned. “Are you all right?” the bleach-blonde asks, looking genuinely worried for the assistant.

“Yes, fine, I just didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all,” she admits, offering a shakey smile in excuse.

“You look flushed. Switch to water,” Enna suggests. “Too many mimosas and you’ll be like Elliot before you know it.”

Rey offers what she can of a soft laugh, looking down at her food and deciding that she isn’t quite hungry anymore.

-

The brunch is long over, plates cleared, but the drinks keep coming and the editors have switched to sitting next to each other. She hears things about ads and articles, and Enna’s brought a notebook and pens, and it’s almost cute to see all of the editors talking so animatedly about something. Rey watches as Ren even seems to get excited at some of the ideas the other two are suggesting.

It’s an hour before Ren stands, nodding to Rey as he sets his napkin on the table. “If you excuse us, we have a busy afternoon.”

They don’t, really, but she’s grateful for the excuse. If she has to try to speak to the other assistant one more time, she’s sure she’ll die of boredom. As pretty as the British accent is, it’s downright boring when paired with a monotone, and she’s eager to stop trying to converse with the girl beside her.

“We’ll see you tonight?” Enna offers, watching as Rey gathers her clutch.

“Tonight,” Ren says, nodding.

“Can’t wait.” She stands and presses her lips to Ren’s cheek. It’s a friendly thing, Rey’s positive, but she leaves a rose-colored lip mark on the man’s cheek. Either Ren doesn’t care or doesn’t notice, because a moment later he’s walking out with Rey at his side.

It’s not until they get in the car that she has the time to look at the lip mark. It’s on his left cheek, closes to her, and she stares at it and tries to squish the sick, nauseous feeling that’s brewing in her stomach. He’s not hers – he’s her boss, for fuck’s sake - she knows that damn well, but the other woman’s mark still makes her feel incredibly uneasy. He turns after a moment, raising a brow at her staring.

“You, um, lipstick,” she says dumbly, gesturing to her own cheek to show him.

He raises pale fingers to rub against his cheek, the skin coming away pink. There’s still a smudge of it left even after he rubs at it, frowning. “Gets on everything,” he mutters, rubbing at the skin again. When he pulls his fingers back, his skin’s pink from his attention to it, but no lipstick remains. “Did I get it?”

“Yes,” she says, smiling at the soft relief the disappearance of the mark sends shooting up her spine. “It’s all gone.”

-

When he opens the hotel room door, she stares at the sight inside. Her suitcase has been moved so that it’s under the coffee table, but there are racks. Three of them, gold and wheeled, and there are at least five garment bags per rack.

“Good, the concierge got them, then,” Ren says simply as he walks in. She stands in the entryway of the room, staring at the racks.

“What’s this?” she asks, frowning.

“Gowns for the gala tonight,” he explains from the other room, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. He returns, shedding his blazer as he goes and draping it over one of the couches. “You didn’t think we’d be going to a boutique for that, did you?”

“Why can’t one of the dresses I have work?” she asks, glancing at the large bags, some of them incredibly full at the bottom.

He unbuttons his cuffs, shoving his sleeves up his arms. She gulps as the veins in his forearms strain as he lifts one of the apparently heavy bags, frowning and putting it back. “Because this is an incredibly formal event and I won’t have you wearing something casual,” he explains, pulling the zipper down on one of the gowns and grimacing at what he sees. She doesn’t even have a chance to see it, let alone voice her opinion of it, before he shoves it to the back. “Hideous color, just awful.”

She sets her clutch down on the coffee table, stepping out of the heels and walking towards him as he continues to open and close garment bags. A few are put on an empty rack; rejects, she realizes, after he makes a face at another one of the dresses. But some stay, and by the time Ren’s finished going through them, there are seven choices instead of the eighteen they had before.

“These are the ones that you won’t trip in or look horrible in,” he tells her, unzipping one of the bags again and pulling a red sequin gown out of it. It sparkles in the light coming through the window, and despite the deep color and shining sequins on it, Rey can only think of one word – itchy.

He hands it to her anyway, though, and she takes it, looking at it.

“Change,” he tells her. “And then come out.”

The fabric’s even scratchy on her arm as she walks into the bedroom, closing the door behind her as she scrambles to unzip the green dress. It takes some contorting, since she hadn’t bothered to ask Ren to help her out of it, but she gets it off eventually and pulls on the strapless red number. It scrapes against her skin, and she frowns at the back zipper. She holds it to her chest as she walks out. “Ren, I don’t-“

“No.”

She looks up at him to see him reclining on the couch, legs crossed and arm over the back of it as he stares at her in what she can only describe as contempt.

“Red, yes, sequins, no,” he replies. “Take it off.”

Thank God. She walks forward to take the black gown he’s extending to her, walking back into the room and laying the red dress gently on the bed before pulling the black one on.

This one’s better. It’s tight, but it’s better. She walks out, the back open since she needs his help with zipping it up.

“Herve Leger, not bad,” he mutters as he reaches up to zip it for her. She holds her hair out of the way and steps back when he’s finished. “…. Maybe,” he tells her, after she turns for him. “It’s not horrendous.”

“But not great?” she asks him, looking down at the black bandage mermaid dress.

“Not great,” he says, making a turning motion with his finger so that he can unzip her again. “Try this one.” He offers another garment back, and she peeks inside to see silver.

“Silver?” she asks.

“Worth a shot,” he admits, and she takes the dress back.

This one is awful. She nearly laughs at it as she pulls it on. The slit in the front is absurdly high, and she can just see the pink and black lace panties through the fabric. The chest doesn’t fit at all, and is just plain unflattering. The back’s low enough that she gets it by herself, though, and walks through with a mock flourish. “What about this one?” she asks, looking down at herself and trying hard not to burst out laughing.

“That’s it.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide in surprise. “What?” she demands.

He looks like he’s trying to hide laughter as he says, “It’s perfect. You’ll wear that.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she snaps, and that’s when he breaks.

She’s heard snickers. She’s heard snorts, and she’s heard maybe a chuckle from him in as long as she’s worked for him. But she hasn’t heard him crack up, hasn’t seen him smile broadly.

The smile he’s showing now shows all of his crooked, white teeth, and his laughter echoes around the room as he genuinely bursts out laughing. Holding his stomach, bent over, laughing.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asks, reaching down to play with the strange cape that falls from her back and reaches her hips. “It’s bad.”

“You look like a nickel,” he says in between his laughter, shaking his head.

It’s a nice sound, him laughing, and it makes her grin as she watches him lose control in a way that’s not destructive for the first time since she’s met him.
“I think I should wear this, just to see what people say,” she says, grabbing the skirt and twirling it around her.

“It’s awful, take it off,” he tells her, shaking his head, and still smiling.

“Really?” she asks, reaching back to unzip it. She sheds it right there in front of him, pulling it off. “You’re telling me that something made by-“ she looks at the tag, “Yves Saint Laurent is ugly? How dare you, Mister Ren, criticize the great Yves Saint Laurent!” To add to the image of outrage, she puts her hand on her bare hip and pops it out, to which he smirks, holding out his hand.

“Give it,” he orders, and she pads over in her bare feet and lingerie to hand the dress to him. “It’s ill-fitting, and not flattering, and the material is cheap. Whoever designed this is an idiot.”

“Or a costume designer for Star Wars,” she replies. “What’s next?”

He reaches over and offers her a black gown with thin straps. Seeing as she’s already half naked, all dignity out the window since that morning, she just pulls it up her hips right then, pulling the straps onto her shoulders and turning so that he can zip it up for her. As soon as it’s on, she steps back, having to hold the black fabric up a bit as she steps back enough for him to see. “… well?”

He’s staring at her, and she watches him as he raises his hand to his mouth, turning his hand back and covering his lips so that his small finger’s brushing his nose. It comes down a moment later, cupping his chin, and then he says, “That might be it.”

She looks down at the gown. It’s a simple piece, solid black, with a low sweetheart neckline. It’s something she might’ve even picked out for herself, if she had the occasion to wear it. She slims it down her hips, looking down at the lace straps of her bra peeking out of it. “You think?”

“I do. Come here, your bra’s distracting.”

“I can take it off myself,” she insists, reaching back to find the zipper and failing.

“Come here,” he orders again, and she gives up, walking over and turning. The gentle tightness around her breasts is loosened as soon as he unlatches the bra, and then she feels his fingers on her shoulders as he guides the straps down her shoulders.

For some reason, she lets him. She pulls her arms out when the time calls for it, but she reaches in and pulls the bra out herself, setting it on the arm of the sofa before stepping back and letting him look at her.

“Maybe,” he replies. “If we don’t find something better.”

“Sounds good to me.” It’s not entirely uncomfortable, and she’s sure that with the shapewear she’d bought, it might be good. She casts glance in the mirror before returning to him to let him unzip it. This time she holds the dress to her chest, covering herself as he hands her the next gown.

It’s a black lace piece, the skirt sheer and black. She takes it from him and makes her way into the other room. This dress has buttons up the back, and a lace underpiece to go beneath the sheer skirt. She pulls that on first, keeping her panties on beneath it, and then pulls the top portion on. She can’t wear a bra with it, she knows; it’s way too sheer. She holds the lace in front of her breasts as she walks out and turns her back to him so that he can button it for her.

He does it quickly, long fingers pushing the buttons through their designated holes, and he touches her waist when he’s finished. She turns back around, the soft, sheer skirt pooling around her feet as she waits for his verdict.

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. She waits, looking down at herself and the dress, hands brushing against the skirt nervously. He doesn’t look like he had with the silver one, doesn’t look like he’s about to burst out laughing. But he’s not smiling either. He’s just staring.

“Is it that bad?” she asks, after what has to be a good minute of him just staring at her. “If it is, let’s just take it off and-“

“No.”

She glances up from where she’d been looking down at the lace, meeting his eyes. His single syllable had come out low and a little dulcet, and she watches as he stands. She doesn’t move as he walks around her, getting every angle. She stands still, waiting his opinion as he comes to stand in front of her again.

“You’ll wear this one,” he tells her.

“Really?” she asks, looking down at the dress. “It’s a little … sheer, though.”

“We can have someone put in another skirt, quickly,” he replies. “Another layer to hide your legs.”

“No, no, it’s fine, don’t make someone go through the trouble, it’s tonight, we won’t have time,” she explains, looking down at the dress and touching the soft lace that’s covering her chest. “… you don’t think it’s bad?”

“I think it’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”

His voice hasn’t lost that tone, and she looks up to find him standing a bit too close for comfort. She can’t bring herself to mind, though, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “There are still three others-“

“Don’t bother, you’re wearing this one,” he tells her, shaking his head.

“Well, that’s that, then,” she says, voice slightly shaky as she turns her back to him. “Help me out of it?”

His fingers are slower this time, lingering over the buttons and her skin. She bites her lip, holding her hair out of the way and resisting the urge to whimper as he spends way too long releasing her from the dress. His fingers brush over the bare skin of her back a little too often, and she has to hold herself still even when his gentle touch sends chills up her spine. When he reaches the last button, she turns back to him. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

There’s that tone again. She nods, trying to control her breathing as she walks back to the bedroom and takes it off fully. She goes to put her green dress on when she remembers that her bra’s in the other room, and frowns. “Ren, you have my bra!”

… that did not come out right.

She blushes furiously as the bedroom door opens just a crack, and the garment is handed to her through it. She snatches it from him, hearing his soft laughter as she bumps her hip against the door with perhaps a little too much force, closing it on him with a ‘slam’.

-

He spends his day editing after that, and she spends hers lounging on the couch. It feels strange to be wearing lingerie underneath sweatpants and a t-shirt, but it also makes her feel a bit sexier than if she was wearing it with a nice dress; it makes it seem more like a secret, in her opinion.

Not like she had anyone to reveal the secret to.

Finn calls her at around 5, about an two and a half hours before they’re supposed to be at the gala.

“Hi, peanut!” He waves to her from what looks like his living room, grin bright and happy as he sees her face. The smile drops almost immediately, and he’s staring at her, wide-eyed. “… Rey?”

“Yeah, what?” she asks, frowning and looking down at herself. “What’s wrong?”

“… you’re wearing makeup.”

Oh, right. She grins, touching her mascara-d lashes gently. “Yeah, Ren did it.”

“Kylo Ren did your makeup?”

That voice is definitely not Finn’s, nor did those words come from Finn’s mouth. Finn, however, does turn a bit darker as Poe comes into view, bending over the couch. If the head of the department thinks it’s strange that he’s shirtless on a video call to his former employee, he doesn’t say it. Finn looks absolutely mortified as Poe leans over, grinning at Rey. “Hey, Rey!”

Rey tries to hide her smile at the man’s blatant sex hair to no avail. “Hi, Poe.”

“How’s Paris?”

“Not as fun as New York, apparently,” she says, staring at the hickeys covering the man’s neck, chest and shoulders. “What did you do to him, Finn?! He looks like he’s been in a bar fight!”

Finn turns and turns even darker upon seeing the dark marks on Poe’s chest. The editor frowns, looking down at himself just before Finn pushes him back behind the couch. “Hey!”

“He did get in a bar fight,” Finn says quickly. “A bad one.”

“With what, baby fists?” Rey asks, grinning brightly at her best friend. “It’s fine, I’m happy for you.”

“Really?”

Finn sounds genuinely surprised, frowning at her as she continues to grin at the two. Poe’s since come up from behind the couch, and is leaning back over it. “What? Y-you don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?” she asks.

“… you don’t think it’s weird that I’m fucking your former boss?”

“He was my boss for a day,” Rey insists, grinning at the two as Poe drops a kiss onto Finn’s shoulder. “You’re adorable. Better tell BB, though, before they have an aneurism trying to get you two together.”

“They’ve been trying to get us together?” Poe asks, frowning.

She wants to throw her phone. “Yes,” she says slowly, as if talking to a child.

“That explains a lot…”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Go have lunch with them or something. Somewhere preferably outside, where their shrieking won’t disturb too many people.”

“Good idea.” Finn’s smile is radiant, and she smiles back at him.

She glances at the clock. “I think I have to start getting ready soon, I think. Ren wants to redo my entire face and do something with my hair. I’ll talk to you soon, all right? Have fun … doing whatever you’re doing.”

“Him,” Poe says bluntly. He gets a pillow to the face for that one.

Rey just laughs, shaking her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ren standing in the doorway to the bedroom, and waves goodbye. “I’ll text you later, all right?”

“All right, peanut. Have fun! Love you!” Finn says, grinning as Poe drops a kiss onto his temple. Rey hangs up a moment later, setting her phone aside and looking towards Ren. “Hey.”

“Hello.” His tone is a bit cooler. “Who was that?”

“My best friend,” she explains, sitting up a bit more from where she’d been half-lying-down, half-sitting up. “Do I need to get ready?”

“Not yet,” he explains. “I’ll need to redo your eye makeup, but as far as face you’re good to go.”

“Oh, great,” she replies. “Do I need to shower or anything?”

“Your hair will stay better if you don’t wash it directly before hand,” he explains.

“Is there any reason as to why you’re standing in the doorway of the bedroom?” she asks, a little sarcasm in her voice.

“No,” he says simply. “I was thinking of calling some wine up. Would you like some?”

“Pre-gaming?” she asks with a bit of a laugh.

“… what?” he asks, frowning at her.

She stares at him for a while, thinking that he’s kidding with her, but apparently he’s not. She snorts, shaking her head and standing. “Nothing. Wine would be lovely.”

“Red or white?”

“White. Don’t care what you pick,” she replies.

He just nods, and when she looks back up he’s gone and she hears him speaking to room service in the other room.

-

The wine’s sweet and light as she walks around, sipping it from the glass in her hand as she walks into the closet. “Ren, which shoes do I wear with it?”

“Louboutin,” he calls back.

“Why did I know you were going to say that?” is her response as she sets the glass of wine on the shelf and reaches for the box of black platform pumps. The gown’s skirt will hide the majority of the shoe, so there’s no reason to go with crystals or any sort of decoration. She grabs the plainest, highest ones she can find, remembering that the skirt had pooled around her feet. If the heels lift her up a bit, there’s a chance it won’t brush the ground as much and then her chances of tripping will be lowered significantly.

'How about these?' she goes to ask, but she barely has “How,” out of her mouth before he’s in there with her, looking at the shoes and nodding simply.

“Good,” he replies.

“Great,” she breathes.

“Fine.”

“Okay.” She steps around him, setting the shoes on the bed next to the dress that’s been laid out. His tux is set next to it, impeccably starched and proper, and she idly thinks that she’s never seen him wear one before. Suits, yes. Three piece suits, occasionally. But never a tux.

A part of her’s eager to see it.

She moves to the side, pulling her hair over her shoulder as she walks back to get her wine. She turns and finds that he’s already holding it, offering it to her. She can just faintly see her lip marks on the edge of the glass, and takes it from him with a sheepish smile.

“Is there a way to avoid this?” she asks, pointing to the marks.

“Not drinking,” he says simply. “Or better lipstick.”

“Great,” she mutters, taking another sip of wine. “What do you want to do with my hair?”

“I was thinking just curling it,” he admits. “Though I can do makeup, I’m awful when it comes to hair.”

“Really?” she asks, frowning. “But yours is beautiful.”

It comes out before she can stop it, and her eyes dart to the glass of wine in her hand as her cheeks flush red. She really should put this down, if it’s causing her to say things like that.

To her surprise, he just chuckles. “I know men’s hair and products. Women’s aren’t my forte.”

She nods, downing the rest of the wine and handing the glass to him before she walks into the other room, trying to keep herself from spontaneously combusting of embarrassment. “Oh, my God.”

“Hux drunkenly told me he’d fuck me.”

That causes her to nearly trip and land right into the glass coffee table. “What?” she demands as he walks by her and sets the wine glasses back on the cart that had been brought up with the drinks.

“I’m just saying, as far as drunken confessions go, yours is not the worst.”

“Hux?” she asks, incredulous.

“Hux,” Ren replies as he walks back towards her, hands in his pockets as he smirks.

“Redhead Hux?” she asks again, needing clarification.

“The very same,” he tells her. “Come on, let’s get started on your hair. Do you know how well it holds curl?”

“Pretty well.” She’d curled it for prom. Or, rather, she had the salon curl it for prom.

He nods. “Bathroom,” he directs, once she spends a good moment just standing there for his next direction.

“Right,” she mutters, trying to hide the flush from her cheeks as she walks towards the bathroom and the curling wand heating up on the counter.

-

It takes him an hour to do her hair. His touch is light as he picks and choses pieces of her dark brown locks to curl and play with. He’s right; for once, Kylo Ren has no idea what he’s doing. She can tell by the way he frowns at the tool in his hand and meets her gaze in the mirror that while he’s used to doing makeup on another person, when it comes to hair on someone else he’s completely clueless.

When he’s finished, though, she has a somewhat piecey, curled style parted down the middle. Deeming her finished, he starts to redo her eyes, wiping the makeup away as carefully as he can without ruining the foundation around it.

She lets him poke and prod at her as he swipes color across her lids, and lets him wipe at her lips to remove the rose color she’d worn earlier that day and stained the wine glass with. He pops open a dark, blood red color, much like Enna had worn the day before. After he swipes it across her bottom lip, she opens her eyes to the sensation of the wipe against her mouth again. “What-“

“Too dramatic,” he tells her, reaching for the same rose color that he’d gone for before. “This is better.”

“All right.” She’s a bit confused, but lets him tilt her chin up so that he can apply the color.

He turns her towards the mirror when he’s finished and moves away to go get dressed himself.

She stares at her reflection. “… what did you do?” she calls, frowning at her own face.

“What do you mean what did I do?” he asks, coming back with his dress shirt in his hands.

“You didn’t do anything,” she says, glancing back at herself. “Did you even put makeup on?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “But the best looks are the ones where you can’t tell whether someone’s wearing makeup at all.”

She looks back in the mirror, frowning at herself. She’d been expecting something black and vampy, something to go with the blood-red lipstick he’d picked up before and then wiped off. But instead her eyes are swiped in nudes, the only suggestion of makeup the fact that her lashes are significantly longer. She leans closer, blinking at her reflection.

Her eyes do look bigger, she realizes, and then she sees the thin line of eyeliner around them. She leans back, blinking, and smacks her lips. They look perhaps a bit pinker than her natural color, and she notices that he’s over-outlined them just slightly.

Despite the amount of makeup she’s wearing, she looks like herself. It’s a far cry from the day before, where though she’d liked it, she looked like a better, far more model-like version of herself.

“Is it enough?” she calls into the other room. “Like, is it formal enough?”

“With the dress, yes,” he calls back. When she sees him next, it’s when she walks into the other room. He’s changed into his pants, and is pulling the dress shirt over his bare shoulders. She feels her heart skip a beat a the glimpse of muscles and moles, and watches him as he turns to button his shirt. “It’s fine, get your dress on.”

She nods, taking it into the other room and shedding her sweatpants and t-shirt. She tugs the underpiece of the dress up her hips and over her lingerie, unbuckling the bra and setting it on top of her suitcase before pulling the rest of the dress up her shoulders. She hears him before she sees him, hearing his formal shoes on the hardwood floor as he walks towards her. She wordlessly holds her hair up as he buttons her, and turns when he’s finished.

“All right?” she asks, looking down at herself.

“You should’ve put your shoes on beforehand,” he tells her.

She blinks at him, before throwing her hands up. “Now you tell me?” she demands, rolling her eyes at him before walking into the other room, holding her dress in her hands as she grabs the shoes and tries to pull the dress up enough to slip them on. “All right, fine, you’re right, I should’ve-“

“Sit,” he orders, gesturing to the bed.

She hesitates, but does as asked, sitting down as gently as she can in the dress. It’s not the most comfortable dress she’s ever worn, but it’s a far cry from the corset that she’d been laced up in, so she’ll take it.

She watches as kneels before her. He pulls the box of shoes down, and pulls the left one out. Her breath catches as he takes her foot in his hand, guiding it into the black leather pump. She doesn’t breathe as he does it to her other foot, hands warm and gentle with her. She’s lightheaded by the time he finishes putting her shoes on for her, and after he finishes he gets up off of his knees and offers his hand to her. She takes it and lets herself be pulled up onto the heels, testing them as she goes. They’re far from comfortable, but she’ll try her best to walk in them.

His hand keeping her steady is helping significantly, and she’s reluctant to let it go as he walks into the other room. She stands there, unsure of whether she can walk as he returns with her phone and the clutch she’d had the previous outing. He transfers everything for her, putting her lipstick in as well before handing her the new YSL black leather clutch. “Shall we? The car should be waiting downstairs.”

She just nods, taking the clutch from him and resisting the urge to bite her lip as she adjusts his bow tie one more time.

He looks incredible, she thinks as she starts walking behind him. She realizes the importance of a tailor now, and flushes as she sees him walk in front of her, the same ass she’d seen in the shower that morning highlighted spectacularly by his black pants.

She nearly trips, yelping softly as the heel catches on the carpet of the hotel hallway. He’s beside her in a heartbeat, hand slipping around her waist as he leads her to the elevators.

“What am I going to do with you?” he mutters, sounding just a bit annoyed with her as she steps into the elevator with his hand still on her waist.

“Help me walk,” she replies. “Because I’m not sure I can do it without you.”

She can see his smirk in the reflective surface of the elevator, and she’s not entirely sure that it’s kind. “I’ll do my best,” he says, and she’s relieved to hear that it sounds like a promise.

True to his word, he helps her walk out to the car and helps her into it. She follows his advice from the day before and sits sideways, swinging her legs in. He gets in on the other side, and she watches as the city lights up around them, night falling as they drive to the palace that’s been rented for the gala.

“You look beautiful.”

It’s so soft she’s not entirely sure he actually said it. She whips her head around to stare at him, but she finds him on his phone, fingers tapping out a message to some designer or someone or other. When another few heartbeats pass without so much as a glance her way, or any sort of acknowledgement that he’d said it, she returns to looking out the window as the city passes, convincing herself that she hadn’t heard anything at all.

Chapter Text

She understands now. She fully understands why Hux dropped a binder onto her desk, full of faces and names and information. She understands why she was told to memorize it for the trip as soon as she steps out of the car, clutching her bag close and relying perhaps a bit too much on Ren’s hand to guide her through the entrance of Versailles.

The gala’s in the Cotelle Gallery, a room with dozens of paintings and entrances out into the gardens. Admittedly, it’s a lot smaller than Rey was expecting, but it’s gorgeous nonetheless as Ren leads her through to the gallery. There's a bar set up to the right, and the rest of the room is furnished with plush couches and high tables. There are hundreds of people around her, almost all of whom she recognizes from the binder, and she realizes about fifteen minutes into walking with Ren that the reason she needs to know their names is because Ren doesn't know them. At all.

“Left,” he mutters, and her head snaps to the left, following his gaze.

“Anderson Michaelis,” she mumbles back. “The woman on his arm is Emily, the woman he left his wife for.”

Ren’s little closed-mouth smile is forced as he extends his hand to the ambassador, shaking his before kissing the woman’s hand. “Anderson, Emily, pleasure to see you. Thank you for coming.”

She scans the crowd, desperate for something to drink. Champagne, water, anything at this point. Ren sees her looking around and bends, lips against her ear.

“Get me a glass of red, and a water,” he mutters. “Bartender’s suggestion. Tell him it’s for me.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, nodding before turning and walking towards the bar.

She doesn’t even make it twenty feet through the bustling people before she hears, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Rey turns, looking around the room for owner of the voice she’s heard unfortunately a little too much over the past few months. His red hair makes him easy to find, and she smiles in what she hopes is an amiable way as he starts walking towards her in his pristine all-black tux, martini in hand.

“Scavenger?” he demands, eyes wide as he stares at her, looking her up and down.

Her smile broadens slightly, and she gestures down to herself. “A little different from what I usually wear, huh?”

“I thought he’d fired you.”

She looks up from herself, blinking in confusion. “…. Sorry?”

“Pictures of you and Ren have been circulating the internet,” he explains. “Gossip columns, newspapers, you name it. I thought he’d fired you and hired someone who actually has a fashion sense.” He looks her up and down, smirk serpentine. “I can see I was mistaken.”

Pictures. Pictures of her and Ren. Her blood runs cold as she stares at him, not quite in shock but certainly surprise as his smirk turns into something almost sweet.

“What does Ren have you fetching?” Hux asks, walking past her to the bar she’d almost made it to. “Champagne? Martini? Whiskey?”

“Red wine,” she says, perhaps a bit more scathingly than she’d intended.

“Red wine for Kylo Ren and your best champagne for the lady,” Hux tells the bartender, and Rey walks up to take the glasses from him. She doesn’t even wrap her fingers around the stems of the glass before Hux is taking her fingers and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles, light eyes meeting hers.

“You clean up spectacularly,” he mutters against her skin.

She has to resist the incredibly tempting urge to take advantage of her hand near his mouth, and sock him. It would be easy. Nothing would stain, he’s wearing all black after all. But she just smiles, trying to replicate the same serpentine way he’d smiled at her, and nods.

“Thank you.” It’s cold, sickeningly sweet as she pulls her hand away from him.

It’s not a second later that she feels a familiar hand on the small of her back, and she wants to cry in relief. She’s not entirely sure how she’d resist hitting the man in front of her for much longer.

“I thought I told you to get drinks.”

“And here they are.” She grabs the glasses and hands his wine to him. “Sorry, I ran into-“

“Hux,” Ren greets. “Pleasure to see you here. I trust the flight wasn’t too awful?”

“Not at all,” Hux replies, and Rey looks back at the redhead at the change in his voice. What had been charming before is now gone, and he’s looking at the editor-in-chief and his assistant with narrowed eyes. “It went quite well.”

“That’s good to hear,” Ren replies. “If you excuse us, I need Rey. She’s my assistant, after all.”

“Yes, right, your assistant.” The word ‘assistant’ is nearly hissed, and Rey wants to lean into Ren’s hand, her grip tightening on the champagne flute to the point of nearly breaking it.

She looks to the side, and notices that Ren’s exhibiting spectacular self-control for being around Hux for more than 30 seconds; although his hand is tight on the glass of wine, it hasn’t shattered yet.

“Come on, I need you,” Ren mutters. “I’ll see you along, Hux.”

“See you later,” Hux offers flatly, and when Rey looks over his shoulder at him, she notices that he’s still watching them.

“More names?” she questions as Ren leads her away.

“That as well,” he mumbles. “But I really just used you as an excuse to get away from him.”

She smirks, taking a sip of her champagne as he lets go of her and lets her just walk beside him.

-

She’s gone for too long. What should’ve taken, at most, five minutes with travel included takes at least ten, and he’s bullshitted two greetings since she’s left. He excuses himself from the very excitable German executive editor and makes his way towards the bar, frowning as he looks for her.

When he spots her, his blood boils hot when he sees Hux’s lips against her hand. He stalks forward, smiling in what he hopes is a non-threatening way to those who greet him as he pass, but he honestly can’t be sure. He wants to kill, right now, and he knows his first target.

She’s just pulled her hand away from the executive editor’s lips when he steps up beside her and puts his hand on her lower back. The difference is immediate; against his fingers, he feels her move from tense to relaxed in a split second, and she leans back against his hand. He allows himself a smirk at her acceptance of the possessive gesture, and glances down at her. “I thought I told you to get drinks.” He purposefully keeps his voice a bit cold, a bit harsh.

“And here they are.” His wine is handed to him by slender fingers, and he takes the glass from her, eyes moving to his executive editor. “Sorry, I ran into-“

“Hux,” he greets, voice still like ice. “Pleasure to see you here. I trust the flight wasn’t too awful?”

The man changes in an instant; it’s like a light switch, the way his smile flickers out and his back straightens, all charm gone in a flash. “Not at all. It went quite well.” His voice is flat, completely devoid of emotion.

Ren forces himself to smile at the other man. Keep it amiable, keep it civil. Though he could no doubt afford another tux, the hassle of tailoring is something he doesn’t really want to go through again. Though he can feel the glass protesting beneath his grip, he really would much prefer it not break.

“That’s good to hear,” he replies. “If you excuse us, I need Rey. She’s my assistant, after all.”

“Yes, right, your assistant.” Hux hisses the word, and Ren glares openly at him, hand tightening on Rey’s back. He glances down at her, and notices that her fingers are tight on her flute too, and he hides a fond smirk.

“Come on, I need you,” he mutters to her. It’s not a lie; he can remember faces well enough, but names are tricky. Especially when it comes to the pronunciation of the Dutch and German names. “I’ll see you along, Hux.”

“See you later,” the executive editor adds weakly, and Kylo pulls Rey along with him, away from the redhead.

“More names?” she asks as soon as they’re a safe distance away.

“That as well,” he admits. “But I really just used you as an excuse to get away from him.”

He lets her go, letting her walk just beside him. “We have a preview party tomorrow morning before the Valentino show. When we get back, I need you to call his assistant and confirm.”

“Already done. We need to be there at 9:30.”

He glances down at her. She’s sipping on the champagne, eyes roaming the room. “Did you really?”

“… yes?” she asks, turning and blinking up at him with warm brown eyes. “You didn’t put times on the schedule for the preview parties. Some came before the show, some came after, so I called this afternoon to confirm them.”

He stares at her, impressed. He hadn’t actually intended to leave the times off; it was a misprint, perhaps. “…. Good,” he says simply, looking out to the crowd. He lets himself smile a bit as he sees Elliot making his way towards them. The man’s in a black tuxedo jacket embroidered with silver flowers; Dolce and Gabbana, if Ren can recall correctly. He sticks out like a sore thumb in the middle of the sea of black jackets, but then again, it’s Elliot. The man’s personality alone sticks out like a sore thumb in the middle of the editors.

“Elliot,” Ren greets as the man walks towards them. “You look wonderful.”

“And you look drop-dead handsome as always, Kylo,” the man replies, flashing a grin before extending his martini to the other editor-in-chief. “Hold this, I need to look at your gorgeous assistant.”

Ren looks down at Rey as she nearly spills champagne over herself for the second time in two days. “It’s nothing, really, I’m not even wearing that much makeup-“

“Let him look at you.”

Her eyes snap up to him at his order, and he nods. “Go on, show him.”

Elliot’s close to vibrating as Rey does a little turn in her high heels. Ren wishes that the other editor had handed his drink to the male assistant at his side instead of himself, because he can see that Rey’s unsure in the heels as she turns. She manages, though, and smiles shyly as Elliot claps happily.

“Beautiful, just beautiful,” the British man says, grinning.

Kylo can’t help but agree, looking down at his assistant. He remembers, very well, the moment she’d come out with the dress on, the lace shoulders falling from her as she held the fabric to her chest. While the other black dress was gorgeous, this showed more skin and highlighted her more. He has to admit he likes what he sees; the swathes of pale skin just barely covered in lace, the hint of her legs through the sheer skirt. He wouldn’t have been able to see as much of her in the other dresses, though this one still leaves a good bit to the imagination.

And he has, admittedly, imagined it, despite how completely and utterly shit it makes him feel to be thinking about her that way.

He takes nearly a gulp of his wine as Elliot takes his martini back, blathering to Rey about something. To his assistant’s credit, she’s listening intently, seeming incredibly interested in what the other man has to say. He tunes it out after a moment, instead looking around for some of the other editors.

He spots the German editor, and he knows he’s seen the Scandinavian editor somewhere around here. The Spanish editor, a lovely older woman, is walking around somewhere he’s certain.

“Ren?”

“Hm?” he asks, looking down to where Rey is looking up at him curiously.

“Are you all right?” she asks, pretty lips turning down.

He stares at her as she frowns at him in concern. “… yeah, fine,” he mutters. “It’s just a lot of people.”

“Ben!”

He freezes, stiffening immediately as his blood runs cold. He stands statue-still as Rey frowns, looking around him for the speaker.

“It’s Kylo, dear.”

“Ben’s on his birth certificate, I’m gonna call him Ben if I want to.”

He can practically see his mother rolling her eyes, and he turns to check to see if he’s correct. Sure enough, she’s just finishing the eyeroll, and he looks down at the shorter woman who’s holding onto his father’s arm. “Hello, mother.”

“Kylo,” she greets, and he swoops down to kiss her cheek. She smells like Chanel No5, the perfume familiar and classic to him. She’s worn it for as long as he can remember, much of his earlier memories saturated in the scent. As soon as he kisses her cheek, he pulls back to look at her. She’s wearing a black silk and lace dress he recognizes from the Givenchy collection Elliot had bashed that morning, and now he understands why; though it’s perfect for his modest mother, he’d much rather Rey wear something that doesn’t cover quite as much skin.

“Ben,” his father greets, and extends his hand. Kylo takes it, squeezing perhaps a bit harder than strictly necessary.

“Dad,” he says formally before letting go. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“He’s my plus one,” his mother explains, peering around him to look at Rey. Or, at least he thinks it’s Rey. “Who’s this?”

He feels Rey step up beside him, and turns to see her putting on her best, sweetest smile – the one that makes his heart do some kind of cha-cha-tango thing in his chest every time she directs it towards him. Which is, admittedly, very rarely. “Mother, Dad, this is my new assistant, Rey. Rey, this is my mother, Leia Organa, the previous editor-in-chief of General Fashion. And my father-“

“Han Solo, the model,” Rey interjects, and he looks down to watch her cheeks as they turn bright red. “I-it’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Kylo smirks at her stutter, and takes her glass for her so she can shake their hands. She seems particularly flustered around his father, who smirks and winks at her. It makes sense, admittedly; loathe as Kylo is to admit it, he knows his father was a pretty big sex symbol in the 70's and 80's. Even if she has no idea who his mother is, she's sure to know his father, at least.

“Pleasure’s all ours,” Han replies, throwing a charming grin her way. “I gotta say, Ben, I like her a lot better than that bitchy redhead you had last time. Hutt, was it?”

The sound that comes from Rey is not the most graceful, or the most classy, but Kylo smirks when he hears it - it's a horrible attempt at covering her laughter. “Hux, Dad. I like her much, much better too,” he says, glancing down at her. “For one, she’s actually competent and doesn’t seem to have a stick up her ass.”

“Kylo!” His mother insists as Rey stares up at him, seemingly torn between showing her laughter and keeping a straight face, where his father straight up chuckles.

“He’s right,” Han replies before jerking his head towards the bar. “C’mon, I need whiskey if I’m going to be spoken at in Swedish one more time.”

“It was lovely to meet you,” Leia says, smiling at Rey before looking towards her son. “Call us for lunch sometime this week, if you’re not full with shows? Or have her call us, if you’re too busy.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kylo says, and he finds that he means it. It’s been a while since he’d seen his parents, given that his mother lives in the city they’re currently staying in. His father’s harder to pin down, harder to track with the few jobs that are still being offered to him.

He bends and gives her another kiss to the cheek, and watches as the older couple moves through the crowd. After the third editor comes up to his mother to greet her, Kylo smirks as he sees his father give up and make a bee-line towards the bar.

“Your father’s Han Solo.”

“Yes,” he says simply, looking back down at the woman beside him who’s staring after his parents the best that she can through the mass of editors, benefactors, models and other important people. “Any tabloid could’ve told you that.”

“I told you, I don’t read that shit,” she says as she takes a sip of her drink. The curse word’s a surprisingly endearing contrast to the $90 lipstick, Dom Perignon, and what he’s sure is a fairly nice champagne glass.

“I’m glad for it,” he admits. “You’ll find a lot of unflattering things with my name attached to them. All lies, of course.”

That in itself is a lie, but she doesn’t have to know that.

He turns and spots a couple walking towards them, and he frowns, leaning down to her as he watches the older man and a significantly younger woman walk towards him.

She’s apparently in the middle of a sip because she nearly chokes. A few people around them turn at her struggling, and he immediately places his hand on her back, rubbing absentmindedly to help her. She’s fine within seconds, though, and stares at the couple making their way towards them with bright smiles. “Oh, fuck, um-“

“Rey,” he says, warningly.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, um,” she says as they’re about five steps away.

“Kylo Ren!” the man exclaims in an Italian accent, smile too big and teeth too white to be entirely natural.

It’s too late, he realizes, and he opens his mouth to give the best generic greeting he can when suddenly her hand’s at his shoulder and pulling him down.

He freezes as he feels her lips on his cheek, warm against his skin before she moves her lips to his ear.

“Leonardo Jacobs, one of the benefactors for this evening,” she whispers softly. “The woman is Grace, his daughter, an up-and-coming model, currently with Dior.”

With that, she presses a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, and pulls back to give him that soft, sweet smile he wishes she used towards him more often. “Excuse moi,” she says to the two, taking the now almost-empty wine glass from him. “I’ll be right back.”

With that, she’s gone, moving through the crowd. People stare as she moves by them, and he can’t help the sudden sharp pang of jealousy he feels when she greets some of them with a smile.

“Ren, I haven’t seen you in months!” The man says, beaming brightly as he reaches to clasp Kylo’s hand in both of his. The woman, Grace, smiles amiably as she introduces herself. But he isn’t paying much attention to the pretty woman, his mind focused on another.

-

She just kissed her boss. Well, almost. A cheek kiss and a corner of the mouth kiss didn't combine to make one full-on kiss, did they?

Rey hurries away from the scene as quickly as she can, clutching both glasses in her fingers. She smiles and greets a few people who stop her to compliment her on her dress in varying languages, and she answers as best as she can before going to drop the glasses on a nearby tray.

It’s too hot, and there are too many people, and she’s suddenly incredibly grateful for the location of the gala as she moves outside towards the gardens, trying to keep her breathing and her blush under control.

Fuck. She’s definitely going to be fired within the next 24 hours, she’s absolutely sure of it. Between that morning, and just now.

She finds a bench and sits, the marble cold beneath the thin, nearly-not-there-at-all fabric of the skirt. It’s a relief to her hot skin, though, and she plants her palms on the seat beside her, trying to calm her heart rate. She manages to succeed after a few moments of deep breathing, letting out a scared little laugh as she feels herself calm a bit.

It doesn’t last long.

Her phone starts ringing insistently in her clutch, and she scrambles with the clasp to get the phone in time. She swipes without really looking at the name, putting the phone to her ear and letting out a breathy, “Hello?”

“I need you.”

Her heart stops at Ren’s voice, and she closes her eyes against the wave of heat that comes with his tone and the words themselves. “I’ll be right there. I just ... I need two seconds, all right?”

“Did something happen?” He sounds urgent now. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Ren, it’s just … I’m not used to that many people,” she breathes, gathering her clutch and standing. “I’ll be right there, I’m fine. Can you bullshit for two minutes?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll be there in two.” She hangs up quickly, slipping her phone into her clutch and starting to walk back towards the gala. She’s making her way up the steps, skirt clutched in her hands, when there’s a hand at her elbow.

Rey turns quickly, nearly tripping over her own feet as she stares down at the Italian man gazing up at her. “Ciao, bella,” he says, smile wide.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Renaldi, I need to go find Kylo-“ she says, stopping herself when she realizes she’d said her boss’s first name instead of his last.

“Ren’s a big boy, he can handle himself for a few minutes,” Tony says, his hand falling from her arm. “I saw you walk in. I’ve been waiting to tell you how stunningly beautiful you look all night.”

She offers the best smile she can, though she’s entirely sure it comes off as more of a grimace than a smile. “Thank you, that’s very kind.” She glances towards the room again, eyes searching for Ren. “But really, I need to-“

“He’s fine,” the man says. “He’s talking to Enna.”

“Oh.” Well, there goes her escape route. She stands there awkwardly as the man grabs two flutes from a passing tray, offering the rose champagne to her.

“You do look beautiful,” he tells her, and she looks down at the bubbles in the glass.

“Thank you,” she repeats. “I’m not used to things like this.” She plucks at the thin skirt, watching as it moves in the air and then settles back down around her heels.

“Well, it’s a good look.”

She resists the urge to step back as he steps closer, and finds herself being crowded against the glass doors of the gallery. In defense, she lifts one leg slightly, letting most of her weight rest against the door as she prepares to give him a firm kick in the foot with her Louboutin if he gets too close.

“How long are you in Paris?” he asks, and she can smell his cologne. Instantly, she finds herself comparing it to Ren’s; his is a sharp, almost herbal smell that nearly overwhelms her whereas Ren’s is darker, sweeter and warmer.

She bites her lip as she answers, “Just the week.”

“Does Ren have you going to everything he’s going to?” he asks, tilting his head. Whatever gel or wax or whatever he’d put in his hair fails as a dark curl falls across his forehead, and she fakes a smile.

“Yes, everything. I’m his assistant.”

The man offers a light smirk and a sort of breathy chuckle. “His assistant, huh? I got the impression you were more.”

She stares at him, shoulders tight as she asks, “Sorry?”

“You can do a lot better than him,” he goes on. “I bet the man’s a dead fish in bed, isn’t he? Probably so deprived he doesn’t even last ten minutes. A beautiful girl like you deserves someone more than him, don’t you think?”

She gapes at him, foot still poised to kick him, though out of pure shock she doesn’t. “You think that we’re-?”

His eyes widen. “Oh, so you’re not fucking him, then? Huh, Ren’s even more pathetic than I thought he would be. If you were my assistant, I would’ve put that option on the table outright.”

“Well, I’m not your assistant,” she says coldly once she regains control of her tongue. It takes some effort to speak, since she’s sure she’s shaking.

“You could be,” Tony offers with a sweet smile that doesn’t match his previous words at all. “Live in a beautiful villa in Italy, visit Paris every weekend. London, too. Milan, Rome, Greece. You could wear things like this every day." He touches the skirt of her dress, and she moves her hips back a bit, contorting herself slightly to pull the fabric from his fingers.

“Forgive me for declining,” she replies flatly. “I’d much rather stay with Kylo.”

“Kylo? So he’s Kylo?” he asks, smirking. “You sure you’re not fucking him? You two have to be closer than editor and assistant if he has you calling him ‘Kylo’.”

She doesn’t kick him. She doesn’t know how sturdy the heels are, and she really doesn’t want to risk breaking something that already feels incredibly thin and teetering beneath her feet.

But she does throw the champagne in his face as the old door gives way behind her. For half a heartbeat she’s falling backward, and then someone just behind her is grabbing her upper arms. She breathes a sigh of relief as she recognizes the smell of Ren’s cologne.

“What’s going on here?”

She freezes as he rights her seemingly without effort. Tony’s still sputtering as champagne drips from his face and hair and onto his white dress shirt.

“Your little bitch threw her champagne at me!” he hisses, catching the attention of several other guests at the gala. Rey's never wanted to sink into a hole so much in her entire life, not even after she peed her pants laughing in math class in junior high. She lets herself be pulled back against Ren's chest, lifting her chin a way she hopes is defiant as she glares at the Italian editor with all she has.

“I trust she had good reason to,” Ren says from above her, and she can feel his voice as it reverberates in his chest, low and intimidating. “Rey.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies as he pushes her away from him. She steps to his side immediately, and lets the empty champagne glass be taken from her fingers by a passerby.

“Two upsets in two days,” Ren announces simply. “I’m starting to think you’re a bit of a troublemaker, Tony. Should I tell Snoke that you’re using up his precious resources to flirt with other editors’ assistants? Or should I keep quiet? What do you think?”

Tony stares at him. “Snoke-“ he starts.

“The decision is yours,” Ren finishes. “You speak to her again, I’m putting in the call. I won’t have you harassing my assistant, is that clear?”

There’s a moment of tense silence, the rest of the gala’s guests having quieted to hear the drama. And then Tony’s answering with a terse, “Yes.”

“Good. I’ll have my assistant find your hotel and pay for the dry cleaning. Use my personal card,” he says, the last bit directed towards Rey.

She nods slightly, watching as the Italian glares her way. She’s fighting the urge to fight or flight, her pulse fluttering like a hummingbird. She can feel Ren’s hand on her back, again, warm and comforting even as stiff as she is from the other man’s accusations.

“Come on, I want to speak to Enna,” Ren mutters, guiding her away from the dripping Italian editor and through the crowd of people who part for them like the Red Sea.

They’re halfway across the gallery when he leans in closer. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she says, perhaps a bit harshly.

“Did he touch you?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s one problem we don’t need handled,” he mumbles. “Do I want to know why you threw champagne at a very high-profile editor-in-chief?”

“He thinks we’re fucking,” she says bluntly, unintentionally accentuating the ‘ck’ sound.

Her boss has gone quiet beside her, and she looks up to find his face completely and utterly unreadable. She bites her lip, thinking that she said the entirely wrong thing when he just nods.

“Enna,” he greets as they approach the platinum blonde dressed in white.

“Ren,” the woman greets cautiously. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” Ren says simply. “But we’re fine.”

Rey stands at his side as the conversation switches into something else, and she sees the Italian editor move towards the rest room out of the corner of his eye, a girl in a short black dress following after him quickly. She returns her gaze to the man beside her as he speaks in French with the other woman. Though she doesn’t want to at all, wanting the warmth and comfort he's offered her since they arrived in Paris after the ordeal, she takes half a step away from him.

-

The rest of the night goes without incident. She’s surprised that they actually have food there, and that it’s actually good. She finds a place to sit down outside for a good fifteen minutes after Ren tells her to go eat before she faints, and consumes what she’s sure is a good fourth of her weight in good cheese and wonderful French snacks. There’s no dinner, or main course, but there are enough small bites and desserts to sate her as she walks around with Ren and greets editors, benefactors, and ambassadors. He remembers a few on his own, but for the most part she’s whispering names to him before he goes in to greet them.

Nothing of the champagne-soaked Italian editor is mentioned, and the people she meets seem amiable at the least. She gets a few comments on her dress, and lets Ren explain the outfit for her. Fashion jargon flies over her head, so she just smiles and nods politely and thanks who compliments her on it in as many corresponding languages as she can.

By the end of the night, her feet are hurting something awful. She’s about to cry as midnight rolls around. As cliché as she thinks it might be, she’s incredibly glad Ren’s decided to pull a Cinderella as he walks her to the car and helps her into it.

She’s actually about to cry, she thinks as she reaches down to rub at the ankle strap holding her heel on. She’s broken her arm and her wrist before, but she’s actually about to cry from a pair of heels. She nearly laughs at herself.

Her fingers find the strap, fiddling with the small buckle, but with the skirt of her gown she can’t see what she’s doing and nearly whines in frustration. Then again, taking the shoes off wouldn’t be the best idea; she’s entirely sure that if she pulls them off, blood will start spurting from her toes and heel. And while that would make a point to the man sitting beside her, she’s not inclined to ruin a thousand dollar pair of shoes so easily. So she leans back, sighing softly.

“I can’t walk,” she tells him. “I actually can’t walk.”

“Have you suddenly become paralyzed?” he asks as the car pulls away, the golden lights of the palace casting his already sharp face into even clearer contrast. He’s beautiful, she thinks with a sudden sharp clarity that has heat rushing to her cheeks at the realization. She doesn’t have long to linger in it, though, since her feet throb again and she nearly cries.

“No, but these damn shoes-“

“Then take them off.”

“I can’t,” she insists. “I can’t reach them with the gown on.”

“Do you think you can walk into the hotel?” he asks.

She hesitates, thinking about the walk to the elevator and the walk down the hallway to their room. She shakes her head. “I honestly don’t know.”

He stares at her as she reaches down to struggle again with the buckle. Part of her’s expecting him to lean down and help her, but it would be useless anyway – the buckle’s small enough that she can’t feel her way around it in the darkness of the Bentley. She huffs in frustration and resorts to leaning back and trying to get as much weight off of her feet as possible.

“Fuck,” she sighs, breath nearly hitching.

There’s a soft laugh from beside her, and she glances over at Ren. The backseat’s dark enough that she can see his reflection in the window, and he’s smiling as they pass the French countryside on their way back to the hotel.

“You laugh, you get a prank call sent to Marc Jacobs,” she snarls. “I’ll put the blame on you.” She reaches down to rub at what she can of her feet.

He looks down at her and she turns to gaze up at him as he genuinely smirks at her. “A prank call?” he asks. “That’s your great revenge?”

“I’m sure I can come up with something else later,” she mutters.

He chuckles again, and it’s a nice sound, she thinks, as the backseat falls silent.

-

He feels a bit bad as he helps her out of the car, hearing her soft hissing at what he's sure is her very sore and very swollen feet. He actually has to help her to the elevator. She apologizes what he counts as a minimum of twenty times, and curses the heels about twenty three. He’s trying hard not to laugh as he guides her into the elevator, his hand on her waist and her weight mostly against him. He doesn’t mind at all, though he knows as her boss he probably should.

“I don’t care who we’re seeing tomorrow, I’m wearing flats,” she mumbles as she hobbles to the elevator.

He just smirks, looking at her reflection in the golden doors as she bends in an attempt to ease her feet slightly, fingers plucking at the straps.

She sighs as they hit the carpet of the hallway, though he knows she’ll likely hiss again when they reach the hardwood floor of their suite.

“Couch,” he directs as soon as he opens the door.

“Fine with me,” she breathes as she moves from his side and collapses onto the couch, propping her Louboutin-covered feet up on the coffee table. He smirks at the image of complete inelegance she’s giving off while dressed in her designer clothes.

He walks into the bedroom, undoing his bow tie and unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket as he makes his way into the bathroom. One of the benefits of having the suite is the large tub that it offers, right by the window overlooking the city. He pushes the plug down and starts the cold water, dropping a small bit of the lavender and vanilla hotel bath oil into the water before walking back out to the living room.

“What’s that?” she asks, frowning as she sits up a little bit, pushing herself up on the heels of her hands against the couch.

“A bath,” he explains as he sheds his jacket. “As oblivious as you are to most things, I’m sure you’ve had one before.”

“Why are you running a bath?” she asks, stilling as he kneels beside her. She takes her feet off of the glass coffee table, the skirt of her dress falling down around her heels.

“Hold your skirt up,” he orders, and she obeys. He reaches forward and pulls at the straps holding her shoes on, unbuckling them and sliding the first shoe off before starting to work on the second shoe. The sound she makes sounds almost like a sob, and he looks up to see that she’s just smiling in relief.

“Thank you,” she says softly as he pulls the other one off and sets them both aside.

“You’re wearing flats tomorrow,” he tells her. “The bath is running because the cold water will help with the throbbing and inflammation. If you sit on the edge and put your feet in, it will help with the pain.”

“You’re a god,” she breathes, bending to rest her forehead on her knees.

“I thought I was Satan?” he asks, chuckling as he stands. He notices she stills at the nickname. He walks back into the bedroom to pull his dress shirt off, unbuttoning it as she follows him.

“You know about that?” she questions as she walks into the bedroom.

“Of course I do.”

He knows. He knows very well what other people call him behind his back. He might be busy, but he’s not oblivious. The Devil, Satan, and a slew of other not-entirely-flattering monikers have been attached to him. He knows it full well, and decided long ago that he could either get angry at it, ignore it, or take it in stride. He decided to do a little bit of all three, if he’s entirely honest with himself.

He’s halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when she calls him with a soft, “Ren?”

“Hm?”

Her back’s turned to him, and he remembers this particular dress having buttons down the back. “Oh, right.” He steps forward as she pulls her hair up, and starts to push the black silk buttons through the small holes. Despite his better judgement, he lets his fingers linger on the pale skin of her back. Even her skin here has small freckles, like her face and shoulders, and he lets himself smile as he feels her warm, smooth skin against his fingertips. He bites his lip, trying to keep the heat in his face and groin in check as she sighs at the tight fabric falling from her shoulders.

He touches her waist gently when he’s finished before walking back to his closet to fetch the pajamas that he’d had washed and cleaned the day before. He pulls them out before shedding the rest of the shirt, and out of the corner of his eye sees her walk with her arm over her bare chest into the other room. He tries not to look, he really does, but he’s not as gay as some people assume he is, and when a beautiful woman’s pretty much naked in his hotel room, he-

No. No. He has self-control. He’s a gentleman, and this gorgeous, beautiful, somewhat snarky woman is his assistant. He won’t take advantage of her, won’t look at her. He keeps his eyes firmly on the sleep pants and the Hugo Boss henley shirt he’d pulled out as she walks to the bathroom in a large t-shirt that says ‘ARIZONA STATE’ across the front in faded letters. He can see just a peek of shorts underneath, and watches as she disappears into the other room. She doesn’t bother to close the door since they’re both clothed, and he can hear her soft moan and the splash as she lowers her feet into the water.

“Do I want to know how you knew this would work?”

“If you’re insinuating that I’ve worn heels before, you would be correct.”

“… are you serious?”

“I was a curious three year old,” he explains. “My first pair of Louboutin’s were my mother’s.”

Her laugh echoes along the bathroom tile, and in the privacy of the bedroom he allows himself a wide smile as she continues to giggle.

It falls silent a moment later, and he pulls his pants off, shucking them to the side in a gesture of pure tiredness as he pulls the sleep ones off. His own feet are aching, and as soon as the waistband is settled on his hips, he sits down on the bed.

“I want to thank you,” she calls from the bathroom.

“What for?” he calls back.

“Everything, really. But specifically Mr. Renaldi.”

“He won’t be there much longer, with his record,” he admits.

“What?”

“The man’s a sexist bastard with horrible editing and proof-reading skills,” Ren calls to her. “He’s been in the position for six years now. He won’t be there much longer if Enna, Elliot and I have anything to say about it.” He hasn’t talked with many of the other international editors, but he’s fairly certain their opinion will be the same.

“Oh.”

It’s a soft, quiet little word, and he pushes himself off of the bed before walking into the bathroom.

She’s perched her small body on the side of the tub, feet in the water with her toes wiggling experimentally. “I didn’t see any blisters,” she tells him. “They’re just sore.”

“That’s a good thing,” he says. “So you’ll walk another day?”

“I’ll definitely walk another day,” she replies, offering him that soft, sweet smile again.

He turns away, heart skipping in his chest as he reaches for his toiletry bag.

“Your mother’s Luke Skywalker’s sister, right?”

He pauses, halfway through retrieving his toothbrush. “… yes.”

“Of The Skywalker Report?”

“The very same. Why do you ask?”

“It’s my dream job,” she admits, swinging her feet in the water. “I’ve wanted to work there for years.”

“What, you don’t want to be Satan’s handmaiden for all of eternity?” he asks, turning to watch her as he puts toothpaste on his toothbrush.

She gives him a little smirk that really probably wasn’t intended to be sexy, but to him it very much is. He feels his cock give a little twitch in interest as she leans forward, bare legs still kicking in the water. “If anything, you've been helping me the past few days," she admits.

"This was the play," he explains. "The work comes in the next week."

"Oh joy," she deadpans. "... but being your assistant isn't exactly a career, is it?"

“Admittedly, no,” he replies, wetting the brush and sticking it into his mouth. He brushes his teeth for a few minutes, pressing the electric power button on its handle again when the button stops the first time – anything to distract him from her.

He spits into the sink when he’s finished, wiping his mouth on a nearby white towel before washing his hands and going to take his contacts out. He hears her splash beside him, and looks over to her. “… you know, if you work for me for a year, you can get any job you want,” he says, putting the contact case away and putting his glasses on.

The splashing stops. “… you’re serious?”

“I am,” he says, walking back towards her. “A year, and you can get that job at the Skywalker report.”

“What job?” she demands.

“Any job you choose,” he explains, settling himself on the edge of the tub, only a few inches away from where she’s perched. “I’ll even call my uncle directly.”

“You’re serious,” she says. This time’s it’s breathy, and he smiles at how wide her eyes have become at the idea of it.

“It’s about eight more months,” he replies. “It won’t be easy, especially not when the fashion weeks come around.”

“You’re serious.”

“We’ve established that, yes."

Her face splits into the biggest grin he’s ever seen on her, and he tucks the image away for memory. Oh, God, she has dimples. He’s seen them a few times, but he’s never seen them as dramatic as they are now. He feels his heart throb as she nods enthusiastically.

“Yes, yes!” she says, laughing and nearly kicking him in her excitement.

He just smirks, shaking his head as he stands. “We’ll be having breakfast downstairs before the preview party. What time do we need to be there, 9:15?”

“9:30,” she replies as she slips out of the tub, setting her feet on the plush white bathmat.

“Heaven forbid we’re early,” he says sarcastically as he walks towards the bed. He won’t edit, not tonight. After the amount of people he’s dealt with, he just wants to sleep. He pulls his glasses off and sets them on the bedside table, listening as she washes her face and brushes her teeth. She comes out after a few minutes and starts to head towards the living room.

“No.”

She stops mid-step, leg comically still in the air with her foot above the carpet. “… no?” she asks, frowning as he looks over at him.

“We don’t have time for you to take another hour-long shower in the morning,” he explains. “You’re sleeping in a bed.”

“Ren, that couch won’t fit you,” she tries.

“Who said anything about me sleeping on the couch?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

He watches as the lightbulb goes off in her brain, and then she’s staring at him. “… you can’t be serious.”

“You know, I think you’d learn by now that I’m very much serious,” he says. “This bed is huge, and you’ll wake up feeling refreshed instead of feeling like your spine’s been replaced by rebar.”

She apparently can’t argue with that, because she walks towards the bed, steps hesitant. “Are you sure…?”

“What, afraid I’ll steal the covers?” he asks sarcastically and a bit harsher than he intended. “Get in the damn bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Again, the two simple words send fire up his back as she pulls the covers back and slips beneath them. As broad and big as he is, they still have a good few feet of space between them. She audibly moans as she leans back against the mattress, and he snickers.

“So much better than the couch,” she breathes, and he shakes his head as he rolls over to turn the light out.

“Are you a cuddler?”

The question’s asked so suddenly that he freezes as he moves back down to the mattress, shoulder a few inches above the sheets. He turns over, trying to find her in the darkness of the room. He can’t make out much of her, just the curve of her nose and the bow of her lips and the sweep of her hair across her forehead. But he can see just enough to notice that she’s smirking.

“Do I look like a cuddler?” he asks flatly.

There’s the shifting of sheets as she shrugs. “Wouldn’t know.”

“No. I’m not.”

The smirk turns into a full blown smile, and she laughs. It’s an awkward little laugh, and he realizes with sudden clarity that she’s joking to diffuse the awkwardness she must feel at sharing a bed with him.

“If you’d like to go sleep on the couch instead, by all means, go,” he says quietly. “But the offer stands, if you’d like not to break your neck.”

He turns over, his back to her. He waits for the shifting of the sheets, of her weight coming off the mattress, but it never comes. Instead he just hears her move ever so slightly, and then it’s quiet.

He closes his eyes against the darkness of the hotel room, listening to the sound of her deep, even breathing and trying to calm his suddenly teenage-love-struck-heart at the idea of her sleeping next to him in some other sort of context.

Chapter Text

Bzz. Bzz.

Fuck. He’d forgotten to turn his phone off.

He groans, going to turn over when he’s stopped by the feeling of an arm across his waist. He blinks in the Paris morning sun that’s creeping through the windows, blearily looking down at the somewhat blurry woman sprawled across the bed – and across him. He stares at her, letting her snuggle up to him long enough that his phone stops its first pattern of buzzes, and starts a new one.

Urgent, then. He takes her small wrist and lifts her arm as carefully as he can, setting it near her before reaching for his phone. He frowns at the unknown number, swiping and putting it to his ear. “’ullo?”

“Is this Mr. Ren?”

He frowns, reaching for the alarm clock. He has to hold it close to his face to see the numbers, but he can see that it’s 6:34. He blinks at it, wincing at the neon digits as he sets the clock down as gently as he can. There’s a soft sound beside him, and he looks back to see Rey curling deeper into the pillows.

“This is Mr. Renaldi’s assistant. I’ve been trying to reach yours for the past hour, but it seems her phone is off. Mr. Renaldi gave me this number as a last resort. He’s requested that she call and make the dry cleaning order for his tuxedo.”

Ren stares dumbly into space for a moment, before rake his hand through his hair. He resists the urge to groan. At this hour? Seriously, his assistant’s already up and at his beck and call? It just seems cruel and inhumane, even for Tony. “Tell Tony …” To shove one up his ass? No, he has to be the professional one here. “Tell Tony I’ll take care of the matter personally. Can you tell me the name of his hotel?” he asks, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and walking towards the desk. It’s not a graceful walk, considering he doesn’t have his glasses on and is less than half-awake, but he gets there without injuring himself and that’s what counts.

“The W Opera hotel,” she explains, and he grabs the hotel-provided pen and pad of paper to jot it down. She tells him the concierge number right after that, to which he thanks her and hangs up.

He wants to throw his phone at the wall, out the window, anything as soon as the dial tone reaches his ears, but then he remembers his assistant in the elevator. Now really isn’t the time to get a new cell phone with an international number. So he just sighs and walks back to the bed, setting the phone down and crawling back into bed. They have time. Not much, but they have time.

As soon as he slides back under the covers, she’s curling up to him, sleep-warm and soft. He smirks. And she’d been the one to ask if he was a cuddler.

It’s inappropriate. It’s inappropriate, and unprofessional, but he closes his eyes and lets her. There’s the very persistent urge to drape his arm across her waist, pull her in closer, but he resists it.

“Who was that?”

His eyes snap open, and he glances down at the brunette at his chest. She’s looking up at him with eyes still clouded with sleep, and he stares down at her in surprise.

“Tony’s assistant,” he explains. “She’d tried you first.”

That gets her awake. She sits up so suddenly the top of her head nearly collides with his chin, and then she’s rolling over and reaching for her phone. He can see over her shoulder as the phone starts up again, and then she curses.

“It must’ve shut off in the night,” she explains, running a hand through her hair, still in waves from the night before. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“It’s fine, I’ve handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it,” she mutters. “Shit, she called me six times.”

“I took care of it.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” she insists, rolling over slightly to look over at him over her shoulder. “I did a stupid thing, it’s my fault that she called you. I shouldn’t have thrown my drink at him.” She rolls back over, onto her stomach, and buries her head in the pillow. “I really shouldn’t have done that.” The words are muffled by the silk and down, but he can still make out some key syllables.

“Well, you did,” he says, recalling finding her nearly falling onto the floor after the old door gave way. He remembers Tony being close, too close for his own comfort and surely much too close for hers, and he remembers her sharp explanation afterwards. Though she’d insisted he didn’t hurt or touch her, he casts glances to her wrists, her neck, just in case. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach as he checks, but it’s relieved a little bit when he finds no marks. “… and he thought we were together?”

She sits up slightly, pushing herself onto her elbows so that she can look at him properly. “He offered me a position, too.”

“He what?” he demands. He shouldn’t feel angry, he really shouldn’t. The man’s an oblivious idiot who should’ve never been hired, and it’s Tony’s own fault.

“He offered me a position as his assistant,” she explains. “And … well, came on to me. More than before.” She lets her elbows fall to the side and she lands back down on the pillows with a ‘puff’ sound, resting her cheek against them. “I’m sorry, it was unprofessional, and I shouldn’t have-“

Well, there goes the alarm clock.

The slim, white thing hits the floor with a sickening ‘crack’, cord coming out from the wall as he throws it. He realizes what he’s done as soon as he sees that the lights are now dim, once neon digits now dull. He feels the mattress shift, and sees that she’s back on her elbows, looking over her shoulder to see the destruction he’d caused. “… I’ll tell the front desk about that when we go down,” she mutters.

He takes a deep breath, pulling his knees up and resting his elbows on them as his hands make their way into his hair. “No. No, you shouldn’t have done that. It was unprofessional, and it was messy, and it was dramatic.” He smirks and snorts, shaking his head. “ … it’s something I would’ve done, if not worse.” He glances towards her and finds her sitting up more, on her side as she props herself up. “You should’ve told me about the proposition. Both of them. The job offer, and the … sexual one. That’s a much more serious offence. I’m going to contact Snoke this afternoon.”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” she admits, and he stares at her.

“It is a big deal,” he tells her, reaching for his glasses. “Hux is one thing, I can deal with Hux. Another high-profile editor is another. It’s sexual harassment, Rey.”

“It’s not like I haven’t had to deal with it before,” she tells him, and he turns to her as soon as he slips the frames onto his face. She’s no longer a somewhat blurry nude-and-brown-and-grey form. Now, he can see that she didn’t quite get all the makeup off, some mascara under her eyes, and he can see that her dark brown hair’s mussed from sleep. She’s curled up, now, her knees pulled into her chest and her arms wrapped around them.

“It shouldn’t be something you have to deal with,” he explains gently as he stands, walking over to her side of the king bed. He braces his hands on the foot of it, leaning closer and staring at her. “No decent human being would do that, you understand that, right? Tony’s an ass, and he’s going to get what he deserves. With luck, he’ll be out of that position by the end of the year, and a new, better candidate will be selected.” He leans a bit closer, face a few inches from hers. “Rey. I’m your direct superior. If you are propositioned by anyone else, on this trip or otherwise, you come to me, all right?”

“I thought we had HR for that,” she mutters against the skin of her forearm.

“I’m a bit scarier than HR,” he says wryly.

He can see her small smile around her arm, and she lifts her chin to brace it against her forearm. “That being said,” he continues. “I’m very impressed you didn’t sock that bastard in the nose.”

She laughs. It’s not an elegant sound, more of a snicker than anything, but it makes him smile as he pushes himself off of the bed. “I’m taking a shower.”

“Sounds good,” she tells him, reaching for her phone.

“We need to call and confirm for dinner at the Maison Blanche for 6:45, and then we need to confirm for the Yves Saint Laurent after party tomorrow night. I’ve been hearing mixed times from varying sources, everything from 6 to 9. We’ll need you to wear something from them for that, and I’ll need you to have my blue suit dry cleaned by then.”

“Easy enough,” she tells him as she unfolds herself and puts her feet on the floor. He was right to offer her the bed; she looks significantly more rested, and even though he’s sure her back still hurts from the morning before, she doesn’t seem to be as in-pain as she was before.

“Call room service and get coffee up here by the time I’m out,” he orders as he reaches down to pull his henley over his head, folding it carefully before putting it on the desk to be washed later. He pulls his glasses off, setting them on top of the shirt before making his way towards the bathroom.

“Yes, sir."

-

He was right to give her the empty side of the bed. Though her back still hurts from the day before, and she’s sure her feet will protest once she goes to stand, she feels significantly more rested than she had the day before.

The fact that she’d woken up snuggled to his chest hadn’t been a bad thing, either.

She’d woken to him getting out of bed, the warmth he’d offered suddenly gone as he stood. She didn’t hear much of the conversation, but she acknowledged that he was on the phone, and found herself curling into the warm spot he’d left behind. By the time he returned, she was halfway asleep again. She’d fully expected him to lie down near the edge of the bed, maybe not go back to sleep at all. But no, he’d slipped under the covers again, just as close as he was before if not closer. In her drowsiness, she’d curled closer, and he’d just accepted it. When she was fully aware, she realized that she’d been the one to cuddle up to him, but tried to hide her mortification as she asked who’d called.

Now, with her boss in the shower, she takes a few moments to just breathe. She wants to curl back into bed, and it takes her only a second to realize that she actually could. Ren will be a while in the shower, hopefully, and she can call room service from the comfort of her bed. She rolls over and grabs her phone from the side, and places the call quickly. At the assurance that it will be delivered soon, she curls into the spot he’d previously been in, still warm from his body.

She can hear the shower going in the other room, and closes her eyes to the sound of the rushing water. It’ll take a while for the coffee, she knows. They’re quick, but they’re not immediate, and so she lets her eyes close just for a few moments before she has to get up and shower as well.

This morning had been an ugly reminder of what happened last night, and she winces at the memories, curling more in on herself. It’s not so much what he did as it’s her response to it; throwing the champagne at him, what the hell was she thinking? Ren was right – it was dramatic, and unneeded, and honestly something he would do.

She tenses her shoulders, trying to push the memory to the back of her mind to no avail. Giving up, she just groans and tugs the blanket over her head. Maybe, if she stays beneath here long enough, she’ll become one with the bed sheets, she thinks. If only.

She stays beneath the warmth of the covers as long as she possibly can before there’s a knock on the door. Rey groans and pulls herself out of bed, walking to the door for the coffee. It’s pushed in on a cart, just like the day before, with a white coffee and tea set. She’d ordered her tea, as well, and it’s a welcome comfort after room service leaves. She walks back to the bedroom with the mug in her hand, sitting back in bed and pulling her knees up to her chest, resting her hands on top of them when she’s not drinking. The shower’s still going, and she rests her head back against the headboard, just relaxing as she waits for the older man to emerge from the bathroom.

She could get up. She could pull her clothes out, pull the lingerie out and the shoes and try to make some semblance of an outfit he’d like. But she frankly doesn’t want to. As demeaning as she thinks it might be to someone else to be a Barbie doll to her boss, she’s also kind of enjoying it. The clothes are one thing; she’s grateful for those, sure, and how much he spent on them. But the feeling of his hands on her back, his fingers on her skin as he guides the zippers up and down, that’s where the real pleasure comes in. The way he looks at her when something comes out right isn’t exactly bad, either.

Rey takes another sip of her tea, recalling the day before. The dresses she’d tried on had been beautiful, sure. Even the silver one had some kind of ethereal, beautiful look to it on the hanger. He’d picked them for how they looked on the hanger. But he’d made his final decision based on how it looked on her. She smiles against the lip of the mug at the realization, heart and head light. He hadn’t been looking at the clothes at all; he’d been looking at her.

The bathroom door opens and she nearly scalds herself with the tea in her hands as he comes out, white towel wrapped around his waist. If she’d almost choked on air when he’d pulled his shirt off in front of her before, she’s near certain she’ll burn herself if she doesn’t put the tea down. So she sets the mug on her bedside table, watching him as he walks to the closet and pulls out his blazer, shirt and pants for the day.
“Your turn,” he says as he sets the blazer aside and reaches down for the box of cufflinks.

“Right.” She stands, avoiding watching how his wet hair sends droplets down his bare back. Oh, who is she kidding. She’s not avoiding watching at all, casting glances at him out of the corner of her eye as she walks in to take her shower. She doesn’t take as long as he does, not wanting her tea outside in the bedroom to cool and go to waste. She comes out in the robe with wet hair, and finds him already dressed, the blazer the only thing missing.

“Keep your hair wet,” he says as he adjusts the cuffs of his shirt. He walks to his closet to pull his shoes out, and she glances to the bed to find that he’s already pulled out a dress, shoes, and jacket for her.

“Flats?” she asks, walking over to see the outfit.

“Nearly,” he replies. “Large heel.”

“Thank God,” she mutters, walking to the closet and pulling out a black lace underwear set. “No more stilettos, at least not until tomorrow.”

“Your complaint’s been noted,” he replies, gesturing to the desk chair. She pulls on her underwear before pulling the robe back on, just holding it closed instead of tying it as she sits down. He walks behind her, and she can feel his hands at her neck, pulling her hair out of the robe.

“Do you have hair pins?” he questions.

“In the backpack, side left pocket,” she explains. “There should be a mini M&M’s tube in there with bobby pins.”

“… a mini M&M’s tube,” he deadpans.

“They hold more than you think they do,” she replies, biting her lip. “I had to be resourceful in college.”

“That explains the duct tape holding the bottom of the bag together,” he mutters, voice getting softer as he walks towards the other room. He returns with the orange plastic tube, wrapper and glue carefully picked away. He pours some out into his hand, and she can hear the rattling of the pins in the plastic as he puts it on the desk in front of her.

He does … something. She’s not entirely sure what, but there’s a bit of tugging and some twisting, and she can feel the pins against her scalp. Despite the slickness of her hair, the pins seem to hold, and she can feel her hair curled around the side of her neck, wet and cool.

“It’ll hold,” he says as he steps back. He grabs the makeup case from before and hands her the moisturizer and primer. “You do it.”

“Me?” she asks, but she takes the two tubes.

“You’ll need to learn to do it yourself, eventually,” he explains, pulling the bottle of foundation out. “I’ll do the rest. You prep yourself.”

She does as asked, a bit disappointed that she won’t have his gentle hands on her face this morning, his thumbs on her cheekbones and brow bones. He does the rest, as promised, and she lets him guide her. She feels the cold liquid liner as he flicks it out past her eyelid, and resists the urge to sneeze directly after he applies mascara. It’s difficult, but she manages, and he deems her finished a while later, putting everything back into place in the case before reaching for the red lipstick she’d worn the first day in Paris.

It seemed so long ago when he first swiped the cherry color against her lips with a steady hand, holding her chin still in the other. She parts her lips slightly against the creamy lipstick, and he reaches his thumb up to wipe the excess away after she presses her lips together.

Seemingly absentmindedly, he presses his thumb against her lips, and she opens immediately. Her heart’s pulsing like a jackhammer as she leans forward, daring and perhaps a bit insane. She watches his eyes widen and darken as she does the thumb trick on his hand instead of her own, leaving red smudges on his skin. His skin’s salty, as to be expected, and she thinks that she feels a callous on his thumb from holding his pen constantly. It’s a quick moment, over in two heartbeats, and then she stares at him as he stares right back at her.

He leans in. She knows he does; his face is significantly closer than it had been before, her eyes aren’t tricking her. She watches as his eyes dart down to her lips.

One deep, shaky breath from her, and it’s over. He pulls back, wordlessly breaking the stare and reaching for the tissue box on the desk, wrapping the tissue around his thumb and rubbing away the red marks. “We need to be leaving soon, if you want breakfast before we go.”

She nods wordlessly, standing and shedding the robe before walking to put the dress on. She notices that he’s distinctly not looking at her as she pulls the fabric up, and he’s at her back, zipping her up before she can even ask him to. It’s quicker, his fingers not lingering so much on her before he’s handing her the leather jacket.

She resists the urge to bite at her lower lip, knowing she’d mess up the red lipstick and get it on her teeth if she does. He walks ahead of her to the elevator, hands firmly in the pockets of his pants and decidedly not at the small of her back as she walks after him in the thick Prada heels.

She lets her eyes close in embarrassment when he can’t see her, as they’re waiting for the elevator.

Fuck.

-

Breakfast is a nearly silent affair. She has a croissant and tea, and he gets coffee. The only words spoken are her telling him to eat something, damn it, or he’s going to faint. He reaches for some kind of sticky honey pastry after that, nuts and brown sugar folded into it.

Elliot greets them at the preview party. Rey’s incredibly grateful for the distraction, letting the British man offer her his arm.

Whatever she was expecting, this was not it. It’s a quiet affair, and they do have coffee and tea. She holds a white porcelain mug of green tea as Elliot leads her around the small gallery that had been rented out for the space. Ren’s always three feet away, and she keeps her eyes on him constantly in case he needs her.

He seems to be doing fine without her. It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. He’s a grown man, he can take care of himself, she knows. But the fact that he didn’t ask her to get him a coffee and instead did it himself hurts a bit.

“The special pieces of the collection aren’t shown, of course,” Elliot says, gesturing to a set of sketches placed lovingly in white and glass picture frames. Rey was honestly expecting clothes and not sketches, but she can appreciate this, too. Aesthetically, they’re incredible. Even as uninterested in the fashion world as she is, she has to admit she wouldn’t mind owning a few of the drawings and hanging them somewhere.

She can see Ren out of the corner of her eye. He’s a dark presence in the room, dressed in black and maroon and white. She can hear Elliot speaking, vaguely, but the British man’s pace is so rapid-fire that she ends up tuning most of it out just to keep her sanity intact.

“-Are you all right?”

The hand at her elbow startles her. She clutches the mug in her hand and flashes a smile towards the British editor. “Fine, why?”

“Well, you’re not with Ren, for one,” Elliot explains, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Did he … you’re not … did he fire you? After last night?”

“Oh, no,” she insists, shaking her head to the point of pain. She winces, holding the mug to her chest. “No, I’m still his assistant. It’s just … it’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? Because he’s so stiff I’m sure if I poked him, he’d fall over,” Elliot says, leaning around her to look at the other man.

She turns, and sees that while he seems to be attempting to be at east, he’s failing miserably. His hands are in his pockets, but his shoulders are tense and his arms are stuck to his sides as he looks at the sketch in front of him. Rey realizes that he’s been standing in front of the same one for ten minutes, now; while they’re pretty, and detailed, they’re not that detailed.

She offers a shy smile to the editor beside her. “I’m sorry, I-“

Elliot waves her off. “Go before he turns to stone.”

Rey walks over to her boss, gently touching the back of his arm to let him know that she’s there. “Hey.”

“Light roast, three creams and two sugars.”

Well, that’s normal, at least. His voice is colder than she’s heard it in days, though, and it hurts. She pulls her hand away from him, nodding.
“Yes, sir,” she says stiffly before walking over to the beverage table. She follows his instructions, and by the time she turns around he’s apparently moved onto the next room of the gallery. She walks around and finds him looking at a picture of a woman in a flowing black dress, the material sheer and sketched body showing through from beneath. Swatches are framed beside it, and he seems to be more focused on those than the actual sketch.

“Coffee,” she tells him, holding out the drink to him. He takes it without so much as a ‘thank you’, and she stands beside him awkwardly as he continues to look at the sketch.

“I’ll be contacting my uncle tomorrow.”

She tenses, eyes focused on the sketch as he continues.

“I’ll send a letter of recommendation over with some of your pieces from Poe, and will call him as well to explain the situation.”

“And what is the situation, exactly?” she asks, still not looking at him.

“When we get back to New York, you’ll be transferred over to his editorial department.”

She looks at him, then. His eyes are still on the swatches, but she can tell he isn’t really paying attention to them at all. The next word comes out a bit more choked than she intends it to. “Why?”

He shifts his gaze to her. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?” He takes a sip of the coffee she’d handed him before walking off to the next sketch, turning and looking at it as she’s left in front of the previous one, tea cooling in her hands.

Her answer’s left on the tip of her tongue, caught right behind her teeth, but she can’t tell whether it would’ve come out as a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’.

-

She thanks every deity she can think of that she’s not sitting next to him for the actual show. She sits directly behind him, sure, but at least he can’t see how she’s clutching her arms, nails digging into her skin. Hux sits next to him, and a platinum blonde woman she recognizes from the art department. She can’t hear what they say, can’t hear anything at all as she processes.

She’s been fired.

Granted, he’s going to get her her dream job, but she’s been fired. There’s absolutely no doubt about it, and she resists the urge to hang her head, instead watching blankly as models walk by in outfits that are absolutely ridiculous to her. She can pick out pieces that she likes, pieces she might want to wear if she could. But for the most part she’s pretty unseeing.

She fucked up. She fucked up big time. She hadn’t even made it four months, and she’s been fired. Hell, she hadn’t even made it three days into Fashion Week, and she managed to get herself fired. She’s entirely certain that he won’t say that on her record, but still.

It’s a long show, and she fights the urge to sneak out the entire time. By the time it lets out at 5, she’s done and ready to go back and collapse. But she can’t, because there’s dinner to consider with Hux and whoever the blonde woman is, and then the Yves Saint Laurent party. She wants to cry.

“Lipstick,” he tells her in the car, not even looking at her.

She reapplies it, purposefully getting a bit on the small dip in her upper lip to see if he’ll fix it once he finally looks at her.

He doesn’t.

She fixes it herself in a mirror in the entryway as they’re waiting to be seated, the smudge of lipstick on her thumb red like a brand.

-

She sits next to him. It’s awful, and awkward, and she’s sure that Hux can tell. He sits across from her at the white table, looking impossibly smug as he looks at Ren.

The woman’s nice enough. She has a small but pretty smile, and cropped platinum blonde hair that frames her face. She introduced herself as Phasma, and Rey recognizes her voice almost immediately. She’s spoken to this woman several times on the phone before, about Polaroids and shoots and spreads.

“It’s nice to finally put a face to your voice,” she tells her, and the much taller woman just smiles as she sits, silver dress catching the low light of the restaurant.

She’s not hungry at all, but she forces something in her, at least. She desperately wants Finn’s mac n’ cheese, or hell, she’ll take those PB&J sandwiches in the cafeteria if it means she’d be there instead of here. But she holds her own well enough, keeping her answers to the questions she’s asked short but amiable.

That is, until the executive editor speaks as they’re finishing up their appetizer. She thanks the waiter as he refills her water for her.

“Water?” Hux asks. “I thought you would’ve gone for champagne.”

She clenches her hands against the napkin on her lap, forcing a polite smile. She’s opening her mouth to reply, something preferably scathing, when Ren speaks.

“Hux.”

It’s almost a growl, and Rey stops with her hand halfway to her water glass, turning to look at her boss. The man looks absolutely murderous.
The executive editor opens his mouth, but wisely shuts it again. Rey’s shocked. The redhead pushes Ren’s buttons constantly, and she was waiting for him to continue pushing them. But whatever Hux is seeing in Ren’s apparently scared him off enough to shut him up, and for that she’s grateful.

She wants something. Anything. A brush of his hand against hers, his hand on the small of her back as they stand to leave. She’d settle for his half smile, even, or maybe him just looking towards her for more than half of a second. But she gets nothing, his steps long enough in front of her that she has to nearly power walk to catch up.

-

After the day she’s had, she just wants to crawl into bed. Or couch, more accurately. She doubts he’ll extend his offer of sleeping in the same bed again, and she hates the idea of sleeping on the couch without him next to her. By the time they walk in the hotel room door, he’s already pulling his blazer off, hanging it up haphazardly on the hanger and setting it aside to be cleaned. She’ll deal with that tomorrow. She can’t possibly deal with it now. She doesn’t want to deal with anything now, let alone something that has to do with him.

She takes the bathroom first, walking in and pulling the pins from her hair. She sighs in soft pleasure when each one is removed, and bends over to run her fingers through her hair. She doesn’t care what it looks like afterwards – her scalp is thanking her profusely. She stands back up and walks out to the living room, rummaging through her bag to find her grandfather’s t-shirt.

That’s all she wants now, with its soft cotton and loose fit and vintage feel. ‘KENOBI’ is still written on the tag, a leftover from the laundry service at the nursing home all those years ago. It’s her comfort shirt, the fabric nearly falling apart because of it’s age. ‘TATOOINE’ is written across the bottom in some horribly stereotypical tourist font, but it’s faded enough that it’s not entirely noticeable anymore.

Ren takes the bathroom as soon as she leaves, closing the door behind him with a soft ‘click’.

She frowns as she continues searching, feeling for soft fabric. The shirt’s not in her luggage, nor is it in the drawers. She checks the closet, just in case she put in there for some strange reason, and then the floor of the closet, pushing the shopping bags and shoe boxes out of the way until she hits floor. She stands and walks back out to the couch, bending down on her hands and knees to see if it could have possibly slipped under while she was unpacking (or rather, while he was tossing her things around and insulting them).

“Ren, have you seen a light brown t-shirt?” she calls as she hears him emerge from the bathroom. “Really soft, old desert print on it. I’ve looked everywhere, I can’t find it anywhere.” It’s the first thing she’s said directly to him in hours, and it’s horribly strange to speak to him, but it’s worth a shot if it means finding her shirt.

“Yes, I threw it out.”

She stills. Suddenly, her veins feel as if they’re freezing over. She stares up at him through the bedroom door in horror, slowly standing from her hands and knees. She can feel the imprint of the carpet against her knees, and her sore back and feet protesting as she gets up from the position, but she pays no attention to those as she stalks into the other room, walking around to stare at him. “… what?”

He doesn’t even look up at her. He’s too busy trying to find something in his briefcase beside the bed. “It was trash, so I threw it out.”

“You … threw it out?”

“It was hanging together by threads alone. It was absolutely disgusting.”

The room shouldn’t be spinning, but it is. She struggles for breath. He doesn’t seem concerned at all that his assistant is suddenly faint, straightening when he finds his phone charger. By the time he really looks at her, her hand has already lashed out. She strikes him right across the face. She’s not used to having such long nails, and she’s surprised when a harsh red line blooms across his pale skin, blood immediately beading.

“You don’t care,” she snarls, the words falling from her lips before she can even try to stop them. “You don’t care for anyone but yourself, do you? That shirt was my grandfather’s, asshole. That was one of the only things I had left of him, and you threw it away!”

He opens his mouth to speak, but her hand is already lashing out again towards his other cheek. There’s no scratch, no blood this time, but when she’s done he looks about as struck as she feels. He’s staring at her in a mix of awe and shock and pain, and she’s fairly sure that those emotions are on her face as well.

She takes a shaky breath before rushing by him, shoulder knocking into his upper arm painfully. Whatever eye makeup he’d put on her stings like a bitch as she blinks away tears, suddenly incredibly glad she hadn’t taken her shoes off yet. Some sick, twisted part of her takes a delicious amount of satisfaction in the hard sound that the heels make as she stomps to the door.

“Rey-“

“Don’t,” she growls, not even looking at him. If she looks at him, she just knows she’ll break down. She grabs her purse and rushes out of the door as quickly as she can. The weight of the hotel door helps with her speedy exit, almost hurrying her along as it slams behind her loud enough to make her jump slightly. She stalks towards the elevator, clutching the Chanel bag to her chest. She slips in as the doors go to close and smiles as best as she can towards the group of girls occupying the small space. They pay her no attention in their short dresses, teetering on their heels, and leave the elevator in a flurry of perfume and giggles. Rey steps out shortly after, heading directly for the streets.

She walks outside and turns left, blindly. She’s suddenly grateful for the largeness of the city, the vastness of it as she chokes back a frustrated sob. No one will know her here. She moves through the crowds of the Paris night like water through fingers, unnoticed and uncared about.

She sniffles, suddenly, and the tears that she’d tried so hard to hold back in the room and in the elevator escape. She swallows a sob, shaking her head violently as she walks along the cobbled streets.

It was just a shirt. He couldn’t have known. But it still hurts like hell anyway. She aches to wear it, to feel the soft cotton against her skin again. The smell of her grandfather had been washed away long ago, probably back when she was still in college, but it still felt like him. It had too many holes to count and, like Ren had said, was pretty much held together by threads, but it had been his. She clutches at her arms as another sob wracks her body.

He couldn’t have known, she tells herself as she walks blindly through the Paris streets. To him it was a ratty old shirt she’d packed for time in the room. It wasn’t his fault. But he still could’ve asked. He still could’ve been respectful of her things and her privacy, and yet he wasn’t. He still could’ve cared enough to be somewhat kind, somewhat considerate. And, surprise, surprise, he hadn’t. Of course the bastard hadn’t.

Her steps slow from their frantic pace to a sad little stroll. She has no idea what turns she’s taken, how far she is from the hotel. A quick look at her phone tells her that it’s later than she’d expected. The look also tells her that he’s made no attempt to contact her at all. There are no calls, no texts, no emails. Nothing.

That makes it hurt even more, for some reason. Especially after the little acts of kindness he'd pulled over the past three days. She doesn’t know what she expected, though, honestly. A short "I'm sorry," maybe? She sniffles again and tucks the phone back into her purse.

She doesn’t recognize this street, but it’s well-lit and somewhat busy. She feels safe here, even though the cold is wracking her bones. She should’ve grabbed her jacket before rushing out. The material of her dress does absolutely nothing to warm her, and she finds herself hugging her arms in an effort to keep the heat in.

She wanders around, searching for maybe a café that’s still open. There aren’t any, though there are tables scattered around with a few people sitting at them. She opts to settle on a bench, shivering as the cold metal presses against her bare legs.

She bends, bracing her elbows against her knees and resting her head in her hands. Of course he didn’t care. Of course he didn’t - doesnt' - feel anything for her. She’s his assistant; if he felt anything for her at all, it’s on a friend basis, at most. If that.

She can recall the looks of contempt he threw her way every single time she walked by in her normal clothes, the browns and creams and greys. The sharp orders, completely disregarding logic sometimes, and the lack of any kind of ‘thank you’ when she managed to succeed anyway. The only thanks she’d gotten had been in the past few weeks, and she’s almost entirely sure he’d just been too tired to give any sort of care at all.

She sighs, tears cold against her cheeks but sobs having stopped a while ago. Now she just shivers, the autumn night air cold. A glance at her phone tells her that she’s been out for about half an hour, and that he hasn’t made any attempt to speak to her, to contact her at all. The screen is still set to a picture of her and her grandfather, Ben – no notifications. None at all.

She holds the phone in her hand, turning it back on again when it goes to sleep from lack of unlocking, as if waking it up would prompt some sort of message to come through. But after ten minutes of this, she knows it’s absolutely useless, and stands.

This is ridiculous. She’s ridiculous, she thinks, groaning and running her hand through her hair. “Fuck,” she mutters, shaking her head. She has to deal with 4 more days of this, plus a plane ride. Maybe she can convince him that someone in her family died, that she has to go back early. Rope Finn in, get him to play the part of distressed best friend. He’s a good actor, when he actually tries. It might just work.

Funny, she thinks, wryly. Satan’s always pictured sitting in fire, in the depths of Hell, but she’s the one who got burned. It shouldn’t hurt, it really shouldn’t. Of course it wasn’t going to work, of course it wasn’t worth trying. But it does. It stings, and it aches, and it twists, and she wants to slap herself for how much it hurts.

Rejection, she could’ve dealt with. She could’ve slept on the couch and pulled up her own damn zippers and learned how to do her makeup. But it’s the outright ignoring that she can’t handle. It’s ridiculous how eager she is even to say, “Yes, sir,” again, just for some sort of acknowledgement.

Maybe she really is insane.

It takes the better part of an hour to walk back to the hotel, because Google Maps apparently hates her and has no idea where her hotel is. She tries things she remembers being nearby, but it sends her on a round-robin. By the time she gets back to the hotel, she’s shivering violently, fingers pink with cold. The warm air that greets her as she steps into the building feels like heaven, and she lets out a relieved sigh as she recognizes the lobby. The elevator is waiting for her when she presses the button, and she steps into the empty space gratefully.

The trip up to the room is quiet, and thankfully slow. The older elevator allows her some time to think, to bite at her lip and wonder how the hell she’s going to face her boss. It’s with a hefty dose of horror that she realizes that he probably won’t even call his uncle anymore, not after this little stunt. She struck him across the face - twice – and made the editor-in-chief of General Fashion Magazine bleed. She bites her lip harder, tasting her own blood in her mouth as she resigns herself to the idea of being yet again out of the job market. With the assault on her record, she’ll probably never get a job again. She takes a heavy, heaving sigh as a result, running her hand down her face as she walks down the hallway to their room.

The door clicks softly as she unlocks it and slips in.

"You're back."

She freezes at the sound of his voice and looks around the room. She finds him sitting in one of the gold wing chairs, the Book spread across his lap. He's changed out of his more formal clothes into a white t-shirt and a set of grey pants, his glasses on and hair wild in the way that suggests that he's been running his hand through it.

“I didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go,” she admits, surprised at how steady her voice is despite the amount of crying and cursing she’d done out in the cold. “You have my toothbrush.”

She wants a laugh, a snort, a smile - anything. Instead she gets absolutely nothing as he marks something on a page and flips it.

She watches him for a moment, waiting to see if he'll even respond at all, before realizing that he's not going to. So she sets the purse on the table by the door and walks into the bedroom, eager to take her shoes and dress off. Eager to take everything off, really.

It takes a good few moments of struggling and contorting to unzip her dress without his help, but she manages, and quietly puts it on the hanger for cleaning. She makes to walk back to the living room towards her suitcase in her underwear; screw what he sees, it's not like he wants it anyway. She's almost through the door when she stops as she sees something on the edge of her side of the bed.

It’s not her t-shirt. It’s black and grey, with a planet on the front and “STARKILLER” in a very jagged, 80s font running across. She picks it up, noting the softness of the fabric and the holes in the fabric. The bottom hem is separating from the main shirt. The neck is gone entirely, what once was hemmed and clean now curled over on itself.

She glances towards the door leading to the living room, shirt still in her hands. She can't see him, not from this angle, though she desperately wants to. Wants to ask what the hell this is, why he has it, whether it's his and regretfully, if she can wear it or not. Her guess is no, but it was laid out on her side of the bed.

Rey pulls it over her head anyway. The shoulders are too big, like her grandfather’s shirt, and it falls mid-thigh on her. It makes sense; her boss is a broad man, huge in height too. The soft cotton brushes against her legs as she makes her way into the bathroom to wipe off the makeup on her face. She can see that some of it has dripped down, and she nearly laughs at herself for crying over a man the entirety of the publication has dubbed the Devil.

She washes it off quickly, brushing her teeth before she makes her way back into the bedroom. She goes to look at the alarm clock before remembering that it's not there, that it had been destroyed in his little tantrum that morning. She sees his Rolex on the desk, instead, and checks that. It's not too late, 11:48, but she knows that they have an early day tomorrow. She'd confirmed the preview time for 9 the day before, and he'll be an asshole the entire day if he doesn't get enough sleep.

She runs her hand through her hair as she walks out to the living area, sighing softly. "Are you going to bed anytime soon?"

"Yes." Simple. Short. Monotone. He doesn't even look up at her.

She crosses her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorway. "Do you know where they put the pillow and blanket for the couch?"

"No."

Fuck him, really.

"You threw away something incredibly important to me without my knowing," she snaps. "The least you can do is be just a little bit civil, if not apologetic."

That gets his attention. He looks up at her over the rims of his glasses, and she suddenly regrets putting the shirt on. He stares at her a lot longer than necessary, fingers on the side of his glasses.

"Stop being a fucking workaholic and come to bed," she orders, jerking her head towards the bed. "We have an early start tomorrow. I don't want you acting more asshole-y than you already are."

"Asshole-y?" he asks, sounding like he's trying hard not to laugh.

"It's a word," she insists. She knows full well it's not.

He snorts. He actually laughs at her as he clicks his pen, sets the Book on the table beside him, and puts the pen on top. Then he's standing and walking over to her. "If anyone deserves an apology, I think it should be me."

Her blood boils, and she feels hot all over as she glares at him with all she has. "What the hell makes you think that?"

He turns his cheek to her, and she sees the dark streak of dried blood across his cheek. His skin's still pink, and it will probably bruise. She sucks in a breath at the sight of it, dark and ugly.

"Concealer's concealer, not a miracle worker," he tells her. "It will be noticeable tomorrow."

She grinds her teeth, biting back her anger as she glares up at him.

“I’m sorry for slapping you,” she growls out.

"Thank you." He takes off his glasses, tucking them into the neck of his shirt. “Honestly, I would’ve liked the champagne shower better.”

Bastard. "Sorry that I didn't want to waste any on you."

"You seemed fine wasting it on Tony."

"He deserved it."

"That he did," he tells her. "And I think I do, too."

She stares at him, arms still crossed over her chest as she tilts her chin up to him. "And why do you think that?"

"Because I led you on when I shouldn't have."

And there it is. The suckerpunch she was waiting for, but didn't think she'd actually get. "And I misread everything," she says sarcastically. "I misread your fingers lingering at my back when you unbuttoned my dress. I misread the fact that you actually checked me out in that lingerie, don't you dare fucking lie to me. I thought you were looking at me yesterday, when I was trying on those ridiculous dresses, but no, you were just looking at some paper doll, some Barbie to dress up, weren't you? That's what I am to you, isn't it? Some old doll someone threw away that you're trying to repaint and redress and-"

His hand's hot on her lower back as he lunges forward, grabbing her and pulling her to him. She barely has time to let her arms drop from her chest before he's kissing her, hard and heavy. She can taste red wine on his lips, from the glass on the table he'd set the Book on. His mouth is full and almost overbearing on hers as she lets herself be guided upward due to their height difference, his other hand slipping around to cup the back of her neck, holding her in place. She feels his tongue flick at her lower lip, just for a moment, before he's pulling back and leaving her with swollen lips and wide eyes.

"You didn't misread anything."

His voice is low, and dulcet, and she stares up at him. Her hands have migrated to his chest, and she's not sure whether she wants to dig her fingers into his t-shirt and pull him closer or push him as far away as she possibly can.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t kiss you this morning.”

Her heart stops, and she has a sinking feeling that it might never start again. But it does, a heartbeat later, and she’s still staring at him as the words fully sink in. “… what?” she asks, and to her annoyance it sounds just a bit breathy.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t kiss you this morning,” he repeats, and she watches, lip-reading as best she can to make sure that she’s absolutely hearing him correctly. “I wanted to, and I should’ve. And if you didn’t want me to then, and if you didn't want me to now, then I’ll apologize profusely like a goddamn idiot and go sleep on the couch.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I’d just put $90 red Christian Louboutin lipstick on you.”

What.

“… are you fucking kidding me?” she demands. “You didn’t kiss me because I had lipstick on?”

“Yes.” The answer’s so stupidly simple. Or, really, it’s simply stupid, in her opinion.

"Oh my God, Ren," she groans, letting her head fall to the middle of his chest.

"It would've been a bitch to get off of both of us if I had, in my defense, and we were running late."

She laughs. She has to laugh, otherwise she's going to either cry or punch him in the face, so she laughs. And then he's tilting her head up again and kissing her hard enough that her lips ache and her head spins, and she can't care less as she lets him, her hands moving up his chest to tangle in his dark hair and pull him as close as she possibly can.

"You're not a Barbie doll," he mumbles against her lips once he pulls back enough. "I just like seeing you in expensive clothes."

"And expensive lingerie?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as she moves back down from her tiptoes. She'd had to lift herself to kiss him properly, and between that and the heels, her feet ache something terrible.

"That certainly doesn't hurt," he admits, and she feels his hand move up her bare thigh to touch the lace that's covering her hip. "Though seeing you in a ratty old t-shirt's one of the sexiest things I've ever seen."

"Is it because it's yours?" she asks, moving her fingers through his hair.

"Maybe." He smiles. "But it really was a peace offering. I am sorry about that other shirt."

She just smiles back, reaching up to pull him down for another, more innocent kiss, just a slight press of her mouth against his. "Are you coming to bed soon?" she asks once she falls back down. "And I actually mean sleep."

"In a bit. I do have some editing to do for the magazine. The publication isn't put on hold because we're at Fashion Week."

"Hm." She kisses his cheek. "Don't take too long?"

"No promises."

"No, I want promises, because I don't know if you know this, Satan, but you can be a downright bitch in the morning."

He snorts at that, and her heart feels like it swells in her chest as he presses a kiss to her forehead. "30 minutes."

"20."

"25."

"20." She scrapes her nails against his scalp, and feels his body practically thrum against hers.

"20," he repeats, finally, and she grins, knowing she'll stay up to see him come to bed - if not for his sanity, for hers.

"See you in 20," she replies, grinning as she pulls away from him.

She doesn't even make it 5 steps before she hears him say, "Fuck it," and the entire hotel room is cast in darkness as he jams his fist against the light switch with a sickening 'crack'.

"... did you just break that?"

"It's possible."

She just has to laugh.

Chapter Text

The light on her bedside table is still lit, casting the entire room in a soft glow as she slips beneath the covers. He moves to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. She takes advantage of the few moments of solitude to laugh breathlessly, lying on her back and reaching up to bury her hand in her hair as it’s spilled across the pillow.

She kissed Kylo Ren. Well, really, Kylo Ren kissed her. Several times. And insinuated he’s wanted to do it. She’s giddy at the thought, just a bit. And more than a little relieved that the feeling’s mutual.

She hears the bathroom door as he opens it and closes it behind him, and then feels the mattress dip as he sits down on his side of the bed. Her gaze never leaves the chandelier on the ceiling, eyes tracing the carvings surrounding it. She can hear the covers rustle as he gets beneath them, and then there’s a warm hand on her waist, tugging her over and against him. She barely has time to blink before he’s kissing her again, arms wrapping around her back and pulling her over top of him. She moves with him, straddling his hips and letting one of his hands bury in her hair while the other finds the skin of her bare thigh. Red wine and toothpaste is an interesting combination, she decides, but she certainly isn’t complaining. Especially when he flicks the roof of her mouth with his tongue in a way that makes her groan and nearly grind against him.

She can feel him smirking against her lips just before he pulls back, laying his head back down on the pillows. A smirk teases at her own mouth as she stares down at him, his full lips kiss-swollen and dark hair mussed. “Wishing you’d done this this morning?” she asks, sitting up slightly and supporting most of her weight on her arms.

“If I’d kissed you this morning, we wouldn’t have made it anywhere,” he admits, voice low as he strokes the skin of her thigh with his thumb. “Of course, if you’d consented.”

She snorts. “If I consented? Really?”

His hand’s moving over her back, rubbing the soft fabric of the t-shirt against her skin. She hums, moving so that she’s lying more on top of him, her chest pressed to his as she scoots down a little bit so they don’t knock together. He holds her hips, thumbs rubbing against the small of her back through the t-shirt.

“Yes,” he replies simply. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

“You don’t want to pull a Tony?” she asks.

He grabs her shoulders and pushes her back slightly. “I’m serious, Rey.”

“So am I.” She pushes her hips back against his, smirking at his groan. “I give you full consent to fuck me into the mattress.”

She’s entirely sure she tastes blood as he kisses her, nearly animalistic. He’s all teeth and licks and possessiveness, and she reaches up to clench her hands in his hair as his hands slip back down to her hips. “Fuck, Ren-“

“Kylo,” he breathes against her lips. “It’s Kylo.”

“I know,” she replies. “Kylo.”

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to hear you call me that,” he mutters.

“Since when?”

“Since you yelled at me in the elevator.”

She pulls back just enough to sit up a little bit. Her hair falls in her face, and before she can reach up a hand to push it back, he’s there and tucking it behind her ear. “Really? That long?”

“That goddamn corset confirmed it.”

Rey grins, bracing her hands on his chest. He grabs her wrists, holding her hands there as she sits on his lower stomach, knees at his sides. “You’re serious?”

“Swear to Satan,” he replies, and she bends to kiss him again. It’s chaste this time, her smile pressed against his, and he continues to hold her hands.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” she asks against his mouth.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he mumbles. She just kisses him to shut him up. This one’s softer, sweeter, slower. It makes her cheeks warm and body thrum as he moves his thumbs against the back of her hands. “I know full well I’m an asshole, but that means people leave me alone while I work, and so it helps.”

She laughs, head falling to rest against his. “… you really liked that corset thing?”

“I’ll lie and say I don’t if you can’t breathe in it.”

“I can wear it for short periods of time.”

“That’s all you’ll be wearing it for,” he tells her as she moves to kiss at his pale neck. “If I have anything to say about it.”

“And if I were to put it on now….?” she asks, humming against his jaw.

“It would be counterproductive,” he replies, hands moving to her thighs again. “Considering I’d much rather get you out of things than into them.”

“So you don’t want me to wear your shirt?”

“The shirt I like. It’s the panties I have a problem with.”

She can’t believe she’s doing this. And she’s entirely sure if Finn were ever to find out through some drunken confession, he wouldn’t believe her either. But she rolls off of the man beneath her, lying on her back beside him. She hooks her thumbs in the sides of the underwear, lifting her hips as she pulls it down and off. She throws it somewhere off the bed. He’ll protest, she’s sure; this is the man who didn’t kiss her because she was wearing $90 dollar lipstick. She’s almost certain he’ll yell at her for throwing too-expensive panties on the floor. But she doesn’t care, and by the time she’s making to look over at him he’s already rolled over and on top of her.

He lies between her hips, hands beside her head as he leans over her. Her breath catches in her throat as she looks up at him, and she realizes after half a heartbeat that he’s not breathing either, chest still and nostrils flared as he looks down at her. The windows are mostly closed, but some light spills through and casts his sharp face in stark contrast. She’s reminded immediately of the night before, how the golden lights of the city had illuminated him and made him look beautiful. Now’s much the same, except she’s fairly sure she’s never been this wet in her life.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks.

It’s nearly a growl as his hand moves up the side of her thigh to stroke at the bare skin of her hip, now that there’s no lace in the way. Her response is to reach up, dig her hand into his hair, scrape her nails against his scalp and pull him down for another kiss.

He pulls away nearly immediately to press his lips to the corner of her mouth. “I want a yes,” he mutters against her skin.

“That wasn’t a ‘yes’ enough for you?” She moves her hands down to his shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin through whatever fabric’s in between it and her hands. Egyptian cotton, silk, she doesn’t fucking know. It’s expensive, she can tell that much, impossibly soft against her fingertips.

“I want you to say it.”

She moves her hands to his waist, finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it up so that she can brush her fingertips along his flanks. “Kylo Ren, I want you to fuck me.”

That works. She’s nearly flattened to the mattress with the force of his mouth on hers, bruising and hard. She tugs his shirt up his shoulders, and it’s only when she has it halfway up his chest and they fall between her breasts that she realizes that his glasses had been tucked into the neck of it.

The simple action makes her laugh, pulling away from his lips as she finds the glasses and shows them to him. “They got to second base before you did,” she teases, and he moves his dark eyes from hers to the glasses in her hand.

“Damn it,” he mutters, taking them from her and putting them on the bedside table. “Forward bastards.”

She snorts, tugging his shirt the rest of the way off now that they aren’t kissing. “Do you want me to fold and press this or can I-“ It’s almost all teasing, but there is some truth to it. She’s done weirder things for him.

He takes the fabric from her and tosses it God-knows-where, and she laughs again as he buries his face in her neck, kissing where the neck of his shirt doesn’t cover. It’s a good bit of her shoulder, and half of her collarbone. She bites back a moan as she feels his hot mouth on her skin, and then there’s a touch of teeth and her hand is flying to cup the back of his neck, fingers moving through the short, soft hairs at the base of it. “You make a mark, you cover it up in the morning,” she tells him breathily.

“That’s a compromise I can live with,” he mutters against the base of her throat as she runs her hand through his hair again.

Now that she has the opportunity to explore his bare back, she takes advantage of it, left hand moving down to span across his skin as the right clenches in his hair. He’s leaving marks, she knows, but she can’t bring herself to care as he mouths at her neck. She brings her knees up to lock around his hips, holding him close and trying to grind against him.

He chuckles against her mouth. “That impatient?”

She rolls her hips, feeling his cock against her, hot through his sleep pants. “I’m not the only one.”

He doesn’t respond to that, but instead pulls back. She hates herself for whining softly at the loss of him, her hands falling from where they were when he pulls back too far for her to hang on any longer. “What’re you-?”

“I’m not leaving, I promise,” he tells her, and it makes her heart warm, some kind of distant memory lighting up like a lightbulb. She can’t remember it, not exactly, but it comforts her and makes her feel lighter as he slides down the bed. She lets him guide her legs over his shoulders, and she hooks her ankles between his shoulder blades as he presses kisses to the inside of her knee. It tickles more than it should, and she laughs as he does it again.

“I like it when you do that,” he mutters against the skin. That just tickles more, but she bites her lip to keep the sound in.

“What, when I laugh?” she asks as he starts to kiss the inside of her right thigh. She reaches her hand down as best as she can, finding his hair and moving her fingers through the soft, dark strands. She didn’t see any sort of conditioner in the shower aside from the hotel one; maybe she can convince him to let her use some of his, just to try it out and see if it makes her hair as soft as his.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It means you’re not snapping at me,” he admits, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her left thigh. She shudders as she feels his tongue lap at the skin there, and she smirks as she tightens her hand in his hair.

“Really?” she asks, amused as he reaches his hands up to push the shirt up from where it’s covering her thighs. She’s sure he could see her before then – it’s a loose shirt, after all, and she’d already taken the lingerie off. But he apparently wants to see more of her, if the way he pushes the shirt all the way up her hips to just below her navel is anything to go by. She can’t help but feel suddenly self-conscious; she’s seen the models on the runway, seen the skimpy things they wear. She’s handed him enough Polaroids of lingerie shoots to know that they’ve been shaved entirely bare for aesthetic and convenience. She’d tried with the shaver she’d brought after the purchase of the lingerie, but it’s far from the smooth they’d somehow gotten.

If he minds, he says nothing, moving up to press kisses right above her pubic bone, right above the small bit of fat that she knows for a fact the models she’s seen in the past few days don’t have. He seems to like it, though, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her skin as she runs her hand through his hair.

“I know I’m not stick-thin-“

“I don’t want you to be.”

His words vibrate against her stomach before he pulls back, his thumbs moving across her prominent hipbones. He gives her nothing else, no explanation, absolutely nothing before he puts his mouth where she’s aching and she nearly arches off of the bed when he presses the flat of his tongue against her.

“Fuck,” she breathes, and she can feel him as he pulls back and laughs, breath warm against her thighs. “Don’t stop-“

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he mutters, and then he flicks his tongue against her clit and she short-circuits. Fuck. She finds herself biting at her lower lip, gripping at the shirt that he’d pushed up onto her hips. She whimpers as his entire mouth works to cover her, hot and wet and entirely overwhelming.

She can’t deny the brief, lust-soaked thoughts she’d had after she’d seen him with that damned pen in his mouth, lips around the metal. They were rare and far between, given that he was her boss of all things and her roommate in this hotel besides, but they’d happened. The man has a damn oral fixation, she just knows it as he suckles on her clit, tongue following right afterwards. She doesn’t want to think about his past lovers, doesn’t want to think if he’d done the same flick-suck-press thing to them that he just did to her that made her fingers clench in his hair and ball up the soft fabric of his t-shirt against her stomach. But the man no doubt has some sort of experience, at the very least.

“Fuck, Ren…” she breathes, heels pressing into his shoulders as he works his mouth against her. As soon as she speaks, he slows, and she wants to lean down and beat her fist against his shoulder in response. “Why’d you-?” She’d been nearly there, too, and she lets out some sort of noise in frustration. It’s a strange hybrid of a whine and a growl, and she feels him chuckle against her, the vibrations against her lips making her body thrum in response.

“Sorry if I want to take my time,” he mutters, pressing a wet kiss just to the side, along her inner right thigh.

Bastard. She narrows her eyes, fisting her hand in his hair and directing him with a firm grip back to where she wants him. “Ren, I swear, if you don’t finish, I-“

He returns with vigor, slipping his tongue just inside her wet slit and teasing before sucking at her, hard. Then he’s lapping at her clit, and her orgasm hits her like a freight train, hard enough that she’s arching against him and biting the collar of his shirt in an attempt to keep the entire hotel from hearing her loud moan.

He guides her through it, tongue still lapping at her until she pushes him away, too sensitive. He doesn’t seem to take offense, though, and she watches through unfocused eyes as he works himself, expensive pajama pants pushed down his hips. He’s not wearing underwear, she realizes belatedly as she blatantly watches his hand on his cock. She watches as he thumbs his slit, pace slow and even. It’s a nice cock, flushed pink and long like the rest of him. She wants to touch it, but he seems close to cumming just from his own hand, and she really doesn’t feel like crawling down to meet him.

She watches him, though, and takes mental notes on what to do for when she does touch him. With their early start tomorrow, she doubts it’ll be tonight. As good as she is as his assistant, she’s not entirely sure she can just call and cancel, no matter what excuse she gives them.

He cums in his hand with his eyes meeting hers, and she watches as this always-put-together man comes undone. She can see that his hair’s hopelessly mussed from her hands, flush high on his cheekbones. Her legs are still over his shoulders, and she can feel him tense as he goes over with a breathless laugh. She’d hoped it might, just might, be her name, but it’s a sound without syllables instead, and then he’s standing and walking to the tissue box on the desk, grabbing a few and wiping his hand. “I’m sorry,” he tells her as he tosses the tissues out and pulls the pants back over his cock. She hates to see it go, as stupid as it sounds, but she spreads her legs so that he can lie between her hips and kiss her.

"Why are you sorry?" she asks. "That was incredibly hot." She presses a kiss to his closed lips, and he pulls back quickly.

“You want me to brush my teeth first?” he asks. In the dark, she can see him looking at her with both eyebrows raised.

She shakes her head, opening her arms. “Don’t bother.”

He obliges, walking back over and crawling over her. She drapes her arms over his shoulders as he moves over her, the kiss they share sleepy and sated as she moves to tangle their legs together. He hums against her mouth, guiding his weight and arms down so that he’s on his elbows. She smiles at his body against hers, hot and heavy and somehow comforting.

“Good?” she asks, reaching up to push dark hair back from his forehead.

“Very good,” he mumbles as he reaches his hand to brush the marks across her skin. “I’m sorry, we might have to get up a bit earlier to cover those.”

She shrugs, snuggling into his chest. “It was a small price to pay.”

He moves to lie beside her, immediately pulling her into his chest. She curls into him, reaching up to stroke his hair again. “I thought you weren’t a cuddler?”

“No, but this morning I learned you were, so I figured I’d skip the first step of you rolling over to curl next to me,” he explains, and her heart flips as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not a fan, but I can live with it.”

“You sure?” she asks, pulling back just a bit. “I mean, if you don’t like it, I can put a pillow between us and cuddle that instead.”

“I like you,” he tells her. She tries to meet his eyes, but finds they’re already closed. “I think I can tolerate some close-body contact with you.”

“Tolerate?” she demands, the hand in his hair tugging painfully.

“Ow, fuck,” he hisses, eyes snapping open and hand flying to her hand.

“Tolerate?” she repeats, staring at him.

“Fine, you win,” he growls. “I liked you snuggling up to my chest this morning. Happy?”

“Happy,” she replies, leaning in to press one more chase kiss to his mouth. He tries to follow her when she pulls back, but she stops him with a hand to his chest. “We need to get some sleep if we want to get there on time to the preview. Or is there really such thing as fashionably late?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he mutters, closing his eyes and pulling her closer again. He doesn’t go to kiss her, though, and she counts it as a small victory against the Devil as he wraps his arm around her waist possessively. “Is the alarm set?”

“No, considering you broke it.”

His irritated groan makes her laugh.

-

He wakes up of his own accord, blinking sleepily in the still-dark room. It takes some maneuvering to reach it without waking her up, but he manages to grab his phone on the bedside table. He grimaces at the blinding light, but makes out that it’s around 7 in the morning. They have two hours before they’re supposed to be at the preview, and 15 minutes before the alarm’s supposed to go off.

“What time is it?”

Her voice is groggy with sleep, and she wiggles against him as he hurriedly turns the light of the phone off and tucks her back against him. “7,” he mutters, pressing his lips against her hair. She relaxes against him, cheek on his bare chest as he moves to lie on his back. “We have 15 minutes to sleep.”

“Hm.” She hums, and he moves to rest his hand against the small of her back. He can feel her smile against his chest, and looks down at her.

“What’re you smiling about?”

“I missed it.”

“Missed what?”

“Your hand on my back.”

“Really?” he asks, rubbing his hand against the soft fabric covering her skin.

“Mhm. Didn’t feel it yesterday, with you being an asshole for the entirety of it. Am I still fired, by the way?”

He snorts, shaking his head as he moves his gaze back to the ceiling. “Not if you don’t want to be.”

“I kind of like it. There are a few perks, you know. My best friend works in the same building, I get to go to Paris Fashion Week, wear all these fancy clothes and meet all these famous people. Boss is kind of a dick, though. Ow, shit!”

He’d pinched the skin of her back, hard, and he smirks, just knowing she’s glaring at him even though he can’t see her with his eyes focused on the somewhat blurry chandelier above them. He has a split second of peace before she’s smacking his pec and he’s jolting, disturbing her. “Hey!” he protests.

He turns when she moves away from him, moving towards the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry for pinching you,” he says quickly, suddenly afraid that he’d hurt her more than he realized.

He gets a flash of her bare ass and lean legs as she stands, the shirt falling to her thighs as she stretches. “Calm down, I’m just going to take a shower,” she mutters as he sits up on his elbows, watching her. “And before you ask, no, you can’t join me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he lies, voice low as he lets himself fall back against the pillows. He should get up, he knows. He should get up and find what she’s going to wear as well as what he’s going to wear, but frankly he doesn’t want to.

He’s staring at the ceiling when he hears the padding of her small feet against the hardwood floor, and then she’s above him, and her lips are on his. They’re a bit dry and stale from sleep, but the kiss itself is almost sickeningly sweet and he wonders how in the hell he deserved this woman who not only tolerates him, but shoots verbal bullets back with just as much force as he does to her. She was seemingly made of gunpowder, and he loved it when he lit the trail and saw the fire that came out as a result.

“If you make me wear the corset to the show today, I’m putting in my two weeks notice now,” she mumbles against his mouth as he reaches a hand up to cup the back of her neck.

“I won’t make you wear the damned corset,” he mutters back.

“Promise?” she asks.

“I promise I won’t make you wear the torture trap,” he tells her, reaching down to lightly cup her ass. She hums in response, leaning back against his hand before he pulls away as much as he can with the pillow behind his head.

“Go and take your shower.”

“Can I borrow your conditioner?”

It’s said so quickly he nearly misses it. He blinks at her. “What?”

She shifts against his hand, rocking back into it. “Your conditioner. Can I borrow it?”

He snorts. “If you want to.”

The kiss he gets is barely a kiss with the way she’s smiling, but he’ll take what he can get before she pushes herself off of the bed and strides into the bathroom. “It’s on the counter, the brown bottle with gold writing,” he calls as he gets out of bed, checking his phone for notifications. There are none, so far, everyone back in America still asleep and everyone in Europe with him getting ready for their own days. He walks to his closet as he hears the shower start, the sound louder than the other mornings. He glances to the bathroom and finds that the door’s wide open, and smiles to himself at the small, trusting gesture that really shouldn’t mean as much as he thinks it does.

He pulls out his own outfit for the day, a black Tom Ford suit and navy shirt with a black tie. He walks into her closet, and pulls the one Yves Saint Laurent dress he’d actually liked in the boutique, a white lace thing he, unfortunately, won’t have to zip up for her since it has buttons down the front. He wonders, idly, if she’ll kill him for picking out the Louboutin heels that go with it. He picks a black lace bra and panty set, letting his fingers linger over the light fabrics as he puts them out on the bed. If she slaps him across the face for touching her underthings, he’ll just deal with it. He’s sitting in the desk chair, phone in hand when she comes out of the bathroom. She’s ditched the robe for a towel around her small form, rubbing at her hair with another one. She stops when she sees the outfit on the bed, and looks at him with her brow raised.

“Really?” she asks. “Underwear, too?” She doesn’t sound mad; if anything she sounds kind of amused. But he’s not entirely sure, so he just looks up from his phone and prepares for pain.

“Am I still not allowed to touch them?” he asks. “Unless I’m taking them off?”

“Fuck you,” she tells him, but there’s no malice in her voice. If anything, she’s laughing, and his heart skips a beat as she pulls the towel off and reaches for the panties. He watches her as she pulls the underwear on, taking in the sight of her bare skin eagerly.

“Are you watching me?”

“Yes,” he says simply, watching her as she pulls the bra on with a snort of laughter. “Am I not allowed to?”

“No, you are, it’s just … weird,” she admits, pulling the straps up her shoulders and reaching around to clasp it. “That my boss is watching me get dressed.”

“Oh, like I haven’t been helping you with it for the past, what, three days?” he asks.

She grabs the dress and pulls it over her head, settling it down on her body before she looks at the front. “… it’s not a zip-up,” she mutters.

“No, it’s not.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Look who’s a big girl now.”

“Shut up, Ren,” she snaps as she goes to button up the top of it. “I just … I just expected you to zip me up, all right?”

He stands and walks towards her. She has three buttons left, and so he knocks her hands away to finish the job for her. She stands still as he finishes, and then leans up to kiss him.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters against her lips.

“The irony of you saying that to me is incredible,” she replies as she moves back down, lowering from her tiptoes. His hands have moved to her waist, and he’s reluctant to let her go even though he needs to shower.

“I really am sorry about your shirt,” he says quietly. “I don’t think there’s a way of getting it back.”

She stills in his arms, and he regrets everything. But then she sighs, and shakes her head, and moves so that her forehead’s smack dab in the middle of his chest. He can feel her breathing against his bare skin, and reaches a hand up to cup the back of her neck, thumb rubbing against her skin.

“You didn’t know,” she says quietly. “I mean, it’s not okay, and it hurts that I’ll never see it again, but … it’s done.”

He bends to press his lips to the top of her head. It’s not often he feels like a shitty human being. Oh, he knows that he is one. He knows without a doubt that he’s a downright ass most of the time. But it’s not often that he actually feels his heart sink, feels like there’s a black hole somewhere in his chest and feels like he wants to turn back time. This is one of those rare moments, and he just holds her gently.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” he mutters against her hair, still damp from her shower, because he might be an ass but he’s not a complete douchebag, at least in his opinion.

“Buy me breakfast.”

He smiles. “I was planning on doing that anyway,” he tells her.

“Then get in the shower and get dressed so we can do that sooner. I’ll think of something else later,” she replies, pulling back to push at his chest. “I still need to dry my hair, too.”

“Noted,” he says, watching as she runs her hands down his chest, small fingers exploring the planes of his torso. “… as much as I like you doing that, I really do need to shower.”

She pushes at him. “Go.”

He gives her one more peck on the lips before he goes.

-

“I swear, Rey, if you try the thumb thing again on me instead of yourself, we’re not going to make it out of this hotel room,” he mutters as he reaches for the red lipstick again.

“Is that a bad thing?” she asks as he uncaps it, looks at it, and then puts it right back down before reaching for a rose pink.

“No, but it is fact," he mutters, swiping the color across her lips. He's barely pulled the tube away, just barely swiped his thumb across her upper lip before she's taking it in his mouth and sucking it. His breath catches and he stares at her. He feels just a brief touch of her tongue, hot and wet against the pad of his thumb, and her soft lips as she drags her mouth away, leaving his skin pink. Her eyes are dark, and he stares at her as she pulls off of his finger with a soft 'pop'.

“Order me to call and say we’re not coming,” she tells him lowly.

“Call tell them we’re not coming,” he replies immediately, closing the tube with a click and setting it aside. “I don’t care what excuse you use.”

She holds out her hand. “Phone?”

He grabs her slim, black-cased iPhone from the nearby desk and puts it in her hand. She calls the number she has reserved from a few days before, when she’d called to confirm. He bends, pressing a kiss to the right side of her jaw as she speaks. “Hello, this is Rey Kenobi, assistant to Kylo Ren. Unfortunately, Ren had a bit of a bad meal last night and won’t be able to make it to the preview. We’re going to try our best to make it to the show, though.”

He can’t exactly hear the other woman’s words, but he can hear her concerned tone, and smirks at the lie as he moves down her neck. Most of it is covered by the neck of the dress, and he reaches across to unbutton the top of it. He feels her move as she looks down at his hands, but she doesn’t protest.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I’m so so sorry. Please, give them our apologies.”

He has three buttons undone, and is working on the fourth. There are seven of them, down her chest, and he can nearly slip his hand inside. The fourth slips open, and he works on the fifth. As soon as that’s dealt with, he slips his hand inside the dress and cups her right breast. The thing she calls a bra is barely such, the cups not even reaching her nipple. He brushes his thumb across the small nub and gets a slap to his wrist for trying. He doesn’t pull away though, just stilling his hand against her skin.

“Yes, we’ll be in touch about the show. Thank you for being understanding. Merci. Goodbye.” She hangs up, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as the phone’s thrown and sails across the room to land on the bed. She turns in the desk chair and grabs his face, pulling him up to kiss him. “You’re an ass,” she mutters against his mouth, tasting of orange oil and coconut from her lipstick.

“I could’ve touched lower,” he mumbles back. “I could’ve heard you hold back your moans as you spoke to her, my hand in between your legs.”

“You could’ve,” she admits. “But you didn’t.”

“I’m regretting it.”

She reaches down and unbuttons the rest of the remaining ones, pulling the sides away to reveal the black lace beneath and her bare skin. He stares at her, and then looks up to meet her smirk dead on. “You are a sinful woman.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m working for Satan, isn’t it?” she asks.

“You did not just say that.”

She just grins and pulls him down to bring his mouth to hers.

Chapter Text

“Have you called Demarchelier for the next issue?”

“Yes,” she replies simply.

“And have you contacted Leslie about the collection of Gucci accessories I want?”

“Emailed her yesterday.”

“And you haven’t called her yet because…?” His tone is nearly scathing, and she wants to roll her eyes.

“Because the women never fucking answers her phone, ever. Also, your hand is in my hair and I really don’t want to sit up,” she says, perhaps a bit more snippily than she’d originally intended it to be.

His left hand’s been at the base of her neck for the past hour or so, his fingertips massaging her skin and playing with the soft, downy hairs there. His other hand’s been switching between holding his pen and his coffee mug. He tucks the writing utensil behind his ear when he wants a drink, and Rey wonders if she shouldn’t think that it’s cute, even when it undoubtedly is. She's been watching him for the better part of a half hour now, her dress abandoned on the floor after he'd nearly ripped it off of her after her little thumb trick. Though she'd hoped they'd do something a little more ... risqué, the reality of the situation was they needed breakfast before the show, and he'd been more than happy to oblige.

“You’re staring,” he tells her, finally, as if she doesn’t know that she’s been staring at him for the past half hour or so while he edited the Book and asked her about whether she’d actually done her job or not.

“I’ve been staring for the past 30 minutes,” she replies, closing her eyes as he massages her neck. His knees are lifted so that he can prop the Book against them, and so she can reach his feet with hers, brushing her toes along his ankles. “You’re just oblivious.”

He hums softly, tucking the pen in between his lips as he turns the page, not wanting to lift his hand from her. “You need to call Leslie,” he mumbles around the writing utensil.

She glances up at him, noticing the small, dark dots on his skin. The way his hair curls against his cheek, that one strand of hair that never, ever wants to cooperate on his forehead. It’s certainly not cooperating now, falling right in his line of vision almost constantly. He’d taken out his contacts in favor of his glasses, and every few moments he uses his other hand to run his fingers through his hair. Without fail, that one piece always falls right back into his face.

She can feel his thumb against her neck, the pad of it smoothing over her skin over and over again. He’s doing it absentmindedly, eyes and attention completely focused on the Book and not her.

“I’ll do it in a few minutes,” she says, trying to sate the Devil. She closes her eyes again, just letting him touch her. “… will Hux be there at the show?” she asks suddenly, dreading the answer that she knows is coming.

He snorts. “Yes, of course.”

“Fuck,” she groans, and turns so that she’s lying flat on her back, throwing her arms above her head. The movement dislodges his hand, and she misses it immediately, but he strokes his fingers along her hair and that makes her feel a tiny bit better.

He does that little half-grin thing, and looks down at her. “He may be an asshole, but he’s good at what he does.”

“What exactly does he do?” she asks, turning her face to look at him.

“What I do,” he explains. “Except that I have the final say in everything. He checks, I double, triple, and quadruple check. I have the final say. He also contributes to some of the articles, and handles complaints and such from readers and other publications.”

“Sounds awful,” she admits. “Aside from the contributing to the articles.”

He sets the pen and Book aside, and she takes advantage of his empty lap, swinging herself up and over him. She straddles his hips, his hands immediately finding her own hipbones and thumbs stroking at the bare skin above the waistline of her panties as she leans back on his knees slightly.

“It’s a job,” he explains, staring up at her almost-bare form. He, regrettably, still has his pants on, though she’d watched him take his shirt off. Unlike her dress, his shirt’s hanging nicely on the back of a chair.

She hums as his hands find her bare back, roaming up and down her spine. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Yes.” The answer’s immediate. “I love my job.”

“Even with the amount of stress it causes you?” she asks, hands finding his face and running her thumbs under the dark circles under his eyes that seem to be a permanent fixture on his sharp face.

“Even then,” he replies. “Nobody can do what I do without committing suicide within a year.”

“That’s morbid,” she mutters.

“It’s true.”

She lets him kiss her, sweet and lazy. She hums against his lips, moving her hand into his soft hair and holding him to her. He obliges, mouth moving against hers. He tastes like his damn coffee, sickeningly sweet.

“You’ve had a nearly-naked woman in your bed for the past few hours, and you haven’t fucked her,” she mumbles against his lips, pulling back just enough to speak.

“You’re the one who ate French toast and then insisted you were too full to be fucked,” he breathes, and she smiles when she feels his hands on her back, still but warm. They’re large enough that they cover most of her bare skin, and it makes her feel just a bit safer. “What, do you want me now?”

“Depends on what time it is,” she admits. “If you fuck me, we’ll have to do my hair and makeup over again, since we’re going to need to shower.”

“We have an hour,” he informs her. “We need to be there by 11:30, and it’s 10 now. Half hour for transport.”

“Fuck me,” she mutters, annoyed before she realizes what she just said. “No, I mean … we don’t have time for it, then, since you’re so adamant about making fixing my face a 45 minute ordeal.”

His hands move from her back to her face, large hands cupping her cheeks and thumbs running along the soft skin under her eyes. “Not fixing,” he mutters. “Accentuating.”

“You said fixing before.”

“I wasn’t trying to fix you,” he says, a bit obnoxiously. “I was trying to fix your wardrobe. There’s a distinct difference.”

With her braced against his thighs, she’s staring down at him, and she has to bend to kiss him deeply. The height difference is strange, but she finds she likes it as he has to reach up to kiss her. She’s sure her hair looks like a mess from his fingers and from lying in bed for another few hours, but she can’t care less as he softens their kiss.

Whatever fire had been there last night seems to have dimmed, their movements lazy and slow. She hums when his hands move down to her lace-covered breasts, cupping them in his large palms. His touch is warm, and she feels him smile against her mouth at her little sound.

“Don’t want me touching there?” he questions, pulling back to rest his head back against the headboard. He’s still wearing his glasses, and she’s kind of amused by the fact that they’re slightly crooked.

“No, it’s fine, just wasn’t expecting it,” she admits as his hands spread out and his thumbs tweak her nipples through the lace. “Might not be the best idea, though, since those bras don’t exactly cover them well.” She bites her lip against the shock of heat she feels at him touching her.

His hands move to her hips almost immediately. “Good point,” he mutters. “Well, what do you suggest I do with you?”

She thinks. She thinks about his mouth on her again. She thinks about him putting those deft, lightly calloused fingers to use between her legs. She thinks about touching the cock she’d seen last night, seeing if she could make Satan speechless.

But then she remembers his hands on her back, warm and comforting, and the soft moments of last night. So she shrugs and bends to rest her forehead against his.

“Can you just … I don’t know, hold me for a few moments?” she mumbles. “Instead of working on that damned Book?”

“I think I can do that,” he admits, and she smiles when she feels his arms wrap around her, almost possessive. “I haven’t been getting much editing done, anyway.”

“You work on it near constantly,” she informs him.

“You’re more distracting than you realize.”

“Am I really?” she asks, mouth starting to turn up in a grin when her phone rings shrilly from the bedside table. “… you’ve got to be kidding me.”

He just chuckles and lets her go so she can scramble across to her side of the bed. “Who is it?”

She crawls across the bed and grabs her phone, glancing at the screen. “General Ginger,” she tells him, showing him the caller I.D. “Should I answer?”

He holds out his hand. “Hand it to me.”

“Sure that’s a good idea?”

“Not at all,” he replies, taking the phone from her outstretched hand and swiping to answer it. “Is there a reason you’re calling my assistant, Hux?”

He lowers his legs so that they’re stretched out on the bed, and Rey takes advantage of the new space to lie down and rest her head on his thigh. He switches the phone over immediately and uses his free hand to stroke her hair again, occasionally brushing his fingertips over her shoulder.

“She wasn’t feeling well this morning,” Ren states after a moment, and Rey’s eyes widen as she jerks her head up to stare at him.

That wasn’t what she’d said. She’d said he hadn’t been feeling well that morning. She leans up and makes a cut-throat motion to her boss, who seems to make the same realization that she just had about thirty seconds too late.

“Are you and Phasma all right?” he asks. “We both don’t feel very well.” It’s not convincing at all, and Rey wants to bury her face in the pillows and groan.

“You’re a horrible liar,” Rey hisses, and gets a sharp slap to her shoulder. “Ow, fuck you!”

“Yes, we will be at the show,” Ren continues. “We will be there at 12. See you then. Rey will be sitting next to me this show. Phasma will be taking Rey’s seat. Please inform her for me. That’s all.” He hangs up without another word and tosses the phone to the bedcovers. Rey watches it bounce slightly before looking back at him.

“You’re shit at lying,” she tells him.

“I’m aware of that,” he growls, and she flops over onto her back. It’s not long before he’s over her, bracing himself on his elbows. She immediately reaches up to lace her hands around his neck as he bends down to kiss at hers. When she feels a flash of teeth, she tugs at his hair.

“You make it, you cover it,” she warns him.

“I’ll reapply the concealer,” he mumbles against her skin. But he stops biting and just kisses lightly instead, and she runs her fingers through his hair as he continues down to the line of lace covering her breasts.

“I didn’t get to pay attention to these last night,” he laments, sounding regretful.

She arches her back, pressing her chest against him as she reaches back with one hand to unlatch the bra. As soon as it’s loose, she lies back against the bed again, fabric barely covering her chest now. “Want to pay attention to them now?”

“I thought you said I couldn’t?”

She shrugs. “Give me a different shirt and I’ll be fine. Something black and complicated, maybe. That Yves Saint Laurent one, with the high collar and the lace?”

He stares at her face instead of her chest, and she’s suddenly afraid that there’s something wrong with her. She’s lying nearly topless beneath a man, and he’s staring at her face. “…. You all right?” she asks slowly.

“You said Yves Saint Laurent,” he tells her.

“… yeah?” she asks, just as slowly as before, dark brows raising in confusion at his statement.

His face splits into a smile, that rare one that she’s seen maybe twice since knowing him. The one where she can see his slightly crooked teeth, the one where his cheeks strain with the effort. “What’s the difference between Jimmy Choo and Chrisitian Louboutin?”

“Red soles, obviously,” she tells him, and then he’s kissing her so hard her breath leaves her lungs. She’s entirely sure her lipstick, what little is left of it, will be smudged across both his mouth and hers by the time he’s finished. It’s nearly violent, and by the time he pulls away she’s breathless, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” she breathes, and he’s smiling again.

“You’re learning.” His voice is low and almost dulcet, and she scrapes her nails against his scalp in response.

“I’m at Paris Fashion Week and you’ve been shoving thousands of dollars worth of clothes down my throat, of course I’m learning,” she admits.

“I’m impressed.”

She looks down at her chest. The bra’s shifted during the kiss, revealing almost the entirety of her breasts. “…. I’m barely wearing a bra, and yet you’re turned on by the fact that I know the difference between Jimmy Choos and Louboutins?”

His laugh is awkward as he guides the scrap of fabric and lace off of her. She watches as he tosses it to the side, black lace contrasting with the white of the bedsheets. And then he’s planting kisses between her breasts, soft and almost loving.

No, they’re not loving, she tells herself. That isn’t what this is. He’s just gentle with her, that’s all. She refuses to allow herself the fantasy as she runs her hand through his thick hair, still slightly damp from the shower he’d taken earlier.

“Tell me,” he mumbles against the skin just below her breasts, above her ribs. “Have you ever heard of a sartorial kink?”

“… no?” she admits, feeling just a bit dumb.

“It’s the general term for a kink relating to clothing,” he tells her as he kisses the soft skin of her left tit, mouth planting kisses around her pink nipple but never actually getting there. She wants to whine in frustration with him. “Some people prefer latex, or PVC, or corsets, or stockings, or uniforms, or what have you.”

“So you’re telling me you want me to put on a catsuit?” she asks flatly, fingers moving against his scalp.

“I’m telling you that beautiful people in beautiful clothing turns me on,” he mumbles against her skin. “You’re included in that pool.”

It’s not the first time he’s called her beautiful. But it still makes her cheeks warm and her heart skip a beat as he finally latches on and sucks, hard. He doesn’t bite this time, though she bets he will eventually. He seems to like teeth. She nearly arches, head tipping back. “That … explains a lot,” she breathes.

He hums against her, and she nearly moans as the vibrations from his mouth meet her skin. It’s nearly enough to make her thoughts stop entirely, though not quite.

She freezes for a moment, his mouth still working at her and brain not quite clear, but she latches on to something he’d just said. “Wait, people?”

He pulls off of her with a ‘pop’, and she almost groans at the lack of contact. “Yes, people,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“Not just women?” she asks, staring down at him as he continues to kiss at her bare skin.

“No,” he admits, words mumbled against the swell of her left breast. “Not just women.”

“Bisexual?” she questions, running her fingers through his hair again.

“Pansexual,” he explains, hand moving down her bare side to hitch her leg up so that he can stroke his hand up and down the outside of her right thigh.

She knows what it means. She’s had the conversation with BB, and had a long talk with Finn after he’d come out about the different sexualities, just so she was informed. “… so, you’re turned on by beautiful people in beautiful clothes. That includes, like, half of Paris, currently. And almost every model we encounter.”

His lips are pressed again to the skin between her breasts, and she can feel him smirk against her skin. “You’re starting to understand why I’m in this business,” he explains.

“… how many models have you fucked?” she demands, heartbeat like a jackhammer as she thinks about all the beautiful people they’ve seen in the past few days. Hell, if she thinks back to the office, there are countless others as well.

He must feel it in her chest, being so close to her, and he reaches for the hand that isn’t in his hair and presses his lips against her pulse point. “Seven,” he says simply.

She stares at the top of his head. “… just seven?”

“I like to be emotionally attached to the person before I sleep with them,” he informs her, looking up at her through his dark lashes. “Three were one-night-stands I regret to this day.”

“I think you’re the only person I know who would say they regret sleeping with a model,” she tells him wryly, and then her fingers stop in his hair. “Wait, emotionally attached?”

“Yes,” he says simply, pressing kisses to her palm.

“You’re emotionally attached to me?”

“I thought it was obvious,” he mumbles against her skin, and his tone sounds like he’s talking to a child. She stares at him in surprise before he moves back to her breasts, distracting her with the way he closes her left nipple between his lips and sucks hard enough to have her arching.

It’s not enough to get her off. She’s not that sensitive, and though she might be after a while, they don’t have the time to dedicate to it. But it feels damn good anyway, and she lets him explore her with his lips and tongue. He does bite her, gently, scraping his teeth against the skin just above her ribs. It’s not hard enough to leave a mark, but it sends shivers up her spine either way.

“Is that why you put me in those clothes?” she asks, voice soft. “So that I can be one of those beautiful people in beautiful clothes?”

“Perhaps,” he admits, pulling away from her skin to stare at her with dark eyes that she can only describe as ‘fuck me’ eyes.

She nearly gulps, instead pushing herself up onto her elbows and glancing towards the side of the bed. She makes to look over towards the alarm clock, before remembering that he’d broken it. “What time is it?”

He hums, climbing off of her so that he can get his phone. She misses the warmth of his body above hers immediately. “We have half an hour.”

“How’s the makeup?” she asks as he sets his phone aside again.

“We’ll reapply lipstick, but not awful,” he informs her. Instead of crawling back on top of her, he stands, stretching. His back pops, and she’s given a wonderful view of the muscles rippling beneath his pale skin. She continues to lie back on the bed, stretching her own arms above her head and maybe intending on showing off her damn-near bare form to his watching eyes.

It works. She grins as he watches her with hungry eyes, standing at the foot of the bed, nearly looming. “You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now,” he tells her, and she just stretches more, arching her back.

“We have half an hour,” she tells him. “If you don’t mess up the makeup too much…?”

“I’ll need more than half an hour,” he replies simply, moving to pull his shirt back on. “Get the black lace Yves Saint Laurent blouse, and there’s a Dolce and Gabbana skirt in there. Wool, black, pencil with side pleats.”

“Shoes?” she asks, sitting up on her elbows as she watches him button the bottom of the shirt.

“I’ll choose them once you get the rest of it on,” he replies.

She reaches for the bra on the bed, but he beats her to it, snatching the garment from her. “Kylo, I need that.”

“You don’t wear a bra with that shirt,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

She stares at him. “… well, I wear a bra with that shirt, so give me the damn thing,” she says, holding out her hand for the bra. There’s the slight urge to cover herself as she kneels on the bed, completely topless in front of her boss, but she squelches it as she waits for the black lace in his hands. It’s somehow more open, more obvious as she knees up in front of him. She guesses that it’s because she’s not amongst the covers; they’re not having sex, not now.

“You’re not wearing a bra with that blouse.”

“Yes, I am, now give it here.”

He offers it to her, strap dangling from his forefinger. She lunges for it just as he steps back, and is half a second away from falling off of the bed, heart already dropping into her stomach when he catches her by her forearms and kisses her heavily.

She kisses him back despite the surprise, feeling very much like she’d just expected another step when there wasn’t one. “You’re an ass,” she mumbles against his mouth, and she feels him grinning as he pulls back just enough to guide the bra up her arms.

“It will look awful,” he tells her as he reaches around to clasp it for her.

“I don’t care, I’m not not wearing a bra when I see Hux. The gala dress was fine, but I don’t know how much the blouse will show.”

“Fair point,” he admits, watching her as she adjusts the straps back to where she wants them.

His hands have moved to her waist, thumbs stroking her bare skin. She moves to lean back, and he just follows her. She wants to smirk or smile at him, at how his hands follow her whether she leans forward or back. She moves to go to the side, but he braces himself and she ends up pushing against his hand instead. “… you gonna let me go?” she asks.

He looks down at her with wide, dark eyes, and while she’s taller than she usually is thanks to the bed beneath her knees, she’s still shorter than him. “One more?”

He sounds like a little kid, begging for five more minutes of playing. It’s both pathetic and endearing as he looks down at her. She lets herself smirk, running her hands up his probably several hundred dollar shirt before she laces her arms around his neck, pulling him back down to her.

“One more,” she tells him, smirking slightly as he bends to kiss her once more before he’s forced to put lipstick on her.

-

They’re five minutes late to the show, but it hasn’t started yet. Something about lighting difficulties, she hears from some of the ushers who help them to their seats.

Hux was true to his order, and Rey can see Phasma sitting in the row behind them, on her phone. The ginger looks pissed off, though, as Ren makes his way to the front rows.

Ren sits in between them, Rey sitting on his left and the executive editor sitting on his right. Hux’s back is ram-rod straight as he waits for the show to start, hands clasped firmly in his lap.

“Care to explain why she’s next to you?” he asks, voice nearly scathing as she bends to settle her purse beneath her seat. She stiffens slightly at the volume of his voice. He meant for her to hear, she’s absolutely sure of it.

“I want her to be. Do I need another explanation?” Ren insists, and when she comes back up to settle back into her seat she notices that he isn’t looking at the executive director on his right.

“Yes, considering you booted the head photographer to the second row and your assistant to the front,” Hux snarls. “You don’t do that.”

“Well, I do that,” Ren says simply as Rey tries to steel herself and make her back as straight as possible. “I want her to have the front-row experience before we leave, just once. Is that so hard for you to comprehend?”

The man glares at him, but Ren pays him no mind and bends to speak to Rey instead. She startles softly at the warm breath against her ear, lips too close for her comfort in public. “Cross your ankles, not your legs,” he instructs lowly, and she does as asked immediately, glancing over towards him.

“Good girl,” he mumbles, and her glance turns into a glare.

“I’m not a dog,” she hisses. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his back straighten.

“No, you’re not, but you’re my assistant, and you’ll do as asked,” he mutters back, and it would be so, so easy to jam her heel into the top of his expensive shoe and make some sort of bruise.

She’s seconds away from doing just that when she remembers his sleepy smile that morning, his hands on her bare waist and her own fingers in his hair. How soft his lips were against her neck, against her shoulder, against her own mouth. So she straightens and strengthens herself, eyes focused directly on the runway that’s currently lit softly by spotlights, casting lace-like patterns across the stage.

“Yes, sir,” she says simply, trying not to look at him as the lights suddenly come on and the announcer starts to speak into the microphone, voice booming around the room.

-

They’d only eaten breakfast. Sure, it had been a bit big, with French toast and pastries and bacon as well as tea. But by the time 2 rolls around and the show is ending, she’s starving and wanting a Twix or something, desperately.

She isn’t expecting his hand on her back, guiding her back up the stairs, but it’s there anyway. She’s grateful for it, as she’s not entirely sure she’d be able to make it without him. Her feet are hurting worse than they had the previous days, the sudden change in her heel height to blame. Maybe he’ll let her wear flats tomorrow. Maybe she can bribe him into letting her wear flats tomorrow, she thinks, glancing towards him as they make their way backstage to where everyone’s waiting for them.

She watches as Ren greets the designers and the models, offering each one of them the carefully guarded smile she’s so used to seeing on him. It’s a small, closed-mouth sort of thing, just the mere quirk of his lips. She decides she likes his real smile better, the one she’s seen only a handful of times now. He looks human, then; now, he looks like some sort of dark god, moving through the crowds like water as people nearly bow before him.

She follows along behind him, his temple’s attendant. She gets a few stares herself as she settles herself next to him, a constant presence beside the Devil.

“What did you think of the collection?” is asked so often she loses count, and Ren gives out so many answers she can’t keep track.

She does notice the smiles of the askers, though; with the question came a bright, hopeful grin that slowly dimmed with every word that fell from the editor’s full lips. She finds herself looking between the designers, the models, and her boss, watching as he seemingly pulls them apart with no more than twenty words spoken between them. A few of them walk off looking like dogs with tails between their legs, and she feels awful for them.

None of his words were rude, she thinks. They were actually very respectful, his tone slow and even. She wonders – no, she knows for a fact that she’s missing something big when it comes to him and his answers.

By the time she checks her phone, she has four voicemails. She touches his arm gently and excuses herself. He just nods, speaking to one of the models in silver and black makeup with her sleek hair and sleeker cheekbones.

She ducks around a clothing rack, her finger to her free ear to block the noise as she listens to the voicemails. One’s from Leslie, thank God, and she nods as the woman tells her, a bit frantically, that yes they have all the accessories for the spread and that the photos will be on Ren’s desk when they return. The rest are from designers, asking for confirmation of Ren’s attendance at their own shows and parties, and Rey makes a mental note to call them when she’s in a quieter place.

She puts the phone away, back into the YSL clutch she has in her hands, and tucks a strand of hair that’s escaped from her messy top bun back behind her ear. She looks around for Ren – it’s never too hard to find the man, given his height and the fact that everyone around him tends to give him a wide berth out of respect.

She startles when she feels a tap on her shoulder, and turns with wide eyes to see the executive editor standing there, holding two glasses of lemon water. He offers one to her, and she takes it gratefully, thirsty in the warm small back room with several dozen people occupying it.

“I hope you enjoyed your front row seat,” he says, tone carefully level as she takes a sip of the water. She continues her scan for Ren, failing to see him amongst the taller models.

“I did,” she admits. “But I think I’ll let Phasma take my seat from now on.”

It’s the best answer she can manage. Yes, she liked sitting in the front and being able to see everything and everyone clearly. And yes, she’d very much liked sitting next to Ren through it all. But she can tell that Hux didn’t want her there at all, let alone sitting next to Ren.

“Have you heard the news?” he asks, eyes roaming the room. She turns to him, pulling the cup away from her lips.

“Hm?” she asks, staring at him as he continues to watch the models and designers and photographers mingle amongst themselves.

“That you and Ren are fucking,” he says simply, and she’s incredibly glad that she’d swallowed before because she’s fairly certain she would’ve spilled water all down her chin if she’d taken a sip of it before he spoke.

“What?” she demands, looking towards him. He still doesn’t look at her, but his mouth’s moved into a smirk.

“It’s all over the news sites. Do you even read the tabloids?” he asks.

“They think that we’re-“ she starts, but then there’s a hand on her back and she’s stiffening at Ren’s touch as he seemingly materializes beside her.

“They’re not wrong,” he says, and her eyes snap to his face. His gaze is focused on the redheaded man, just as Hux’s eyes move to the editor-in-chief.

“… you’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Ren,” Hux snarls, and Rey wonders just how hard she could make her heel dig into his foot. That, and she wonders if the fact that her heels are pointed would make a difference if she kicked him in the balls right now.

“I’m not,” Ren says, and his tone sounds kind of like a little kid’s. A ‘this is mine and not yours’ kind of tone, teasing and a little obnoxious. “And if you say anything to anyone - and I mean anyone- I’ll call up TV Guide and set up a nice little copy editing job for you. How’s that sound, Hux?”

It’s actually kind of entertaining to see the man’s jaw clench and his eyes harden. Rey stares at the executive editor as he looks ready to burst into flames, and then Ren’s lips are at her ear.

“C’mon, the car’s waiting,” Ren tells her, and she lets herself be led away from the other editor by Ren’s firm hand on her back. She lets him touch her until they’re out and away from the room, and then she’s turning.

“Why the fuck did you tell him that we were?” she hisses as he continues to walk, hand just falling to his side when she steps out of range.

“Because if I didn’t, he would’ve taunted you until he got an answer out of you,” he replies. “He wouldn’t have left you alone until you told him, or I told him. Your job back in New York would’ve been hell.”

“It already is,” she mutters lowly as she tries to keep up with his long strides in her heels.

She can see his smirk out of the corner of her eye as he leads her to where the Bentley’s waiting for them, the driver standing by the open door. He slides in first, moving to the other side before she slips in beside him. “It would’ve been even more of a nightmare, how about that?” he asks as she pulls her legs in. The door closes with a finite slam.

“Just how many people are you comfortable telling?” she snaps.

“As many as you’re comfortable with,” Ren admits, and that’s definitely not the answer she was expecting from him. She glances over and finds that his phone’s in his hand, and he’s looking at her expectantly. “You say the word, and I’ll call Sarah and have her shut the entire thing down quickly. I can even release a personal statement myself saying that we’re not involved.”

She stares at him. He’s staring back at her earnestly, and she knows that if she says the word, he’ll actually do it. He’ll tell the entire world that they don’t exist, that they’re not a thing, that last night didn’t happen at all and that his hand on her back is just to help her in her heels and that their closeness is due to … something completely and utterly platonic.

He’d do it for her.

She glances down at the leather seat between them, and reaches her hand out, palm up and offering. She looks up at him and sees that he’s staring at her hand curiously. It’s not until she actually reaches out and takes his hand that isn’t holding the phone that he actually gets it, and then he’s holding her fingers back and running his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Let’s see what happens, okay?” she asks. “We’ll see what happens when we get back to New York.”

His phone screen goes dark, and his thumb continues to run along the back of her hand.

“All right.”

-

“Oh, right. Leslie called. She has the accessories ready.”

“Good.”

She’s walking around in his t-shirt and her underwear, letting her feet pad around the soft carpet and warm wood of the hotel room before she has to put stilettos on again.

“I also called to confirm for Chanel, Givenchy, and Armani,” she says as she walks in from the living room. “Lagerfeld wants to speak to you personally – I’d call him on your phone.”

“When did he say that?”

“He called not five minutes ago,” she tells him, sweeping her hair up into a messy bun. This one’s not purposefully messy, not intricately done with bobby pins tucking just the right pieces in like her previous bun. “I’d call him sooner than later.”

“Right.”

He’s walking around in his shirt and pants, still, suit jacket abandoned on the desk chair. They have an hour to kill before they’re supposed to be at the afterparty for the show. She’s taking advantage of the time to be as comfortable as possible, grabbing the Starkiller shirt from that morning and stripping everything else. She watches from the doorway as he reaches for his phone, running his other hand through his dark hair.

Her own phone starts ringing half a moment later, and she looks down to see Finn’s face staring back at her, the request to video chat before her. She glances towards Ren, but he’s already on his own phone, waiting for Lagerfeld to pick up.

She ducks back into the living room and settles into one of the gold wing-backed chairs, accepting the call. “Hey, Finn!”

She blinks in surprise when the camera turns on and she’s not staring at Finn – she’s staring at herself and Ren, the cover of the tabloid magazine shiny and slick and warped in the phone camera. The photo must’ve been taken after the formal dinner, because she recognizes the black, sleeveless lace dress that she’d worn that night. The gala had been incredibly tight with security; if there’s photos of it, they came from someone on the inside. The light blocks the headline, but she stares at the photo of her and Ren for a few moments, speechless.

His hand’s on her waist as he leads her to the car, both of their heads ducked against the flash of the camera.

“You want to explain this?”

She can’t see Finn’s face, but his tone’s unreadable. He doesn’t sound disappointed, not quite, but he doesn’t sound happy either. She brings her knees in to her chest, curling into the chair and watching as the photo shines back at her.

“… what do you want me to say?” she asks.

Now she can see his face as he pulls the magazine down. Again, he’s unreadable as he stares at her, dark gaze on her face. She can see her own face staring back in the corner. “I want you to tell me whether the whole ‘secret romance’ thing is true. Poe found it at one of the stands. I know the magazine isn’t the most reliable, but if it’s Photoshop, they did a pretty damn good job of it.”

She leans her head against the side of the chair, tilting the phone with it so that she doesn’t look too lopsided. “… it’s not Photoshop,” she admits. “It’s not Photoshop, and yeah, things have … happened, I guess.” She sits up a little bit. “But he’s actually not as bad as people think, and a lot of what the tabloids say isn’t true, and he’s kind of sweet and he-“

“Rey, what are you wearing?”

“Huh?” She glances down at the Starkiller shirt, and then back up at Finn. “… his shirt?”

“You’re wearing his shirt.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she insists. “I should’ve texted you this morning, I should’ve kept you in the loop, but you’ve been with Poe and-“

“Rey, I’m not judging you.”

She hadn’t even realized that anxiety had been inflating something in her chest like a balloon, and it deflates so suddenly she’s actually left breathless. All the defenses that she was ready to throw die behind her teeth, and she’s left staring at her best friend. “… you’re not?”

“I’m not,” the other man insists, and she grins in relief as his face softens into something sweeter, something a little more like the Finn she knows. “I’m just worried about what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I wish I could tell you that I knew what I was getting myself into,” she admits, looking towards the open bedroom door. She can still hear Ren’s soft voice in the next room over, the editor still talking to Lagerfeld. “… but Satan can actually be kind of sweet.”

“Any details you’re willing to share?”

That voice is definitely not Finn’s, and she looks back towards the phone to see that Finn’s now holding the phone out a bit more. She can see that they’re leaning against the couch, and that her best friend’s tucked into the circle of Poe’s arm. She smiles at the two and curls up a bit more into the chair, holding the phone balanced on her knees.

“He keeps his hand on my back to keep me upright when I have to wear heels?” she offers. “And he’s defended me more than once, and …” She glances back towards the door. “… and he said we can call the publicist any time, and get her to shut everything down, and that he’d release a personal statement if it’s what I wanted.”

“Is that what you want?” Finn asks, leaning more against Poe’s chest. Rey watches as the older man presses a kiss to the top of her best friend’s head, and she remembers Ren doing the same thing the night before, and how her heart had flipped at the small gesture.

“… I don’t know,” she admits. “I think we’ll figure out what we’re going to do when we get back to New York.”

“At least you’ll always have Paris,” Poe pipes, and Finn reaches up to smack him on the wrist as a result. “Hey, it’s a classic line!”

“Just … be careful, peanut,” Finn warns, looking back down at her. “I don’t want you going into something you’re not entirely sure of.”

She looks towards the bedroom once more. “I think he’s thinking the same thing,” she admits. “He’s been really … adamant about my consent and such.”

“That was information we did not need.”

She smirks, looking back down to see Poe grimacing. “I can share more gory details if you want-“ she starts.

“And I’ll tell you all about how your friend here’s damn good at s-“

“Nope,” Finn says, hand flying up to cover the copy editor’s mouth. “Nope, shut up, shut up right now.”

Poe’s laugh’s muffled by the younger man’s hand, but is there all the same, and Rey just grins in response.

“You’re coming back on Tuesday, right?”

“Flight’s Monday night, yeah,” Rey replies.

“Dinner after you sleep off the jetlag?”

“Definitely.” She smiles at the other man. “I’ll call you soon, okay? I think I have to get ready soon.”

“All right, peanut. Stay safe.”

“Have fun, gorgeous,” Poe adds now that Finn’s hand has dropped from his mouth, and gives her a sweet smile back. "Take that anyway you please."

She actually grins at that, shaking her head. "Thanks, Poe.”

With that, the call cuts out, and when she looks up towards the bedroom door again, he’s leaning against it.

“Everything all right?” he asks, and she stretches her legs out but doesn’t leave the comfort of the wing chair.

“My friends saw one of the magazines,” she explains. “And wanted to know if it was true.”

Even without his expensive shoes, his footsteps are heavy on the floor as he walks over to her. She turns her head as he kneels beside the chair, and she’s startled by the fact that he’s kneeling before her. The act of submission never fails to surprise her, no matter how many times he’s helped her get her heels on and off.

“I can call Sarah,” he replies. “I can call Sarah, and release a personal statement tonight. I’ve done it before. The journalists are disappointed, but eventually things do die down.”

His voice is warm, and his face open and earnest as he looks up at her, and all of a sudden she’s staring down at him and realizing that there’s a good possibility she’s falling in love with him.

Because he’s asking her if she wants this.

He’s giving her a choice.

He’s given her choices this entire time, this entire trip. The clothes might have been a bit forced, but she has no doubt looking back that if she’d protested, he would’ve relented and let her do her own thing. Her employment was also a choice; he would’ve called Skywalker and had her over there by the time they returned to New York, she’s sure of it. He’d given her a choice last night, asked her not once, but twice if she’d actually wanted him between her legs. And he’s giving her a choice now, asking if she actually wants to pursue this.

Emotionally attached, he’d said. He’s emotionally attached to her.

She guesses that’s as good of a confession of “I like you” that she’s going to get. It’s not love, not on her end, not quite yet. But she’s pretty certain that could come soon enough, with how quickly she’s starting to feel fond of the man they dubbed the Devil.

She’s higher than him, sitting in the chair as he kneels in front of her. It’s all too easy to lean forward and drape her arms around his neck, to run her fingers through the soft, dark hair at the nape of his neck.

“I want you.”

It’s not enough of an answer for him, apparently, because he’s still looking at her with those dark eyes that look like they belong on a puppy instead of an adult man. Her hands find his shoulders, feeling the muscles and his warm skin beneath his dress shirt.

“I want to wear your shirt,” she says. “I want to watch you dump way too much cream and sugar into your coffee. I want to walk in on you in the shower, and I want to dress up in ridiculously expensive lingerie just to see how it makes you react. I want you to help me in and out of the dresses you bought, and I want your fingers on my neck while you do work. I want your mouth on me – everywhere. I want you. And while I don’t know whether I want all the shit you come with quite yet, I know I want you. Does that answer your question?”

He’s silent for a moment, and then he’s bending to press kisses to the inside of her wrist. “That answers a question I didn’t ask, but I’m glad that it’s your answer all the same.”

“Don’t call Sarah yet.”

“That’s the question I really needed answered,” he replies against her skin, voice soft. “I won’t call Sarah yet.”

“… are we breaking some sort of HR rule?” she asks, suddenly, and he smiles against her arm.

“Unless you think that this is sexual harassment, then no,” he explains. “Work relationships within the company are accepted. It’s if you feel that I’m pressuring you into a sexual relationship, or harassing you, or using you that HR will have a problem. Do you feel as though I’m doing any of that?”

“No,” she replies immediately.

“Then we don’t have a problem,” he explains. “We will, however, have a problem if you don’t get that Versace dress on sooner than later. We still need to find something to do with your hair, and I need to darken your eye makeup.”

“Are you going to make me wear heels?”

“As it’s a formal party, yes.”

“Fuck you.”

“We don’t have time for that.”

It’s too easy to slap at his shoulder, but she’s grinning as she does it, and though he makes a little grunt in pain, she knows he’s entirely joking as she stands and starts to walk towards the bedroom.

“Are you coming to help me put this damn thing on or not?” she calls as she walks towards the closet. The dress is already on the bed, but she has something else in mind for what will go beneath it.

“What damn thing?” he calls from the living area as she pulls the corset out. She’s just turning with it in her hands when he stops in the bedroom doorway, staring at the sheer black and lace number.

“… you’re going to be the death of me, woman.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you in Hell,” she replies cheekily as she pulls his shirt up and over her head. “C’mere, I need two more hands to put this on.” She unlatches the bra she’s wearing and tosses it to the bed, grinning as she feels his hands on her hips, his body behind her. She laughs as he basically attacks her neck, pulling her back flush against his chest and bowing over her, hands hot and possessive but lips light to avoid reapplying the heavy layer of concealer that’s already covering her skin from the night before.

“You going to let me go?” she asks, after the attack has stopped and she’s just in his arms with his lips pressed to the back of her neck.

“Never.”

She’s surprised to find she’s actually kind of happy at his answer, her hands finding his on her hips. She lets herself enjoy the warmth of his chest against her back and his hands on her hips for a few more heartbeats.

“… no, Kylo, but actually, you need to let me go, that thing’s a bitch to put on.”

Chapter Text

She wants him.

The simple collection of three syllables makes him happier than it probably should, and makes his heart beat harder and faster than is probably healthy. But her smile’s soft as she speaks, and her face open, and he finds himself believing her as he kneels before her.

He’s had people kneel before him, had men and women and others alike take his cock between their lips. He’s knelt a handful of times as well to repay the favor, but he can’t think of a time when he willingly sank to his knees just to be at the feet of someone so exquisitely human, dressed in just her underwear and his shirt and her hair up in some kind of lopsided, messy bun.

She’s as far from a goddess, far from the red-lipped, slim-hipped models he’s taken to bed before. But he’ll gladly worship her, he thinks.

And then she’s showing him that damn corset.

She stays still for him, in front of the mirror as he starts on the clasps. He can tell that she’s sucking the little stomach she has in, her hands pressed to the front of the corset to keep it from falling from her body as he helps her into it.

“If you can barely breathe in it, then you don’t have to wear it,” he insists.

“It’s fine – the one in the dressing room was a size too small,” she explains, meeting his gaze in the mirror. He looks at her for a moment before looking back down to the dozens of small clasps along her back. He’s about halfway there, slowly guiding the corset to a close around her torso. “This one’s a lot easier.”

“If you say so,” he mutters as he finishes with the clasps and lets his hands run down her small waist. He admittedly misses feeling her skin, now covered in lace and some sort of mesh material and boning. But he holds her all the same, and lets himself smile a bit as she leans back against him.

“Dress?” she asks, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“… I think I’m going to put you in the black Valentino, instead,” he replies, turning to get the black gown from the closet.

“Which one?”

“The gown,” he calls as he moves through the racks of her closet, finding the dress in the black garment bag it had left the store in.

“The gown?” she repeats. “Won’t that show the corset?”

“That’s the idea,” he calls back when he returns with the garment bag draped over his arm. “It’ll be a nice touch to the simple dress.” He pulls the gown out and shows it to her. “You’ll see once you put it on.”

“Everyone will know I’m wearing a lace corset.”

“And everyone will be in awe of you wearing it, I promise, now get over here.”

He pulls the zipper down for her and hands it to her, watching as the fabric slides down her lace-covered form. Once it settles on her shoulders, she turns for him and he helps her in zipping it up. He allows himself a soft kiss to the nape of her neck, and lets his hands rest on her hips. A moment later, he feels her hands cover them, and he lifts his gaze to meet hers in the mirror.

While the dress does show off the corset beneath it, the lace and mesh only accentuates the simpleness of the dress. He hums softly, watching her as she examines herself in the mirror. “See?”

“Ren, my underwear is literally showing.”

He just smirks, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder. “And it’s sexy as hell.”

She just huffs, and he watches as a loose piece of dark brown hair flies up from her forehead with the puff of air. It’s incredibly inelegant, the sound she makes, but he just chuckles.

“I have something for you,” he says, and she hums softly in question. “But I don’t want to let you go to get it.”

Her answering snort’s soft, and he smiles at the sound of it as she shakes her head. “What is it?” she asks, looking back at him in the mirror.

Now he does let her go, regrettably, and walks to the desk. He’s entirely certain that she’d assumed the unassuming black box was something of his; she never questioned it, didn’t even seem to notice it. But he comes back with the box in his hands, and holds it behind his back as he stands behind her again. “I want you to close your eyes.”

“Ren,” she warns, and he just smirks at her in the mirror.

“Just do it,” he tells her, using the tone of voice that means he wants no argument. He uses it more often with Hux, and others in the editing department, but he’s used it with her enough times to know that she’ll obey as well.

“Yes, sir,” she replies. It’s not serious at all, more of a scoff than anything, and he can’t help but feel fond of her as he opens the box and pulls the necklace out.

It had taken a bit of convincing to get it here, Phasma coming to Paris on Sunday, after them. But she’d handed it to him at the after party this afternoon with a small, knowing smile and a promise that she’d used the company card for it.

He drapes the white-gold and diamond necklace around her neck, grateful she has her hair up as he latches the back of it. Her eyes open as the metal hits her skin, and he watches in the mirror as her fingers come up to touch the stones curiously. He settles the back against the nape of her neck, and moves his hands down to her hips again as she stares at the simple line of diamonds around her throat.

“… what is this?” she asks, after a moment of touching the stones around her neck.

“A necklace.”

“No, really? I hadn’t figured that out on my own,” she replies snippily, and he snorts, arms wrapping around her waist to rest on the curve of her stomach. Her hands are still touching the necklace.

“If you absolutely have to know, it’s a Cartier white gold and diamond strand necklace,” he explains. “It costs around $117,000 dollars. It’s yours.”

The sound she makes isn’t human. It’s some sort of combination of a squawk and a squeak, and then her hands are hurriedly moving to her neck, fumbling with the latch of the necklace. “Holy fu- Nope, nope, no, Kylo, I can’t accept this, it’s too much, I can’t-“

He catches her hands in his, looking at her wide eyes in the mirror. “You can.”

“I really, really can’t.” She sounds frantic now, pulling her hands from his to unlatch the necklace around her neck. She succeeds after a bit of trying, and then the necklace is being pressed into his hands, metal slightly warmer from her skin. “I can’t accept that, Kylo.”

“Why not?”

It comes out more obnoxiously than he intended, but he’s still staring at her in the mirror, confused. The rest of the necklaces had been too flashy, too themed for his taste. He’d wanted something simple, elegant. He’d picked this piece specifically for her, specifically for the style of the dresses and outfits they’d chosen. It was perfect, and it had looked gorgeous around her neck. But now it’s in his hands, and she’s walking away from him towards the closet, presumably to get the shoes she’s wearing for the party.

“Because that is way too much money for someone to wear around their neck, and you don’t need to keep buying me things,” she insists, voice slightly echo-y from being inside of her closet. She emerges with a Jimmy Choo shoebox, and he notices that her hair’s down now, falling in soft waves to her shoulders from her having it up in buns most of the day. “I don’t need you to keep buying me things, all right? I’d actually prefer that you don’t. I’m not … I just don’t need you buying me things, all right?”

He stares at her, watching her as she sits on the bed and tries to hike her dress up so that she can slip the shoes on and tie them around her feet. But the corset keeps her from bending over all the way, and he watches as she struggles for a moment before she makes some sort of sad, frustrated sound and lets the fabric of the gown fall around her feet.

He slips the necklace into his pocket, wordlessly walks over, and kneels in front of her. “Dress up,” he says softly, and she lifts the fabric of the dress up, revealing lithe legs and bare feet. He takes the left shoe from where she’d dropped it to the floor, and guides her left foot into it. The Jimmy Choo pump has a thin tie around the ankle, and he sets her foot on the ground before tying it around her ankle. “I’m not buying you things to woo you, if that’s what you think I’m doing.”

She’s quiet, and he knows that he’s hit it. He waits a moment for the other shoe, just reaching for her foot and holding it in his hands. She’s so small, compared to him, tiny toes and foot small in his larger hands. He brushes his thumbs along the top of it, feeling the muscles he’s sure are sore from days of walking in heels. “I’m not buying you things to woo you, or to convince you of anything. I’m showing you what I could give you, if you decide to pursue a relationship with me.”

There. He’s said it, and silence follows. He’s suddenly worried he’s said the wrong thing, and he grabs the shoe. He’s still careful as he puts it on her foot, but he’s quicker than before, not as lingering as he ties the ankle around her leg.

“I don’t … I don’t need $117,000 necklaces, Kylo.”

He watches as she lets the gown down around her feet.

“Would you look at me? Please?”

He does, gaze snapping up to her.

She needs to brush her hair, and they need to reapply a coat of lipstick, but she looks stunning. The corset beneath the plain black dress really was a nice touch, he thinks as she sits there, looking down at him.

“I really, really don’t need that necklace,” she insists. “And I don’t need you to buy me things to show me what I could have, all right? What did I tell you earlier?”

“That you want me,” he repeats, and then she’s smiling, and everything feels just a bit better.

“I want you. I don’t want $117,000 necklaces,” she repeats quietly.

He stares up at her. At this woman who looks as bewitching in $5,000 as she does in a t-shirt that at this point is completely and utterly worthless. “… but if I already bought it…?”

She groans, burying her hands in her face. “Oh, my God, Kylo.”

But it’s not a no, so he pushes himself to his feet and pulls the necklace from his pocket, warm from being next to his leg. He offers the strand to her with both hands. “May I?”

“You’re insane,” she mutters against her hands. “You’re insanely rich, but also just plain insane.”

But she lowers her hands from her face, and lifts her hair up. It’s a bit more difficult now that he can’t see the clasp, but he’d fastened it before, and so he latches it easily around her neck. She lets her hair fall and her fingers find the diamonds again, trying to look down at the necklace as he stands to get his suit jacket.

“$117,000,” she mutters to herself as he tugs his jacket on, walking to the mirror to straighten it. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, her fingers still on the stones.

“Not to mention the clothes and the shoes, and there’s a pair of earrings as well.”

He just smirks at her as she makes some kind of whine sound, and then he walks towards the desk to the makeup bag. “Come on, I think some Louboutin red is in order.”

-

While it’s not quite as fancy as the gala at Versailles, it’s still a formal after party. He keeps his hand on the small of her back as he guides her up into the museum that’s been rented for the event, keeping her steady on the needle-thin heels she’s wearing.

“I’m wearing flats tomorrow,” she tells him, point blank, and he just smiles for the camera as she ducks her head against the flashes.

“Noted,” he replies as he guides her up the red stairs into the museum. They have the front atrium for the event, away from most of the exhibits, though they do have some reign of some of them.

He can see Enna some ways away in some sort of white pantsuit outfit, mostly lace and revealing her pale skin. Elliot’s standing with her, in a deep emerald green suit that Kylo notices is probably velvet or some other soft material.

He knows most of the people here, thankfully. It’s not like the gala, where they had benefactors and chairmen and other important people mingling amongst the editors and other staff. No, here there are models and photographers and designers he speaks with on a daily basis, and for that he’s grateful. He’s sure the woman beside him is as well, as it means that she doesn’t have to recognize anyone tonight.

He grabs two champagne flutes from a passing tray and offers one to her. She switches her clutch to her left hand and takes the flute, downing almost half of it in one go. He stares, amused, as she pulls the glass away from her lips and stares out at the crowd.

“Are you all right?” he asks, trying to keep his laughter out of his tone.

“How many photographers are here?” she demands.

“Plenty, though almost all are focused on fashion and not fame,” he informs her, putting his hand on her back again and starting to guide her through the crowd.

“Are you sure?”

“My offer still stands about the statement,” he tells her, and he feels her relax against his hand as he makes his way towards Enna and Elliot.

“No, I’m fine, I’m just … “

“Worried?” he interjects as they get closer to the other editors.

“Terrified,” she admits.

It takes every single ounce of restraint he has to keep from bending and kissing her right then, deep and slow and sweet. But he settles for moving his hand away from her back and brushing his fingers against the hand that’s holding her clutch, instead. He watches as she turns her gaze towards him. They’d applied darker tones around her eyes, and it makes the brown of them seem impossibly deeper as he meets her gaze.

“It’ll be fine.”

It’s such a simple phrase; three syllables, short and sweet. But it seems to have a profound affect on her, if the way she relaxes beside them is any indication.

“All right,” she says, though it’s quiet.

-

She disappears halfway into their conversation with the other two editors. Something about someone in photography calling her six times. It’s accompanied by several apologies, and then she’s ducking away with her phone to her ear, speaking rapidly into the microphone as she goes to find somewhere a bit quieter to deal with whatever crisis is in the US.

“Care to tell us how she got that corset on, Ren?”

Elliot’s smirk is absolutely shit-eating, and Kylo takes a sip of the red wine he’d gotten from a waiter before answering.

“I helped her into it,” he explains.

“I knew there was something!” Elliot insists, grinning and jabbing Enna in the side.

The female editor looks like a snow queen, the combination of her light makeup, light hair and white lace jumpsuit helping her to stand out amongst the black and deep colors. She just rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her rosé and ignoring the small gay man bouncing beside her.

“There is certainly something,” Kylo admits, scanning for his assistant. She must’ve ducked into one of the galleries to take the call, but he already is impatient for her to come back.

“Be careful with her.”

His eyes snap to the French editor, her glass having finally been lowered from her baby-pink-painted lips. “Hm?”

“Am I wrong in thinking that she’s not exactly used to this?” Enna asks, raising one pale brow at him.

“No, but she’s adapting well.”

“But does she want to adapt?” she asks. “Does she want to be here?”

In all honesty, he doesn’t want to be here. He’d much rather be back in the hotel room with her at his side, her head on his lap while he edits. Or he’d much rather be doing something a lot less innocent than that, perhaps with his mouth on her or her mouth on him, his body over hers in the low light of their hotel room. But the thought hadn’t occurred to him that she was maybe just a bit overwhelmed with everything, the glamour his life comes with and the stress and the people. That would certainly explain her reaction to the necklace, the sudden outburst that came with the mention of the price.
“I’ll have to ask,” he says, because it’s the only thing he can think of as an answer.

The French editor’s silent as Elliot barrels onto some idea for a spread, something about Calvin Klein and sweaters and rhinestones. He handles about maybe five minutes of the frankly incredibly boring conversation before he nods and excuses himself. "I'm going to find her, I'll be back soon."

His excuse goes unnoticed, the British editor talking mostly to the French one at this point, and so he slips away seamlessly, setting his champagne on a passing tray and moving to go find his assistant.

He walks down the marble hallways of the old building, listening for her voice. He can vaguely hear the hum of the party as he turns the corner, but then he's assaulted by her voice, loud and clear in a hallway down to the left.

"I'll ask him, all right? I'll ask him, don't worry. I'm certain it was warm tones, but I'll ask him and text you. All right? Don't worry, I'll handle it."

He comes around the corner to see her standing in front of a statue of what he presumes to be Hades and Persephone, her gaze focused on the marble figures as she stands with her phone to her ear.

"I'll handle it. All right, thank you, bye."

He watches as she hangs up and slips the phone back into her clutch. She turns quickly, making to move towards the main corridor when she sees him and stops, eyes wide.

The hallways; he's sure that they're probably not supposed to be in here, or at least the lights aren't updated to automatic ones. "Hi."

"Hey. Sorry, the photography department's freaking out about lighting tones for some strange reason," she tells him as he walks closer to her, shoes loud on the marble floor. "Was I gone too long?"

"I just wanted you." It's not a lie. Every single moment she moves in that corset has his breath catching, and the fact that he can see it and actually envision what's beneath it is definitely a treat.

She makes a small gesture, arms opening just slightly before dropping to her sides. "Well, I'm here now. No more photography catastrophe. You wanted warm, not cool for the jacket's spread, right? I think that's what you said but-"

He gets in her space and presses his lips to hers, his hand slipping around her waist and pulling her closer, flush against him. Fuck the red lipstick; he honestly can't care less as she kisses him back. For a good few moments, the only sounds in the back corridor are their lips, wet and smacking as he kisses her. He can feel her hand as it slides up his chest, up his neck and into his hair.

She's the first to pull back, humming softly. "I thought you didn't want to kiss me with $90 Christian Louboutin lipstick on," she teases.

"I'm making an exception," he mumbles, hands finding her waist. "Are there cameras in here?"

"I don't know," she admits, looking up towards the ceiling. "I'm not seeing any, but you never know."

"Corners?"

"None," she tells him as his lips find her neck, teeth scraping against the stones of the necklace he'd put on her. Her hand clenches in his hair. "Why, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking of pushing you against the wall, and making you come undone with my mouth," he mutters, lips finding her ear. She shudders against him as he finds the sensitive skin just behind her ear, tongue hot and wet and teeth sharp and relentless. Her hand tightens almost painfully, and he hums. "I think you'd like that."

"I'd like that if it didn't mean we were going to get caught," she admits. "But cameras."

This dress doesn't have a slit in it, unfortunately, so he just has to settle for going on his knees and pushing the fabric up to reveal the black lace panties she has on. Fuck pushing her against the wall; he'll just have to hold her up.

"Kylo!" she hisses above him, but he ignores her as he moves and presses his mouth against her, tongue lapping at her through the mesh and lace. He feels her knees buck almost immediately, hand moving from his hair to his shoulder for support. He reaches his hands up to keep her steady, one on her hip and the other on her ass in an attempt to keep her upright.

"Kylo, anyone can walk in and see us," she tries, but her voice is wavering as he presses open-mouthed kisses against her mound. The panties taste synthetic, and a bit chemically from whatever the store washed them with, but he doesn't care as his tongue laps at the fabric in an attempt to taste her instead.

"Don't care," he mumbles against her, sure she didn't catch the words. He feels her shudder as the vibrations from him speaking hit her, and then he's reaching up to pull the crotch of the underwear aside so he can taste her skin to skin.

"Would you stop?" she moans, perhaps a bit too loud. "Kylo, I'm serious."

He hums, and she nearly bucks her hips as his tongue finds her clit. He smirks at how wet she is on his tongue; despite the fact that she's saying 'stop', something must be turning her on. He pulls back and looks up at her.

"I'll stop if you want me to stop," he tells her seriously. "But you're wet, and I'm thirsty."

"Oh, my God," she groans, and even in the dim light coming in from the far window he can see her cheeks as they darken. "All right, fine, quickly."

He moves back immediately, lapping at her and sucking at her clit. Her little movements against him are making heat move down to his groin, his cock straining in his suit pants as he dips his tongue just inside her slit. She's near soaking now, and he can vaguely hear her soft noises as she tries to keep quiet and keep them from being discovered.

Her orgasm is a shock to both of them, it seems. He's perfectly happy lapping at her, his tongue just inside her when all of the sudden she's clenching down and near gushing. Her hand's tight to the point of pain in his hair, but he pays no mind to it as he guides her down, continuing until she's pulling his head away. He's not expecting anything, but then she's kneeling with him and kissing him despite the fact that his face had just been between her legs and he's sure he has her slickness on his nose and lips.

"Kylo?"

Elliot's voice is loud and nearly booming in the empty corridor, and Rey quickly moves her panties back to cover her and her dress over her legs. Kylo remains kneeling, though he grabs her shoulder and forces her down so that she's sitting on the marble floor, gown spilling around her. He winces when she turns the flashlight of her phone on, but is grateful for it as she quickly rubs at his mouth with her fingers, eliminating any evidence of their kissing earlier.

"We'll be there in a moment!" Kylo calls, watching for the British editor. He's grateful he's kneeling, and that Rey's gown's close enough to cover the raging hard on he's sporting.

The man comes around the corner not a second later, and Rey quickly turns the flashlight of her phone off.

"Everyone all right?" Elliot asks, frowning.

"Rey fell," Kylo explains quickly. "Some idiot mopped the floor before the event and it didn't dry all the way. She slipped and hurt her ankle."

He's impressed at the way her hand quickly moves to her left ankle, and the way her face quickly turns pained.

"Oh, fucker," Elliot says, tone a bit too sweet and concerned to be used for the word 'fucker'. "Can I help?"

"I'm just going to get her home, get some ice on it," Kylo insists, waving him off. "Can you apologize to Hux and Phasma for me? They were supposed to be at our table."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll spread the word, no worries. Do you need help getting her outside?" Elliot asks, and Kylo realizes that he's going to have to carry her to keep up the appearance.

"No, I'm fine, I've got her," he insists, bending to get her. Rey seems to realize what's going on, and immediately wraps her arms around his neck as he moves his to her back and beneath her knees. He lifts her easily into his arms, holding her close as Elliot looks up at them with concern.

"If you could just tell Phasma and Hux, that would be great. And maybe get our car a little quicker?" Kylo asks, and he's relieved when the British man nods eagerly.

"Yeah, of course, I'll go do that." With that, he's off, walking quickly back down the corridor towards the entrance of the museum.

"You're awful."

Kylo turns to look down at the woman in his arms, and finds her glaring at him. "Why do you say that?"

"Because we've played hooky twice today so that you can fuck me," she insists, eyes narrowed.

"We didn't exactly fuck this morning, unless I'm suddenly having memory loss," he mutters as he starts to carry her down the corridor. She's light, and he's strong besides, so he's perfectly fine carrying her bridal style down the marble hallway.

"No, you didn't," she says. "Are you actually going to fuck me, tonight?"

"If you want me to," he admits, glancing down at her.

He's sure she can feel his heartbeat in his chest, heavy and fast. And then he feels her fingers at his neck, teasing through the soft hairs at the nape of it as her frown turns into a smirk.

"I'd very much like for you to fuck me," she says, and it's shaky enough that he gets the feeling that she was telling herself to say it, telling herself to be sexy and almost seductive with a line like that.

To combat it, he presses a kiss to her forehead, soft and sweet. "Then I'll fuck you," he says simply as he carries her out to the main atrium.

There are twitters and a fair few questions as he carries her through the crowd, but he just throws out 'sprained ankle', 'fall' and 'stupid janitor' a few times, attention focused less on the people around him and almost entirely on the woman in his arms.

-

"I want to thank you," she says, as he helps her into the car, slipping her into her side and making sure she's settled properly before moving around to his.

"For what?" he asks.

"Getting me out of there. I don't think I would've lasted much longer."

He turns to her after the door’s closed, taking in her pained face, and he suddenly things that something's wrong. He must've hit her somewhere on the way out to the car, or done something to her to prompt that expression. “What’s wrong?” he demands, worry flooding him as he leans forward a bit to help her if needed.

“I hate Jimmy Choo,” she says viciously, and he knows he shouldn’t but he wants to smile. “I hate jimmy Choo, I hate Prada, I hate Chrisitian Louboutin, I hate Valentino.”

“And what do you want instead?” he asks, just to see what her answer will be.

“Crocs,” she says flatly, and he snorts, bowing his head.

“If you wear Crocs, I will never touch you again,” he insists, turning his head to watch the city fly by in blurs of gold and black and white.

“Not even if I was only wearing Crocs?” she asks, and in the reflection of the window he can see that her head’s lolled just enough that she’s staring at him. He meets her eyes in the reflection, and smirks.

“No Crocs, no exception.”

“Damn, I guess I’m going to have to get Finn to throw out my entire collection,” she teases, but he can see her wince in the reflection. “You have no idea what kind of hell heels are. I thought it was just going to be my feet, but no. It’s my ass and my calves and my thighs and my toes and even my core.” She presses her hand to her abdomen, looking down at the lace and sheer mesh and fabric covering it. “I didn’t know wearing heels was such a workout.”

“I still have ibuprofen in my briefcase,” he tells her, and the little moaning sound she makes goes right to his groin.

“You’re a saint,” she mumbles, and he thinks she might be just a bit tipsy, either on the champagne she'd had or the orgasm he'd given her as she lets her head roll back to where it’s in the center of the headrest.

He chances reaching his hand out towards the middle section, eyes on the passing buildings as he waits, hopes for the warmth of her fingers against his.

Not even half a second later, he gets his wish, her hand finding his and fingers lacing together. He smiles softly, squeezing her hand and feeling her squeeze back before he returns his attention to the city of lights outside.

-

“I'm going to have to carry you."

"What? Why?"

“Cameras.”

“I can walk," she insists. "I'm fine, my feet aren't hurting that much really.

"And what if people take pictures of us going into the hotel with you walking? They're going to know what we did. Elliot and Enna know, as does Hux. And I'm certain other people can draw the same conclusion."

"... fuck other people."

“I know,” he replies simply, and the driver must’ve heard their conversation because he walks around to open Kylo’s door first.

She sits up almost immediately as he walks around. “How do we do this?"

He bends slightly, hooking his right arm under her knees and sliding her along the seat. She instinctively grabs at his shoulder, twisting herself just enough that he can get an arm underneath her back. She goes with him wordlessly, and he allows himself the small pleasure of enjoying her head resting against his chest as he continues to carry her through to the elevator. He has to put her down to get the keycard, though, and he wraps his arm around her waist. Her arms are still around his neck, and she’s pressed flush against his side as they wait for the elevator.

“That was entirely unneeded. I didn't see any cameras,” she mutters, and he glances down to see that she’s glaring at her feet, the black toes of her Jimmy Choos peeking out from under the dress.

“It was fun,” he admits as the elevator dings. Though he doesn’t bridal carry her, he does lift her just enough to get her into the elevator without her taking a step. She yelps in surprise as he tightens his grip around her waist and walks in with her, setting her down on the marble floor almost directly afterwards.

“You’re an asshole,” she tells him as he swipes their card to go up to their floor.

“I know,” he replies. “Want me to carry you to the room?”

There’s silence for a moment, and then she’s pressing closer to him. He smirks slightly, bending to kiss the top of her head before sweeping her into his arms again. This time, without the threat of people seeing, she curls closer to him and his heart skips a beat as he sees her close her eyes in exhaustion.

He can’t exactly blame her. They’ve had a fair full few days, and though he’s used to Pairs Fashion Week being a whirlwind of parties and shows and meetings and greetings, Enna was right; she’s never experienced this before, never done the wheel and deal. It’s no wonder she’s exhausted, near passing out in his arms.

The elevator doors slide open, and he carries her to the door. It takes a bit of maneuvering to open their hotel room door, but he manages it with a slight of hand and a good solid kick. She seems to be already half asleep by the time he carries her into the bedroom and lays her down on the bed, immediately working to get the pumps off.

He'd admittedly expected more hurrying, more ripping of clothes and more haste after the smirk and seduction she'd dealt him at the museum. But it seems like her light's dimmed, exhaustion setting in as soon as they crossed the hotel threshold.

He puts the shoes back in the box when he’s finished, and turns to find her now standing up and reaching for the zipper on her dress. “Let me,” he tells her, and she turns wordlessly to let him unzip her. He does the corset while he’s at it, the dress hanging from her elbows as he unlatches the lingerie.

There’s nothing sexual or sensual about it; he’s just helping her out of the uncomfortable torture device. He guides both of them off of her, leaving her standing barefoot in her panties and the Cartier necklace, and he feels way overdressed as she stands there in the dim glow of the city lights coming in through the window, nearly swaying on her feet.

He shrugs out of his suit jacket as she runs a hand through her hair, watching him. “I’m going to run a bath, is that all right? Do you need the bathroom first?”

It’s such a quiet, soft little request. She’s obviously tired; he understands why. So he just nods, moving to unbutton his shirt as she walks into the bathroom. He hears the water running a moment later, and sets to peeling off the rest of his formal clothes. Her dress and corset are lying on the floor of the bedroom, and he picks them up to hang them. Once that’s finished, and he’s done his clothes as well, he changes into black pajama pants and decides against a shirt. He walks into the bathroom to see her standing by the bathtub, arms crossed and hip cocked as she waits for the large tub to fill with water. She hasn’t bothered with a towel, or a robe, just standing there in her underwear as she waits. He does notice, though, that in the time he’d taken to hang everything up and change, she’s taken her makeup off, face bare and slightly pink from the heat of the water.

“Are you all right?” he asks, moving to take his contacts out. She just nods, wordlessly, and he’s starting to think that she’s not all right when she decides that the water’s high enough and strips her underwear, slipping into the hot water. The sound she makes when she slips in makes his cock twitch in interest; it’s half pleasured moan, half relieved groan as her sore muscles make contact with the water.

“Fuuuck, why did I do this two days ago?” she asks him, letting her head hit the rim of the tub.

He just smirks as he puts his contacts back into their case and looks towards her. She hadn’t put any sort of product in, except for maybe the lavender and vanilla oil that he’d used before, when he’d drawn cold water for her to soak her feet in. He gets a clear view of her nude form, and allows himself to take it in as she closes her eyes and just sits.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Are you going to fall asleep in here?”

“No, I’m fine,” she replies, and he has to admit she does sound more awake than she did before. She lifts her head and meets his eyes. “I’ll come to bed in a bit, all right?" She sits up just a bit. "Don't you dare fall asleep on me, all right? I still want ... that."

It's incredibly endearing, the way her cheeks turn pink. So she had been putting up a bit of a front at the museum.

“I won't. I'll wait for you,” he promises, reaching for his toothbrush. He doesn’t speak after that, not wanting to dribble foam down his chin. He can hear her soft splashes as she adjusts herself in the water, finding the best position to soak in. By the time he spits, her eyes are closed again, head tipped back.

She really is beautiful, he thinks, just looking at her. The water warps his view somewhat, but he can see the smooth curve of her shoulders and her neck. She should take the necklace off, he knows, but it looks so pretty when it’s the only thing she has on. Her lips are still tinged pink from the lipstick she wore, and he has to resist the urge to interrupt her tranquility to kiss her.

“You’re staring,” she tells him, and he hums as he remembers that morning.

“I’ve been staring. You’re just oblivious,” he repeats. Though she doesn’t open her eyes, she does smile a bit, and that’s good enough for him.

Regretfully, he does leave her, walking into the other room and turning on both his beside table light and hers. He settles against the pillows, not wanting to go to sleep until she’s in with him. The Book’s still on the table from that morning, and so he reaches for his pen and the Book and starts to make corrections.

-

She’s not sure how much time passes. It’s enough that the water does get colder, and though she wants to reach for the handle and add more hot water, she’s nearly sure that Ren’s already asleep. Though, when she opens her eyes, she notices that the bedroom isn’t entirely dark yet. So he had waited for her. Her heart skips a beat as she thinks back to her little stint back at the museum, and she wonders if maybe, just maybe, he'll already be naked and waiting for her as well.

Who’s she kidding? He’s probably up editing that damn book.

She sits up, splashing a bit more than intended, and he must’ve heard because all of a sudden he’s standing in the doorway. She stares up at him, taking in his bare chest, glasses and unruly hair.

“Hi,” she says simply, offering him an awkward smile. She leans forward on the edge of the tub as he walks to her, crouching beside the tub so that he’s level with her.

“Hi. Feel better?” he asks, and she smiles at the genuine concern in his voice. He’s close enough that she can kiss him, and so she does, leaning forward just enough to brush her lips against hers. It’s a chaste kiss; she can’t lean too far, and he’s still crouching, but it’s a kiss nonetheless.

“Mhm. Still might need that ibuprofen, though,” she admits.

“I’ll get you some. Water?”

“That would be awesome,” she replies, moving to stand on still somewhat sore and shaky legs, stiff from not using them for a while. When she reaches out a hand for the lip of the tub, she finds his instead, and meets his eyes as he helps her up properly. She takes advantage of the other hand he offers, and uses his support to fully step out of the tub. The bottom’s slick with whatever oil she’d dropped in, and though she’s sure she wouldn’t have fallen, it was a nice gesture anyway. The warm towel he wraps her in almost directly afterwards is pleasant, too.

She dries herself and wraps it properly around her as he walks into the next room to grab the pain killers, and by the time he comes back with a glass to fill with water and the two pills in his hand she’s fully wrapped and covered. He hands them to her with a look of genuine worry, and she offers him a smile to ease his concern as she pops the pills and takes a sip of water.

“I’m fine, really, just sore,” she explains after she finishes the glass and sets it on the counter. “The bath helped, remind me to do that more often before we leave.”

“You don’t have one in New York?” he asks.

“I barely have a bedroom in New York,” she scoffs, shaking her head as she walks by him into the bedroom. She’s slightly self-conscious as she stops and stands in between the bed and the bathroom. It doesn't make sense to put pajamas on, not when there's the intent of sex. So she just stands there, a bit awkwardly in the towel, the ends of her hair damp from the water as she stares at him.

"... Rey?"

“Yeah?” she asks, and then he’s taking one, two, three, four long strides until he’s in front of her, bearing down on her like some dark god.

She stares up at him as his hands move to her hips, and she can feel the heat of his skin through the plush white towel wrapped around her. His hands stay there for a few heartbeats before they move to the front, where she’d twisted the fabric and tucked it along her chest. “Can I-?”

She decides to do it for him, moving her hands down from his neck and reaching down to pull the towel loose. There’s some strange, sick sort of satisfaction that comes with his intake of breath when it drops, and then she’s pressing her bare chest against his and moaning. That hadn’t happened the night before, and while he did pay attention to her chest that morning, it hadn’t been like this, skin flush against skin.

His hands move to her bare back immediately, and she smiles as he bends to kiss her, deep and slow. What was more of an explosion yesterday is a slow flame, now, carefully being licked into existence. There’s no teeth, not yet – just tongue and lips against hers, slow and damn near teasing her.

She can feel the swell of his cock in his pajama pants; he must’ve forgone underwear, gone commando under what feels like plain cotton jersey fabric. She smirks against his lips, reaching one hand down to cup him through the fabric. The sharp intake of breath is satisfying, his cock hot and heavy through the thin cotton. Though he’s not entirely hard yet, she likes the weight of him in her hand and finds the head of it. She strokes it through the cotton, thumb pressing against the tip. He moans against her mouth, surging forward to kiss her harder, and she can feel him getting harder under her touch.

“Want you,” he breathes against her mouth, and then she’s being bodily lifted. It’s all she can do to drop his cock and wrap both arms around his neck, his hands finding her ass. She wraps her legs around his waist, moaning as her cunt makes contact with his lower stomach, his pajama pants low on his hips.

“Fuck, want you, too,” she mutters against his lips as he carries her over to the bed. She’s fully expecting him to be as careful as he was before, lower her down gently, but then he’s dropping her and she’s bouncing, limbs spread as he moves over top of her and covers her almost immediately. She moans at the head of his body against hers, reaching up to tangle one hand in his hair. The other finds his back, nails tracing patterns against his pale skin. She hooks her knees around his hips again, spreading her legs for him and giving him the option to grind against her, if she wants.

He takes it, and she moans again as she feels his cock through the pants, hot and hard against her. “Fuck, Kylo,” she mumbles, words muffled beneath his lips as he continues to kiss her.

“Do you want this?”

It’s panted against her mouth, and she actually has to dig her head into the pillow so that she can look back and meet his eyes.

“Now you’re asking me this?” she demands. “Yes, damn it!”

His laugh is deep and throaty, and then his lips are on her neck again and she can feel him adding more marks to the ones he’d given her the night before. She arches and accidentally grinds up against him, another moan falling from her lips.

She can feel one of his hands, hot on her hip, but she can’t guess as to where the other one is before she feels him against her clit, fingertips calloused and big against her slit. The sudden contact makes her gasp, and though it takes him another moment to find it, she’s arching as he rubs small, slow circles into her. “Fuck, Kylo, harder.”

He obliges, mouth against her jaw. She can hear the vague click of his teeth against the diamond necklace when he bothers to go that low, tongue lapping at the metal and her skin as he works her clit harder but at the same pace. She would’ve liked him a bit faster, but she’s content with the slow work up, knowing it would be better in the long run.

“You’re so wet.”

The words are muffled against her left shoulder, and she laughs softly, closing her eyes as she feels his teeth scrape against her skin.

“I was just in the bath,” she says, by way of explanation. If he’s disappointed that he’s not the entire reason for her being wet, he doesn’t show it, and instead continues pressing kisses to her shoulder.

“I didn’t bring lube,” he admits, fingers slowing to an almost stop. She whines softly, trying to grind her hips and get him working again, but he doesn’t move. “Or a condom.”

“Are you clean?” she asks quickly, bucking her hips against his hand. She’s rewarded with the sudden slip of his finger inside her, and God, it’s definitely bigger than any of hers. She gasps as he curls it inside of her, brushing against her already slick walls.

“Yes. You?”

“Yes,” she breathes. She’s almost entirely sure that he’s seen her packet of birth control pills in the bathroom, right beside her toothbrush as a reminder in the morning.

The second finger twinges just a bit after the dry spell she’s had due to working for … well, him, really. But then the heel of his hand grinds against her clit and she’s keening, making a soft little ‘oh!’ sound by accident as his teeth graze against her neck, light and teasing.

She can feel herself getting wetter with every movement of his fingers, can feel his hand against her clit, his fingertips against her walls. He’s impossibly hot above her, his bare chest pressed to hers as he moves up to kiss her again.

“I’m gonna ask you now,” he mumbles. “Because I’m not sure I’m going to be able to ask you later. Inside, or out?”

“What?” she asks, slightly dazed from the streak of pleasure that runs hot through her veins when he grinds his hand against her clit just right. She jerks, not quite cumming but hips moving all the same.

“Can I cum inside that pretty little cunt of yours, or do you want me to cum in my own hand?”

Fuck. She’d never really imagined his full lips forming those words, nor had she expected them to sound almost … well, sweet. He could’ve hissed them, could’ve snarled them and her answer would’ve been the same. But no, he’s asking her, breathless and panting against her mouth, coming undone just from touching her.

“Inside,” she tells him, and then her hips buck violently when he brushes against that rough spot inside of her. His hand finds her hipbone immediately, keeping her to the bed as he continues to finger her. She whines at the slight pain of a third finger, said finger slipping in easily but stretching her all the same.

“Are you sure?” he demands, and she nods eagerly against the pillow, nails scraping gently along his back. She moves her hands to his face, thumbs stroking across his cheeks as he removes his fingers from her with an audible wet sound that both turns her on and makes her cringe.

Beneath her thumb, she can feel the rough, broken skin of where she’d hit him the night before. God, was it really only the night before? And now she’s fucking her boss, relishing in the feeling of his broader, bigger body over hers.

“C’mon, I need you,” she mumbles, legs falling even more open as he settles himself between her hips. She can still feel the soft brush of his pants against her bare thighs, but she can hear him as he shucks them off. She watches as he leaves her just for a moment, standing to kick the pants off. Though both of the bedside table lights are on, they’re dim, and she gets the light of the city hitting his bare body.

“How the hell do you have the time to work out?” she asks, suddenly, eyes on the eight pack he’s sporting.

“Huh?” he asks, eloquently, and she’s actually kind of proud of herself for rendering him speechless. She can guess as to why; she’s spread bare before him, legs parted and everything shown off for him.

“You have an eight pack,” she says simply, and it’s kind of cute the way he looks down at his torso, his cock flushed and hard against his stomach. As if he needs to check, and count.

“Two hours a day. My complex has a private gym,” he explains as he crawls back over top of her. “You want to do it this way?”

“We’ll have time for other things later,” she tells him, and it’s worth it just to see his eyes light up like the lights of the Eiffel Tower, bright and beautiful and kind of sparkling, as stupidly cliché as she thinks it sounds.

“I’ll do anything you want.”

“Those are dangerous words, Ren,” she teases, hands moving into his hair as he uses his hand to guide his cock to her. Her breathing hitches when the swell of the head catches along her slit, and she’s almost certain that he’s stopped breathing entirely.

He’s bigger than her fingers, bigger than his fingers. But it doesn’t hurt as he slides into her, hot and hard and satisfying. He thankfully gives her a moment or two to adjust, and in the meantime she finds herself victim to probably the sweetest kiss she’s ever been given.

He must’ve opened the bottle that was leftover from the night before, because he still tastes like red wine and toothpaste and something kind of dark. He kisses her almost hesitantly, all eagerness gone. He kisses her like she’s fragile, breakable. He kisses her like he’s afraid this is it, this is all they’ll have.

It’s not a totally invalid fear, she admits as she pulls him close and rocks her hips against his, indicating to him that it’s all right for him to move. This could end tomorrow, or the next day, or could come to a halting, shuddering stop the moment they land in the US. It could end as soon as the tabloids publish something worse than “SECRET PARIS ROMANCE”, something horrible and slanderous. It could end as soon as they wake, she doesn’t know.
But she doesn’t want it to.

He pulls back just enough to breathe against her lips, both of their breaths hot and uneven. “Are you all right?” he asks, and he sounds so worried for her that she has to smile, her hand finding his cheek again and running her thumb over the cut that he’d concealed fairly well with a good amount of Yves Saint Laurent concealer.

“I’m fine,” she replies. “You can move.”

He starts as soon as she says he can, and she realizes that though she’d moved her hips, he was waiting for some sort of verbal ‘go ahead’.

Now that he’s been given it, though, he sets the pace hard enough that she clings to his shoulders, trying to keep her hips moving with his.

“Fuck,” she laughs softly as his mouth finds her neck again, hips hard against hers. She reaches her legs up, hooking her ankles behind his back, and nearly screams as it changes the angle enough that he’s hitting that spot inside of her dead on nearly every single time.

It’s not perfect. He slips out twice and has to find her again, cursing each time, but she just kisses him and bites at his full lower lip and lets him do as he pleases with her.

His hand moves down to brush against her clit, finding the sensitive spot and rolling his fingertips in time with his thrusts. She’s not sure if she’s clenching his hair hard enough to hurt, but he doesn’t protest as he bites at her shoulder, probably hard enough to break skin.

Oh, well. They’ll deal with that later, she thinks as she closes her eyes against the hot spike of pleasure that she knows means she’s close.

“Kylo-“ she tries, and then he’s kissing her again, hard enough to bruise as he goes just a bit faster, just a bit harder.

It’s enough to send her over, and she sobs into his mouth as she goes over, her entire body feeling like those sparklers she and Finn used to buy during the Fourth of July, ignited and hot. He gets a few more thrusts in before he’s cumming, and she gasps at the heat inside her as he pulls back, letting her breathe as he starts to go soft.

She stares up at him, noticing how his dark hair’s falling directly into his face. She reaches up to push his hair back, and then takes advantage of her hand in his hair to pull him down for another kiss. It’s slow as they both come down from their high, hot and panting.

“You’re stunning.”

It’s mumbled against her lips, and she smiles as he pulls back, smiling as well.

He looks younger when he smiles like this, she thinks, reaching up to try to tuck that one damn strand of hair back. It doesn’t work, falling right back against his forehead, so she just reaches around to stroke her fingers along the nape of his neck instead.

“And you’re really good at that,” she breathes, and then he’s laughing, head falling to her chest. She runs her fingers through his hair, letting him laugh against the skin between her breasts.

“I’m glad you think so,” he admits. “I’m slightly out of practice.”

“So am I. Working for Satan doesn’t exactly leave time for a healthy sex life,” she tells him, humming as he presses gentle kisses to her skin.

“It does now,” he mumbles. “Considering that Satan would very much like to be a part of your sex life.”

“I already sold my soul to him,” she teases. “I guess my body wouldn’t be too much of a loss.”

He looks up at her through dark lashes, stupidly sweet smile still on his face. He’s still inside of her, she realizes, and she finds she doesn’t mind as he’s still on top of her, smelling of sex and sweat and just a bit of leftover cologne, sweet and heady. “And what would you like in return?”

“Not $117,000 jewelry, that’s for sure,” she says, moving her hands from his hair to find the clasp of the necklace still around her neck. She pulls it off and sets it on the bedside table beside her before she moves her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks. “I’m perfectly happy with just you. No expensive jewelry, or clothes, or shoes.”

He hums, leaning forward to kiss her chastely. “So you’re saying you want me naked, if you don’t want all of that.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she admits, smiling against his lips. “I would definitely not mind that, Mr. Eight Pack. C’mon, budge up, I need to see if they’re real.”

His laughter’s loud and slightly awkward, a strange combination of chuckling and downright giggling as she moves her hands down to press against his abs, and she grins, vowing to find more ways to hear Satan snicker.

Chapter Text

She dozes off somewhere between him slipping out of her, and him pressing gentle kisses to her shoulder. She falls asleep between one heartbeat in the next, and it honestly feels as though she’d only blinked as she wakes up to a significantly darker room and the man beside her half dressed with the Book spread across his lap.

He’s sitting differently, she realizes. Before, he’d sit with his back to the headboard and his legs out in front of him. Now, he sits with the pen between his lips, crosslegged as he frowns at the spread in front of him. His hair’s mussed, glasses perched on his nose as he looks very much like a small child trying to solve a puzzle.

He doesn’t realize she’s awake yet, and so she just spends some time watching him. She tries to count the dark marks on the arm closes to her, the moles and freckles on his pale skin, but she loses count every time he moves. Part of her wants to take that pen from between his lips and use it to connect every single mark, to see if they make any sort of meaningful, quirky constellation. She doubts it, but she’s seen stranger.

To her surprise, she watches as he turns to look at her. His gaze is softer than she’s ever seen it, almost sweet towards her. What shocks her to the core is how casually he does it; she wonders if it’s a normal occurrence, if he’s done it before when she wasn’t watching.

The soft, open look changes to one of surprise as he realizes that she’s awake, and then they’re both still. She stares at him, both caught in this strange limbo that’s not loving - not quite yet. She wonders if he’ll kiss her. She wonders if he’ll set his Book aside, move down to her lips, and kiss her as sweetly as he had looked at her.

He does just that, pen heavy on the bedside table as he sets the spiral-bound Book aside and leans forward to press his lips to hers. She’s sure she tastes like sleep; she can feel it in the dryness of her mouth, the staleness of her tongue. But he doesn’t get that far, just pressing his lips to hers as he slips back down beneath the covers with her. He’s warm, impossibly so as he overs over her, bracing himself on his elbows as she moves her hands to his back.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, pulling back just enough to speak, forehead pressed to hers and breath hot against her lips.

“Good,” she admits. “Really, really good.”

“You fell asleep,” he says, sounding amused, and she moves her hips, frowning as she realizes that she doesn’t feel as sticky or gross as she probably should’ve.
“You cleaned me?” she asks, surprised as he hums and presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“Well, waking up with someone else’s cum between your legs isn’t the most pleasant experience, I know that for a fact,” he mutters against her skin, and again she’s reminded of his fluidity when it comes to lovers and genders. She just hums, hand making its way into his hair and mussing it up even further.

He kisses her again, and she lets him, spreading her legs so that he can settle between her hips. She can feel the soft material of his sleep pants against her bare skin, can feel his strong body move above hers, can feel how his hair’s entirely free of tangles from him running his hand through it dozens of times, probably, between her falling asleep and waking up beside him.

It’s an indulgent few moments, the only sounds their lips and their breathing and shifting of skin against sheets. His hand finds her hip, thumb stroking at the prominent jut of the bone as he hovers above her, her skin sleep-warm.

She could do this forever, she thinks, just before her stomach growls and she’s suddenly reminded of the fact that they didn’t eat dinner as it cramps painfully.

He chuckles against her lips, pulling back and smiling down at her in the yellow light of his bedside table lamp. “It’s still early,” he tells her. “Only 9:30 or so. We can go and get food.”

“Really?” she asks, frowning. “When did we leave the dinner?”

“Around 7,” he explains, pushing himself up from his elbows to his hands to give her a bit more room. “You’ve been asleep for about a half hour.”

“Huh,” she says, reaching up to run a hand through her hair. “Would you mind? We can just get room service or something.”

“No, I’d like to take you out,” he explains, and then moves off of her. She misses his warmth immediately, but gladly watches as he stands and walks towards his closet, starting to pull out what looks like a wool coat, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of jeans.

“Kylo Ren isn’t going to wear a three piece suit?” she asks, sitting up and holding the bed sheet to her bare chest as she watches him, grinning. “Who are you and what have you done with my boss?”

“It doesn’t make sense to walk around Paris in a suit,” he explains matter-of-factly. “C’mon, before things close.”

She slips out of bed and walks to the closet, aware of his eyes on her and smiling softly at the notion of it. “Any suggestions on what I should wear?” she asks, staring at the clothes before her.

“Anything you want,” he calls from the bedroom.

“I’m serious,” she says as she reaches for new underwear. “What do you think? Dress? Skirt? What?”

“I’m serious, too. Wear anything you want, we’re just getting dinner.”

She stops, bra and panties hanging from her fingers as she peeks out to where he’s pulling dark jeans up his bare legs. She watches as he zips and buttons them before reaching for the t-shirt. “… you’re kidding me,” she says, staring at him. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he insists. “Come on, things will be closing soon.”

She stares at him before shrugging and reaching for the pair of pale, ripped skinny jeans from Yves Saint Laurent – perhaps the most casual pair of pants they’d bought for her. “Can I borrow one of your shirts?” she asks, emerging with the jeans and a pair of Louboutin – thankfully, flat – black leather boots. She pulls the black and pink panties up and secures the soft-cupped bra around her chest, not wanting a pushup or something like that for just going to get food.

“Why?” he asks, staring at her as he pulls his own navy blue henley shirt down so that it covers his torso. “You have plenty of your own.”

“I would wear your Starkiller shirt, but I slept in it,” she explains as she tugs the skinny jeans up her legs. “Do you have a sweatshirt, or something?”

He stares at her like she’s grown a third head, and she suddenly realizes that she might’ve crossed a line. Sure, she wore his shirt to bed, and they had sex not two hours ago, but wearing his clothes out is probably another thing entirely. Especially when they cost as much as they do.

She’s opening her mouth to apologize when he turns and walks towards the closet and pulls something from one of the shelves. He turns on his heel and walks back to her, holding the black sweater in his large, pale hands. It’s folded impeccably, and he offers it to her. “It’s Balenciaga,” he says simply as she reaches forward to take the impossibly soft sweater from him. She’s glad she didn’t put a t-shirt or a tank top under it as she slides it over her head, because it’s incredibly soft against her bare skin. It’s also huge on her, but she doesn’t mind as it means she can snuggle into it when it gets colder. It falls to her thighs and covers her hands, but she just pushes the sleeves up and looks up at him when she’s finished with it, just to see his reaction.

She was expecting amusement, or some sort of exasperation. She gets neither. Instead, she gets something kinder, something akin to awe that has her incredibly confused as he stares down at her with an expression she can’t quite decipher for the life of her but she knows she’s never, ever, seen on him.

“You all right?” she asks, suddenly concerned. “I won’t wear it if you don’t want me to.”

That seems to right him. He shakes his head immediately. “No, no, it’s fine. Get your shoes on,” he orders, and then he’s back to Kylo Ren, Editor-in-Chief again with that tone of voice that tells her she needs to do as she’s told. She walks back to the bed and pulls on her socks and boots, running her hand through her hair before walking to join him as he pulls his wool coat over his shirt.

“C’mon,” he mutters, and starts to walk towards the door. She grabs her phone and wallet from the clutch she’d taken with her to the dinner, stuffing them into her pockets before walking out the door with him. Since she’s not wearing heels, his hand doesn’t move to her lower back, and she misses it dreadfully as they step into the elevator. But then she startles as his arm wraps around her waist instead, and he’s pulling her close to him as they ride the elevator down to the lobby. The concierge is on the phone as soon as they step out, and by the time they exit the hotel, the Bentley’s already been pulled around.

She’s expecting him to get in the car, but instead Ren waves it away. “We’ll walk,” he tells the driver, much to the man’s surprise. But, to his credit, he just nods as Ren guides her to the right, through the gold-bathed streets.

“You don’t mind walking, do you?” he asks as they start down the block. The night air’s a bit cold, but she just leans more into him as they walk down the cobbled street.

“No, not at all,” she tells him, relishing in the warmth he gives off as he guides her through the streets of Paris. She looks around, taking the time to admire the buildings and the city as he takes her through it. The last time she’d walked these streets, she’d been in no place to observe anything.

Nobody seems to notice them as they walk through the streets. Ren seems to know where he’s going, so she just lets herself be led. He checks his phone twice as they walk, the bright white light of his screen seeming kind of out of place with the street lights tingeing the city more of a yellow tone. But he checks something and slips it away quickly, and then they’re walking again towards wherever he’s taking her.

“Where are we going?” she asks, frowning as he turns the corner with her.

“Sandwiches,” he replies simply.

“We’re getting sandwiches?” she questions, surprised. “The great Kylo Ren wants a simple sandwich?”

“Sometimes simple is better,” he admits.

“You bought me a 117,000 dollar diamond necklace,” she says flatly.

“Emphasis on ‘sometimes’,” he tells her, and she just snorts and shakes her head as he stops in front of a small café with a red awning and black café chairs outside. He opens the door for her, and she’s immediately greeted with the smell of cheese and butter and bread, amongst other delicious pastry smells. It’s warm and inviting, and he stands next to her as they wait in line with one older man in front of them.

“I have no idea what any of this is,” she admits as she looks up at the chalkboard menu in beautiful French script.

“I’ll take care of it,” he assures her as they step up to the counter. She tries to listen to him as he orders, but she loses him about halfway through and instead just looks around the small shop with its displays of cheese and pastries and delicious-looking food. Her stomach growls again, and she debates asking Ren if she can get something else, but he’s already ushering her to the side so that the young woman behind them can order.

He stands beside her as they wait for their order to come up. It doesn’t take long. Rey stares as she’s handed a sandwich, nearly dripping cheese and butter and looking absolutely sinful wrapped in its paper holder. It’s hot enough to nearly burn her fingers, but Ren seems fine with it as he takes his sandwich and what looks to be a paper tray of fries, along with two water bottles. He tucks the bottles into the pockets of his pea coat before he walks by her out in to the chilly fall air, and she follows him without a word, the sandwich in her hands.

“What am I holding?” she asks as they start walking in some direction.

“A sandwich,” he says simply.

“No, really? Hadn’t noticed,” she replies sarcastically as he starts towards what she knows to be the Seine. “What kind of sandwich?”

“Grilled cheese with arsenic,” he says matter-of-factly, and not for the first time this trip she wants to smack him. “Just eat it, Rey.”

It’s an order if she’s ever heard one, and so she just shrugs and takes a bite.

She moans immediately after, eyes widening as she stares at the sandwich. The bread is perfectly toasted and covered in cheese, the inside some sort of meat. It’s buttery, and warm but not too hot, and she has to pull the strings of cheese from her lips as she stares in awe at the food in her hand. “… what is this?” she demands, looking at him. He’s taken a bite of his, as well, and is smirking like a bastard as he continues to walk with her.

“Do you like it?” he asks, glancing down at her. For a second, she thinks she sees a flicker of uncertainty, and then she’s nodding her head and he’s grinning.

“It’s amazing! What is it?” she demands again, looking down at the melty sandwich before taking another small bite, wanting to savor it. She thought Finn’s grilled cheese was fantastic; this blows his completely out of the water and into another galaxy.

“A ham and cheese sandwich,” Ren replies, and she can tell he’s trying so hard not to crack up as she stops mid-chew and stares at him.

She swallows quickly, nearly choking. “You’re serious? Just a ham and cheese sandwich?” she demands, looking down at the food in her hand. Suddenly, it seems a lot less magical. She can see the ham inside of it, and the cheese dripping onto the paper holder. But then she takes another bite, and is in heaven all over again, letting out another small groan as she hears him Iaugh beside her. It’s actually less of a laugh and more of an outright giggle, and she looks over to see him smiling brightly, shaking his head at her.

“It’s called a croque-monsieur,” he explains.

“What’s in it?” she asks, frowning at the sandwich.

“Bread, ham, cheese, and butter,” he informs her.

“Butter. That explains why it tastes so damn good,” she mumbles, and then he’s laughing and shaking his head again.

They come out onto a main road, and she can see the Seine and the glittering lights of the city reflected on the water. They walk to the edge, and eat in comfortable silence. She reaches for one of the water bottles halfway through her sandwich. In retrospect, she probably should’ve asked before she reached into his pocket, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just looks down at her curiously to see what she’s doing before shrugging and letting her take it, reaching for the other one for himself a few moments later.

“How many times have you been to Paris?” she asks, about a quarter of her sandwich left. Though it’s losing heat, she wants to savor it.

“In my time as Editor-in-Chief? Or in general? Because those are two completely different answers,” he tells her.

She shrugs. “Whatever you want to tell me.”

“I’ve been Editor-in-Chief for six years,” he explains, leaning on the stone wall. “So, twice a year for six years is twelve times. Plus I’ve made three trips to meet with designers. So that’s fifteen times.”

She lets out a low whistle, looking down at the dark water. “And in general?”

“I’d say about forty or so.”

Rey turns to stare at him, eyes wide. “Forty?” she demands.

“My mother was the Editor-in-Chief before me,” he explains. “And my father was a model in many of the shows. Of course I went with them.”

“So I guess it’s not really special to you, anymore.” She looks towards the Eiffel Tower to her left. It’s a little ways away, but she can see the spire and the lights as it sparkles and shines. “Paris, I mean.”

He shrugs beside her. “The glamour’s faded a bit, yes.”

“Have you done any of the touristy things?” she asks.

“Touristy things?” he questions, a bit condescendingly.

“You know. Gone to the top of the Eiffel Tower, bought macarons, gone to see the Notre Dame, taken a tour. You know what I mean.”

She turns to watch him, leaning back against the wall, the small of her back against the stone while his elbows are braced on top of it. She takes another bite of her sandwich as he actually seems to think for a moment.

“… I’m sure I’ve done some of it,” he tells her, frowning a bit. “But not recently, no. Any time outside of the shows and parties and dinners is spent on the Book.”

“Is there really that much to edit?” she asks. “You’re looking at that thing constantly. It passes through, what, at least a dozen hands before it lands in yours? Are there really things that need to be changed?”

“Yes,” he says simply, looking over at her. She watches as he reaches for some of the fries, now a bit cold but still good. “You’d be surprised.”

“Typos?” she asks.

“Sometimes. Not usually. But I have to approve everything from every department. All those departments you run to, make calls to, every single one of them. I have to approve everything they do, and make sure it’s appropriate for readers. I also have to measure up to the foreign magazines. Germany, France, Britain, China, Japan, India … I could stand here and list the countries, but then we’d be here all night,” he admits.

“You don’t think you measure up to them?” she asks, frowning.

His downward gaze tells her all she needs to know, and she steps towards him, shoulder brushing his arm. She steals a few fries, popping them into her mouth one at a time. “You know,” she mutters around one. “You know for a fact that I don’t read fashion magazines. Don’t even really like fashion.”

“Understatement,” he says flatly, but she can see the quirk of his lips.

“But that spread? The one on fall jackets?” she asks. “I might’ve bought one of them. It was very convincing. And well-edited.”

His eyes snap to her, and she smiles as she puts the mouth of the water bottle to her lips. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. J Crew, that navy blue one with the gold accents. I thought it was really cute,” she tells him. It also cost her almost $200 and caused her to balk at the checkout, but yes, she’d bought it.

“And you didn’t bring it because…?” he asks, raising one eyebrow at her.

“I did!” she insists. “You were just too focused on my shitty bra to dig deeper in my suitcase.” She snorts around ‘shitty bra’, nearly spilling water down herself as she tries not to laugh.

“It was awful.”

“I didn’t see the sense in getting a new one!” she insists, gesturing with the hand that doesn’t have the water bottle in it.

“Tell me the truth. Did you get it in the juniors section of Kohls?” he demands.

“No,” she says, pointing at him before she smirks. “… Macy’s.”

“Oh, my God, you are a disaster,” he tells her, making as if to pitch himself over the wall into the Seine.

“Hey!” She laughs, as she lunges for him, pulling him back by the collar of his coat. Before she really registers what’s happening, he’s spinning her around and pinning her against the wall, arms wrapped around her. Once she figures out what’s going on, she goes willingly, arms twining up and around his neck.

She’s half sure that they’ve pushed the fries off of the wall with their movement, but she can’t really bring herself to care as he bends to press his lips to her jaw, soft and undemanding.

“For someone who’s called ‘Satan’ on a daily basis, I find it hard to believe that you’re this sweet,” she tells him, hand moving to the base of his neck and running her fingers through the thin, dark hairs.

“You don’t tend to piss me off,” he informs her. “Everyone else, however, is a different story.” He hums, and she smiles as she feels the vibrations against her skin. “You’re the Persephone to my Hades.”

“Hades wasn’t actually that bad,” she insists.

“You just said I’m not that bad either.”

“I said you’re sweet – I didn’t say that you weren’t bad. You’re a nightmare in the morning, and a bitch to put up with when the time for publication comes around.”

She feels him smile against her skin. “That is the editing department’s fault, not mine.”

“You ARE the editing department.”

“Point acknowledged,” he replies, standing up straight again and looking down at her.

The golden lights woven through some of the trees and the general glow of the city shines on his dark hair, and she enjoys running her hands through it and messing up the lit strands. “If I’m Persephone, then you’d better get a pomegranate so I stay.”

“Can I just eat you out instead?” he asks, and it’s so blunt it takes her a second to realize that he’s not actually kidding. Then she laughs, smile bright and nearly making her cheeks ache as she shakes her head.

“Not here. No more for tonight. I need a break.”

He doesn’t say anything, but goes in to kiss her cheek. It’s so soft she’s not entirely sure it happened; it’s innocent, like a little boy kissing his first crush for the very first time, and it makes her smile. She’s entirely sure her dimples are showing as he pulls back.

“We can wander, if you want,” he offers. “Or we can go back to the hotel.”

“Wander,” she replies immediately. “I want to explore.”

“Fine.” He pulls back and grabs the fries that apparently didn’t fall off the wall and into the Seine. “Want any more? They’re not exactly fun to carry.”

She pulls a few from the pile before he walks to a trash can and tosses the container, and shoves a few in her mouth as they start to walk along the river. She sees a boat riding along the middle, dozens of people on it and cameras flashing as they take pictures of the city around them. “What’s that?”

“River cruise,” he explains. “One of the touristy things.”

“Hm.” She watches for a moment before she startles at his arm going around her waist. She settles against him almost immediately. As warm as the sweater is, the night’s still colder than she’d expected. She should’ve worn a jacket, she thinks, but him holding her close is helping at least a little bit.

“I’m trying to measure up to my mother.”

The statement comes after a good maybe fifteen minutes of comfortable silence. She startles at his voice, looking up to see him gazing towards the Tower in the distance. “Your mother?”

“You met her,” he replies. “Leia Organa. Former Editor-in-Chief of General Fashion.”

He’s right. She did meet the older woman. “She seems nice…?” she offers, unsure of what else to say.

“She is,” he replies immediately. “She’s wonderful. She’s done so, so much for the magazine.” He still doesn’t look at her. “People expect the same of me.”

“So you’re afraid that people will compare your accomplishments to your mother's.”

“Yes.”

“That’s valid,” she replies, and now he does look at her, seemingly confused.

“It is?”

“Well, yeah,” she explains. “I mean, she left a legacy for you to protect. And it has to take a lot of effort just to keep it going, let alone leave one of your own.”

He pulls her closer, hand tight around her waist.

“Your dad called you ‘Ben’,” she says, remembering back to the gala and the strikingly handsome Han Solo.

“My birth name,” he explains. “Ben Solo. I adopted Kylo Ren when I came into the industry in a vain attempt to disguise my identity. Naturally, it didn’t work.”

“You said you came with your parents to Fashion Week.”

“And that’s exactly why it didn’t work.”

No wonder he’s used to the cameras. No wonder he knows exactly how to act, exactly how to shut things down like he’d offered for her. The man’s probably spent his entire life in the spotlight, between his model father and his mother. She leans just a bit more against him, head resting against his shoulder.

“I don’t know shit about General Fashion and its history,” she tells him bluntly. “So I have no expectations.”

“You didn’t even know who I was when you volunteered yourself as tribute to work for me,” he says with a soft snicker.

“Accurate,” she admits, glancing up at him to find his eyes on her. “But, really. I’m not expecting anything.”

“A refreshing change from my previous assistants,” he tells her.

“What, did they expect you to take them to bed?”

“I’m under the impression that half the magazine wants that.” He snorts, shaking his head. “The lengths some of them go to…”

“Like pretending to drop something, bending over and basically flashing your office?”

His eyes widen comically, and she snorts. “That was an … interesting day,” he tells her, and she laughs out loud. “But, really. You didn’t go into this job expecting … this?”

It’s almost sad, she admits. The way he’s looking down at her, and she realizes that with just a few syllables she can either confirm or deny his suspicion and he’ll probably never touch her again. Or, he will, just more reluctantly. So she reaches down to lace her fingers with hers, both of their hands slightly greasy from the fries and the sandwiches and cold from the night air.

“I went into this job wanting to make a point to BB and Poe that I could do it,” she replies. “I wasn’t expecting you to like me, let alone-“

She stops abruptly, ‘love me’ on the tip of her tongue and catching just behind her teeth. It’s a good thing it stops, too, because he’s looking at her curiously. Or, at least, what she wants to think is curiously. There’s a portion of her that thinks he might know exactly what she was about to say, but he doesn’t seem like he’s about to let her go any time soon.

“Let alone what?” he asks slowly.

“Eat me out,” she replies as quickly and bluntly as she possibly can in an attempt to end the awkwardness and conversation itself.

He has dimples. That fact never fails to surprise her. He just laughs, and steers her back towards the direction of the hotel. It’s probably a good thing, too; they can’t play hooky again. Twice was bad enough, she wouldn’t dare try for the next morning’s preview. “I do enjoy that.”

“And yet I haven’t returned the favor,” she teases, holding onto his arm and looking up at him.

“You shouldn’t feel obliged to,” he tells her. “If you’d like to, then I’ll happily accept. But this isn’t a ‘I eat you out, you suck me off’ kind of deal. It’s not an exchange.”

“Still,” she says with a shrug. “I’d like to.” She smirks, coming up with a devious idea that might rival the one her Devil had earlier that night. “Anywhere else fancy we have to go to?”

“There’s another gala on Sunday night,” he tells her, frowning as he looks down at her. “Why, what are you thinking?”

“Where is it? The gala?”

“What are you thinking?” he demands, tone sterner.

“I’m thinking,” she starts slowly, “of you in a tux, me on my knees in one of those pretty dresses, and my red lips around your cock, leaving lipstick marks that you won’t be able to rub off until later.”

“What.”

His voice is pretty much a squeak, and she laughs so hard she nearly trips over the uneven cobblestones of the city.

-

“I’m thinking Dolce and Gabbana tomorrow.”

“Kylo, we’re not even in the room.”

“I’m just letting you know.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “As long as I can wear flats, I’ll be happy.”

The look on his face tells her that he’d already had the entire outfit planned out, and her proposal of flats just crushed the entirety of it. She rolls her eyes, turning to meet his gaze in the reflective surface of the elevator doors. “Oh, calm down. I’m not going to wear Converse to the Chanel show.”

“No, you’ll wear Chanel to the Chanel show, obviously,” he mutters, though it’s more to himself than her.

She shakes her head, smiling a bit at the way his hand moves to his chin as he thinks. “I’ll wear whatever you want me to wear,” she tells him as the elevator ‘dings’ and opens for them.

“Whatever I want?” he asks. “That’s a dangerous proposal.”

“I wore a corset, a gown, and stilettos tonight,” she admits as she walks towards their suite. “Whatever you put me in tomorrow can’t be much worse. Do you have any more t-shirts I can wear?”

“Surely you brought your own sleepwear,” he tells her as they walk into their room. One of the living area lamps is still on, so he walks across the room to turn it off. They’re blanketed in darkness as soon as he flips the switch, and he walks back over to her.

“But I thought you liked me wearing your t-shirts,” she retorts, hands slipping up the shoulders of his wool pea coat. “With nothing beneath them?”

“… I have two more,” he admits after a moment of staring down at her with dark eyes.

She grins. “Show me?”

He turns and moves out from under her hands, shedding his coat as he walks into the bedroom. “You have to promise not to laugh.”

“I promise,” she says as she reaches beneath his sweater to unbutton her jeans. She shucks them down her legs before realizing that she still has her boots and socks on, and sits on the bed to remove everything. By the time he turns around with the black t-shirt in hand, she’s in his sweater and her jeans are folded beside her. She’s pulling the soft fabric over her head when the vintage t-shirt is dropped into her lap, and she pulls it up to stare at the First Order tour dates on the dark grey fabric. “…,” she says, face splitting into a grin as she looks up at him. “You listen to the First Order?!”

“Listened,” he insists. “Not anymore. Though I’m sure I still have a CD or two somewhere.”

She promised not to laugh. She knows she promised not to laugh, but she smiles anyway as she reaches around to remove her bra so that she can tug the t-shirt over her head. “Were you secretly an emo teenager?”

“Not so secretly,” he replies. “A simple Google search will reveal some pretty unflattering photos of me in those years.”

“Do you want me to see them?” she asks seriously as she hooks her thumbs in the waist of her panties and tugs them down her legs. She kicks them off of her foot once they get low enough, and she watches as he bends to pick them up, heart stilling for a mere moment as he kneels in front of her.

“Not particularly,” he admits. “Also, these are expensive. Be careful.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and not for the first time she notices how he stiffens at the title. She immediately assumes that he doesn’t like it, but then he turns and she can see how the tips of his ears and the tops of his cheeks are turning just a bit pink. “… do you want me to put the panties back on, sir?” she asks, just to test the theory, and damned if his entire face doesn’t turn red. “Oh, my God, you like me calling you sir!” She does laugh at that, falling back on the bed as he looms over her, looking almost brooding.

“And if I do?” he asks, folding the underwear neatly before putting it aside to be cleaned.

She puts her foot in the middle of his chest and pushes him back so that she can get up to brush her teeth. “I’ll be saying it a lot more often,” she tells him as she makes her way into the bathroom.

“Please don’t,” he calls.

She grins as she puts the toothpaste on the toothbrush. “Why not, sir?” she calls back as she starts to rid her mouth of the taste of the sandwich she’d had earlier, loathing as she is to let that sandwich disappear entirely.

She nearly chokes on the toothbrush as he comes up behind her, shirt gone and hands hot on her hips. She stares at him in the mirror, eyes wide. Fucker. She’s not entirely sure she’s seen his eyes that dark before, pupils blown wide.

Well, maybe once or twice. When she showed him the lingerie after mistakenly seeing him in the shower, and at the museum with his face between her legs. Neither time was he this close, this hot against her back through the thin t-shirt. She can feel the rough brush of his callouses against her thighs as his hands move down to her legs before reaching back to cup her bare ass.

“Because if you keep on calling me that, I might get hard in public, and that wouldn’t be very good, now would it?” he asks, voice low and dulcet in her ear. "We might have a repeat of tonight. I might want to duck my face beneath whatever skirt you're wearing, or slip my hand down your pants to cup your cunt."

She shouldn't like that word coming from his mouth, but she leans back against him, meeting his eyes in the mirror as he hums, thumbs stroking at her bare hipbones now.

"That wouldn't be very good, now, would it?" he asks. "My pulling you away, forcing you against some dark corner and falling to your feet. Either that, or pushing you agains the wall and slipping my hand between your legs. I wonder if you'd be wet already, just from the connotations that come from you saying 'sir' to me. I wonder if I could make it like a dog and a whistle; I wonder if I could make it so that just the word 'sir' falling from your lips has you gushing. That might be a problem, though, in public."

“There’s a very obvious solution to that problem,” she replies, almost breathily. “We just need to scout secluded areas everywhere we go.”

“And avoid sneaky paparazzi and security cameras and other people in general,” he mutters against her shoulder.

So it’s a little more complicated than she’s imagining, because this is real life and not some fantasy where everything freezes when they go have sex. “Yeah, true,” she mutters, lust ebbing just the slightest bit at the idea of someone catching them like that.

“Saying it once or twice is fine,” he mumbles. “It’s appropriate for an assistant. However, when you smirk or wink with it…”

“It gets a little … hard for you, sir?” she asks, grinding her ass back into his grip as his eyes snap up to meet hers in the mirror.

“Was that a fucking pun?” he demands, pulling back entirely from her as she watches her face split into a grin in the mirror. As she watches herself smile, though, she’s also watching him scoff and walk away from her.

“Wait, no, come back!” she says between giggles.

“Forget it.”

“Kylo!”

“I said forget it!”

She has to brace herself against the doorframe as she continues to laugh. “Kylo, I’m sorry, come ba- don’t you fucking dare pull that Book out, we need to get sleep.”

He stops with the Book halfway off of the bedside table. “It’s only 11,” he insists.

“And we have an early day tomorrow. Book down, sir,” she orders as she walks over and slips beneath the covers.

To her complete surprise, he obeys and instead slips beneath the covers with her, hand slipping up the t-shirt and pressing against her bare back almost immediately after. “I need to dedicate at least three hours to it tomorrow,” he tells her. “Cancel whatever you need to, tell them we’re leaving early.”

“We’re having dinner with Phasma and Hux again,” she tells him. “Can’t exactly get out of that.”

“Fuck.”

She snorts and curls in closer to him, closing her eyes and settling in to sleep. It won’t be hard; she’s completely and utterly exhausted, from the day’s events, their ‘activities’, and walking around the city for a bit. “You’ll get it done. You always do. We have time in between the show and dinner to come back. You can edit the Book, I’ll find something to do.”

“I want you to sit next to me.”

She blinks in confusion, staring at him in the darkness. It’s hard, her eyes not quite adjusted yet. “… okay? Why?”

He doesn’t offer her an explanation, eyes closed and dark lashes soft against his pale cheeks. She waits for another few moments before she realizes that she’s not going to get an answer, and that the bastard has essentially pulled a Yoda on her – faking sleep to get out of telling her why he wants her with him.

“Fuck you, Ren,” she mutters, turning over so that her back’s to him. His arm immediately snakes around her waist and pulls her back into his chest, lips pressing to the back of her neck. She can feel his smile against her skin, but she doesn’t bother confronting him. He’ll tell her, eventually. Probably. Maybe.

She hopes, at least.

Chapter Text

She’s up before he is, but not willingly. Her phone shrieks from her side of the bed, cheerful little ditty grating in the early morning.

She groans, trying to crawl over the large mattress to get to the ringing device. Rey yelps as she’s tugged back almost immediately, and glances down to where Ren has his arm wrapped around her waist.

“Kylo,” she says, trying for stern but ending up with a kind of whine. “I need to get the phone. What if it’s Lagerfeld or Hilfiger?”

He lets go of her so quickly she snorts, reaching as far across as she can to get the phone. She thanks every deity she can think of for the plug, since the cord’s closer than the phone and she uses the white-coated wires to reel the phone in. Thankfully it’s still ringing when she gets a hold of it.

She glances at the time and frowns at the early hour. “5:36? What the hell…?” And so she swipes without really looking at the number and puts the phone to her ear. “Hello?” she asks, looking over her shoulder when there’s the shifting of the mattress and the shuffling of sheets behind her. Since she wasn’t going back to him, he’s coming to her, and she smiles as she feels his hard chest against her back. He drapes his arm across her waist again and pulls her closer, grumbling against her shoulder.

“How’s your ankle, peanut?”

She frowns, reaching down to put her hand on top of Ren's. He nuzzles into the back of her neck, still half asleep. “Ankle?” she asks, looking down at where she can see the lump of her feet beneath the covers. “Nothing’s wrong with my ankle, who told you I did something to my ankle?”

“Buzzfeed.”

That gets her awake pretty much immediately, and she groans. “The story’s out already?”

“Complete with pictures of him carrying you out of the museum.”

“It was fucking adorable!” Poe calls from somewhere. She can tell that, this time, she’s not on speaker phone.

“So you didn’t hurt your ankle?” Finn asks, sounding confused. “So why-?”

“He was eating me out in the hallway and we used that as our cover,” she explains quickly. Ren huffs from behind her, seemingly more awake as his grip on her waist tightens. She squeezes his hand in response.

“In a HALLWAY?!” Finn’s voice raises at least an octave, and Rey just snorts.

“Yes, in the hallway.”

“Please tell me that you’re not going to become an exhibitionist. I don’t think I could handle that on top of everything else.”

She snorts again as Ren chuckles softly against her shoulder, mouth pressed to her bare skin since the neck of the shirt had slipped down in her sleep. “I won’t become an exhibitionist. What time is it there? You know you called me at 5:30 in the morning, right?”

She taps Ren’s hand, and he hums softly in question. She makes to lift it off, and he retracts his arm immediately. She takes the opportunity to lie back on the pillows, stretching her legs out and guiding his head down to her chest. He goes willingly, closing his eyes as she starts to run her fingers through his hair.

“Did we?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, shit, sorry, we just-“

There’s a slight shuffle, and then Poe says, “He saw the pictures of you being carried and the reports of you hurting your ankle, and demanded that we call you right away to see if you were being properly taken care of.”

Rey smiles softly at her best friend’s concern. “I’m fine. More than fine, actually.”

“Sounds like it. He good?”

“POE!” Finn shrieks from nearby, and Rey’s smile turns into an all-out grin.

“Don’t tell me you’re not curious.”

“She’s my best friend, and he’s our boss!”

She’s trying to hide her laughter, but stifling just makes her chest jump even more, and the man lying on it groans. “Stop laughing,” he grumbles, and she runs her fingers through his hair again in an attempt to sate him.

“… was that him?”

“Yes,” she replies, sure that her former boss of one day can hear her smile in her voice.

“… did he hear my question?”

“Yes,” Ren groans from her breast, eyes still closed and arm a heavy weight across her stomach.

She snorts. “Yes, he is good.”

“Okay, what have you done so far? I need to see if BB owes me money or not.”

“Okay, that’s it-“

There’s more shuffling, and Rey smiles at the scuffle on the other end of the phone as Finn grabs the device back. She gets him, breathless, a few seconds later.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Go back to sleep, peanut. FaceTime later?” he asks.

“Sure,” she says, still smiling. “Goodnight.”

“Night, peanut.”

With that the call clicks out, and she drops the phone back to the bed. Ren surges up to kiss her, and she smiles against his lips as he moves over her. He’s hot and firm over her, straddling her hips as his arms cage her in.

“You think it’s a good idea to tell him that I ate you out in the museum?” he mumbles against her mouth before moving to kiss at her jaw.

She hums, spreading her fingers along the hot skin of his shoulders. “They won’t tell a soul,” she mutters, closing her eyes as he kisses her neck, slow and sweet. “Kylo, it is 5:30 in the morning.”

He hums back, sound vibrating against her skin as his hand slips to her hip, and then around to her stomach, then just a bit lower. He’s not touching her, not quite yet, but it’s enough to make her hips jump slightly at the heat of his hand. “And we’re awake.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

She opens her eyes and tilts her had down to look at him. “… stop.”

His hand moves from around her front to her side immediately, thumb stroking along the skin covering her hipbone. “Tired?”

“It’s like 5:40 in the morning, Ren,” she mutters. “We need to be up by 7:45. That’s another good two hours of sleep. And besides, you’re-“

“An ass when I don’t get enough sleep, I know,” he mumbles as she moves to lie on her back. She guides him to lie on her chest again. He closes his eyes, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her closer to him as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“I’m not saying no,” she insists. “I’m saying later.”

He just hums. “Sure.” She can tell that he’s already falling asleep again, shoulders going loose and muscles going slack.

She smiles down at his dark hair before letting her eyes slip closed, tilting her head slightly to the side as she falls asleep again.

-

This time she does wake up on her own, about ten minutes before the alarm’s supposed to go off. Her boss is dead to the world, head still resting on her left breast and arm still like a vice around her waist.

She smirks at how childish he seems; possessive and cuddling, snoring softly against her chest. The fabric beneath his cheek feels just a bit damp, but she can’t really bring herself to care that he drooled on her when he’d had that mouth on her-

He whines softly, a high-pitched, kind of pathetic sound that has her frowning in concern. Her hand moves to his hair immediately, fingers moving through the strands and against his scalp in an attempt at comfort. The sound stops almost immediately, his face smoothing out as she watches.

She reaches for her phone, but ends up stretching a bit too far in the process. The movement jostles him, and she freezes with her hand about three inches from her phone. She stares down at him as he stirs, dark eyes blinking blearily in the morning light as he tries to make sense of why his pillow is moving.

Taking advantage of the fact that he’s awake, she grabs her phone and turns the alarm off so that it doesn’t startle them later. “Good morning,” she says as softly as she can as he moves to lie back down on her chest.

“Call for room service,” he mumbles against the soft fabric of his t-shirt covering her breast. “I want a bagel, and extra hot coffee. Two creams. Get whatever the fuck you want.”

She smirks at his language, but runs her fingers through his hair again anyway. “That requires me using the hotel phone. Which is on the desk. Which you’re going to need to get up for me to get to.”

His groan is so loud it surprises her, but he does roll off of her and flop onto his back. “Fine.”

“And you were up for less sleep,” she teases as she has to crawl over him to get off of the bed. His hand finds her ass as she moves over him, and connects with her cheek with a ‘slap’. It’s not as hard as it could’ve been, his touch light and her skin covered by his t-shirt, but she stops midway over him and stares at him in surprise.

“Did you just-?” she asks, before she snorts. “Did you just spank me?”

He shrugs at her, face impassive as he reaches up to lace his hands behind his head. “Maybe.”

“Is that a thing you like?” she asks, finishing her climb over him and walking over to the desk. “Spanking?”

“Not particularly,” he admits. “But I’m willing to give it a shot if it’s something you like.”

“Haven’t really tried it,” she confesses as she gets the phone and dials for room service. She glances towards the bed as she waits, watching as he stretches languidly, like a cat.

He is like a cat, she guesses, in that he pushes his things off of his desk more times than she can count and pretty much hates everyone. She smirks slightly at her own observation as someone picks up and asks what they need. “Hello, this is Mr. Ren’s room, 509. We would like a bagel, plain, with butter, as well as French toast, a fruit cup, a pot of green tea, and a pot of coffee with extra cream and sugar.”

She waits for the confirmation, before thanking the man on the other line and looking back towards her boss. He’s since flipped over onto his back, the pale expanse of it dotted in black moles and light freckles. She leans against the desk, arms crossed over her chest as she watches him. He’s not asleep; he’s on his phone, the device propped against the sheets as he scrolls through whatever he’s scrolling through.

“Admittedly, the pictures aren’t bad,” he says, glancing towards her and holding out the black-cased phone to her. She walks over, arms still crossed over her chest as she looks at the pictures.

They’re of him holding her, from the dinner last night. He looks a lot more serious than she’d thought he would. She would’ve expected a smirk, or something along those lines, given that they were really playing hooky. But instead his face is fairly blank, unreadable as he carries her to the car. She can’t recall putting on a pained face for the camera, but she must’ve felt some sort of awkward from him carrying her, because her expression’s kind of distressed. It works well, though, and she looks properly injured in his arms.

It also looks a lot sweeter than she’d imagined it. No wonder Poe had said it was adorable; it kind of is, honestly.

“That’s …. really not bad,” she admits, surprised.

“It looks a lot more romantic than I’d intended,” he says. “You leaned into me.”

“Well if I leaned out of you then I would’ve hit the ground,” she mutters, taking the phone from him to examine the photos more closely. “If you wanted something non-romantic, you shouldn’t have carried me bridal style.”

“So I would’ve carried you like what, a sack of potatoes?” he demands as he holds his hand out for the phone again.

“Hey, no, not yet,” she scolds, still looking at the pictures.

They do look like a bit of a couple. His arm’s beneath her knees, hand clenching at the gown she’s wearing. The other’s under her back, and it does look like she’s leaning into him, her head nearly resting on his shoulder. Her arms are around his neck for stability, but it does bring them closer.

“We look cute,” she admits, handing him his phone back.

“I’d rather we look intimidating,” he scowls as he takes the phone and scrolls through the rest of the article.

“… you saying that to me had better be a joke,” she mutters. “You’re intimidating enough as it is.” She climbs over top of him as soon as he flips over onto his back. He sits up straight, bending his legs and allowing her to settle in the space between them. His hands move to her back, keeping her steady as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“You think I’m intimidating?” he asks, raising one dark eyebrow at her.

“That’s like asking me if I drink water,” she deadpans. “Between your father being Han Solo, your mother being Leia Organa, and you being the incredibly attractive, stubborn, and ornery Editor-in-Chief of General Fashion…” she trails off.

“The incredibly attractive?” he repeats, smirk starting at the corners of his mouth.

Really? That’s what he got of that? She glares at him. It’s all too easy to grab the pillow that’s just behind him and whap him up the head. His forehead nearly connects with hers as she hits him with it, eyes going wide in surprise as she drops it back down to the mattress.

“Stop it. Your ego’s already twice the size of Manhattan,” she mumbles in defense of her actions.

“… of all the people I’ve fucked, I can safely say that no one’s ever hit me upside the head with a pillow.”

“It won’t be the last if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face.”

The smirk doesn’t fade immediately, but it does turn into a soft frown a moment later as he reaches one hand around to rub the back of his head.

“Fucking hell, woman, that kind of hurt.”

-

Room service, she’s quickly learning, tends to have horrible timing.

The knock comes when his face is between her bare breasts, and they both freeze at the call of, “Room service!” that follows almost immediately afterwards.

They stare at each other, eyes wide in horror.

“I’m naked,” Rey states, glancing down at her bare chest to make a point.

“I’m still look like I’ve been in a bar fight, without concealer,” Ren replies as he turns his cheek to show her the dark mark that she’d caused.

Damn it. He’s right. She groans softly, moving to get off of his lap only find that his hands are like vices on her hips. She glares down at him, hissing, “Kylo!”

“They’ll leave it outside.”

There’s another knock, the call more questioning now.

“Kylo, let me go!” she hisses. He releases his grip on her and she scrambles off, grabbing for one of his dress shirts that’s hanging loosely on a hanger to be dry-cleaned. It’s the closest thing to clothing that’s in close vicinity, and she pulls it over her bare frame and buttons it up quickly before rushing to the door.

She catches her reflection in one of the full length mirrors on the way to the door and stops dead, eyes going wide as she realizes that she’s both in his shirt, and they haven’t concealed the hickeys littering her neck, chest and collarbone yet. The dark purple and red marks are very much visible above the loose neck of the shirt.

Fuck. She looks like she’s been properly fucked.

“Rey.”

She turns quickly and instinctively reaches out to catch the Italian leather wallet thrown into her hands. Ren's standing in the doorway to the bedroom, bedhead spectacular and black sleep pants low on his hips. She looks up towards him, confused as to why he'd just tossed her his wallet. “What-“

“Bribe him.”

“Bribe him?!” she hisses as the man knocks for a third time.

“300, tell him not to say anything,” Ren says from the doorway of the bedroom, crossing his arms and leaning against it.

“Oh for fuck’s – fine!” She pulls six 50s out and rushes to the door, yanking it open with what she hopes is a cheerful smile. “Hi, sorry about that,” she starts, running a hand through her hair. “Thank you so much.”

The poor young man’s eyes go wide as he takes in her state of undress, and the hickeys covering her neck.

“Just push it in,” she says, moving to hold the door open for him.

“Yes, madame,” he mutters, pushing the cart quickly inside. A glance towards the bedroom doorway proves that Ren’s still standing there, except now he’s purposefully flexing his broad arms and practically glowering at the poor boy. She notices that his face is carefully turned to the side, so that the lesser of the two evils – the cheek she’d slapped and bruised slightly, but hadn’t scratched – is out towards the room.

The young man pushing the cart stops almost too suddenly, the ceramic on the cart jostling as a result as he takes in the shirtless Editor-in-Chief of General Fashion.

“Please,” Ren growls. “Don’t stop on my account.”

She knows it’s an act, really, but now she’s fairly convinced that he’ll have no trouble falling into the Devil’s demeanor again once they’re back in New York. He’s glaring at the poor boy, dark and brooding.

The young man starts to pour the coffee, but Rey stops him with a hand to his shoulder. He looks at her like a deer in headlights as she smiles, glancing towards his name tag.

“Thanisson,” she tries. “Is that right?”

“Yes, madame,” he says again, and she actually feels kind of bad for him as his eyes dart to her bruised collarbone and back up to hers again.

She offers him the money, cocking her hip slightly and running her free hand through her hair. “All yours, if you promise not to say anything to anyone,” she offers, voice low as he stares at the notes in her hand. “Not a single word, is that clear?”

“Yes, madame,” he says for a third time, taking the money reverently and slipping it into the pocket of his uniform.

“Thank you, Thanisson,” she replies, giving him the best smile she can when she’s as uncomfortable as she is. “I’ll take care of pouring it, thank you.”

The young man nods and is out of there so quickly she’s surprised he didn’t leave a cloud of smoke behind, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Was the lingering in the doorway and scaring him half to Hell really necessary?” she calls as she starts to pour Ren’s coffee.

“I thought he needed a bit of a push,” he explains as he walks out from the bedroom. “He won’t even think about talking to someone between me and the money.”

“Hm,” she mutters, pouring the same obscene amount of cream and sugar into his drink that he takes everyday. She turns, offering him the mug as his other hand goes to her hip. “I think you just wanted to torture the kid.”

“You’re not wrong,” he says, smirking around the lip of the mug. “Bring the trays in, I want breakfast in bed.”

She just gives him a look, raising one eyebrow at him with a smirk and pushing the mug down slightly to reach up for him.

He tastes like coffee, the flavor just barely noticeable underneath the pure amount of sweetness that covers it. “Please," he adds, softly, once she's pulled away.

She smirks. “There we go.”

She does as asked, bringing the trays in as he slips beneath the covers again. Their drinks are on one black tray, their food on the other. She balances the drinks as best as she can, setting those on the foot of the bed before setting the food beside him and sliding in with him. He grabs his bagel immediately, spreading the sweet butter over the bread as she reaches for her French toast.

“Don’t eat in that.”

She blinks and turns, staring at him as he continues to butter his bagel. “Excuse me?”

“My shirt,” he clarifies. “Don’t eat in it.”

She stares at him, before deciding that she’s done weirder for him – including wearing lingerie when he was still only her employer – and getting up. She strips herself of the dress shirt and reaches for the discarded First Order shirt they’d thrown aside not too long ago. She pulls it over her head, pulling her hair out of the neck hole before glancing towards the bed.

He’s stopped, eyes solely focused on her as she lowers her arms slowly, one of her eyebrows raised in question.

“You’re watching me,” she observes.

“Yes,” he replies simply.

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she comes back to the bed. “You’re –“ she starts, barely a syllable of a protest falling from her lips before his mouth covers hers.

He must’ve taken a bite of his bagel already, because he tastes like the sweet, unsalted butter that came with it. It’s a chaste kiss, closed-lipped and short, but she hums as he pulls away to take another bite, what she was going to say vanishing from her mind as she watches him.

It’s such a mundane thing, really. Watching him as he checks his phone notifications, one knee up and elbow propped on it with his hand holding the device. The other hand alternates between his bagel and his coffee, and she looks at his kiss-swollen lips and the way his glasses are slightly crooked on his nose. His hair’s a mess from the bed and her hands, and not for the first time she’s surprised at how human he looks in soft moments like these.

“Have you called Penny, yet?”

“Why would I call Penny?”

“Because I want to do a spread on resin accessories.”

“First I’ve heard of it,” she mutters as she digs her fork into a piece of honeydew, raising it to her lips.

In a split second, his hand’s lashed out and wrapped around her wrist, halting her hand. She stops, looking at him like he’s insane. His eyes are still on the phone, but his grip is tight.

“Penny first.”

“Food first.”

“I’m your boss.”

“You’re an ass. And I’m not sucking you off this morning, then,” she retorts, smirking as she bends to eat the melon despite him holding her wrist. He turns to glare at her, and she feels a sick sense of satisfaction in the bit of shock in his gaze.

“You wanted to-?“ he starts, but she’s already reaching for her phone to dial the product manager, trying to keep her snickers in.

“Hi, this is a message for Penny. It’s Rey. Ren wants -“

Her phone’s promptly snatched out of her hand and the call cut with the quick press of his thumb. The phone’s tossed to the end of the bed as his lips find hers. She’s laughing too hard to really kiss him back, even as he growls against her mouth.

“Eat quickly.”

She’s laughing so much she can barely get the, “Yes, sir,” out, and it doesn’t come out nearly as sexy as she’d intended for it to be. “Eat, then shower, then maybe,” she says between chuckles.

“Rey-“

“That’s what you get for being an ass.”

His groan makes her laugh all over again.

-

When she comes out from the shower, he’s already set out a dress for her. She blinks at the gold, painted, Valentino dress on the bed, recalling last night and how he’d spoken about Dolce and Gabbana. “Valentino?” she asks, watching as he moves around to gather his own things. She reaches for the underwear he’d laid out as well as he shrugs his dress shirt on, black slacks already on. “I thought you were-“

“You thought wrong.”

She stops at his tone, frowning as she straightens from pulling the panties on. She hasn’t heard that tone since … well, since she was almost fired, honestly. “Everything okay?” she asks, walking over as he rummages through the case of cufflinks. No, something’s not right. He never rummages through that case; he selects, and he selects carefully, at that.

He curses softly as he drops one of the cufflinks he’d picked up. It lands near her feet, and she bends to pick it up. The moment she offers it to him it’s snatched from her hand.

“Hey,” she tries softly, trying to get him to look at her and explain to her what the hell’s going on. When he just curses under his breath, she narrows her gaze at him and steps directly in front of him. “Hey!” she snaps.

He doesn’t stop, but he does slow, adjusting the cufflinks but refusing to meet her eyes.

“I took a shower and dried my hair for maybe 30 minutes,” she explains. “What the fuck happened in that time?” She crosses her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at him as she waits for an explanation.

“My parents are sitting next to me for the show,” he mutters as he secures the last cuff and turns to get a tie from his selection in the closet.

She stares at him. Of all the things that he could’ve said, that was not one she expected. She was, honestly, expecting Hux or some problem back in New York. “And you’re being an emo pissbaby about it because … ?” she asks.

“Because you’re sitting with us.”

She opens her mouth, but closes it with a click as she processes his words. She frowns, trying to put two and two together as she watches him pull the tie around his neck. In his frustration, he almost ties it with the inside outward, and she has to stalk over to him and put her hands around his neck for him to stop and try again. Eventually he just huffs and gives up after she knocks his hands away to tie the damn thing herself.

“I don’t really see why that’s a problem,” she admits, frowning as she tries to remember how to tie a tie. She tries to think back to homecoming, back to putting on Finn’s tie for him before ceremonies at their high school. She starts to weave the knot together as he huffs again. “Your parents were very nice, and I know you think that I’m just a bargain-bin scavenger, but-“

“That’s not it,” he insists quickly, the words mumbled. “Why did he call you this morning?”

She frowns as she guides the tie into place, pressing her thumb against the fabric for the dimple. “Because he saw-“

Her eyes widen as the pieces fall into place, and she looks up at him.

In her four months of working for Kylo Ren, she has seen him terrified exactly twice. Once when the Book disappeared almost entirely, lost to some department and some idiot who put it somewhere they shouldn’t have. She swears she’d seen Death that day, her boss a whirlwind of rage. But underneath the orders and yelling and broken pencil cups, there was a man panicked about losing weeks of work in a mere second.

The second time was after he’d gotten some cryptic call she’d put through without another thought. Half a second later, he was frantic to the point of boiling over, yelling at her and anyone in close vicinity for the rest of the day as he nearly tore his hair out with four spreads in the trash and all the others completely out in front of him.

While he might not be entirely composed all the time, she can count on one hand the amount of times she’s truly seen her boss entirely lose his shit.

And right now, he looks like he’s about to.

“Do you want me to not go?” she asks immediately. “I can say that something came up in New York. I can claim to have a video call with some people.”

“It’s too early,” he explains. “They won’t buy it. 6 hour time difference.”

“I can lie about something else,” she insists, hands moving from his neck to up and into his hair. He relaxes almost immediately at her touch, and she spoils him by massaging his scalp slightly as he takes a deep breath.

“No. I don’t need you to do that.”

“But do you want me to?” she demands. “Because I can. I’m a better liar than you are.”

He snorts softly, but shakes his head. “You just have to be prepared.”

“For what? I’ve already met your parents.”

“Meeting them as my assistant and meeting them as … someone who shares my bed are two different things entirely. Get your dress on, we’re going to be late.”

“They don’t know that,” she insists as she walks over to the bed and pulls the dress up. He’s at her back almost immediately afterwards, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck as he zips it up for her. “They don’t know we’re fucking.”

“They’re my parents. They know,” he mutters. “Dad might be a bit dense, but Mom’s sure to know.”

She reaches for the flats that are on the bed as he starts to pull out the essentials from the makeup bag. “Why is it such a problem?”

The silence that follows is incredibly concerning, but she pulls the flats on and sits in the desk chair. He says nothing, still, as he applies moisturizer and primer to her face, fingers smooth against her cheeks. She closes her eyes for gentle brush of eyeshadow and the cold flick of the liquid liner, but doesn’t dare try the thumb trick as he swipes color across her lips. It’s not the right time – he’s worked up enough as it is, touch nearly frantic.

“Hey,” she tries, grabbing his hand as he’s putting the products back into the bag. He stops, eyes wide and somewhat scared as her hand encircles his wrist and moves up to clasp his hand. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do, all right?” She offers him a smile. “Whether that’s vehemently deny it, or say outright ‘yes, I’m fucking your son,’ I will do whatever you want me to.”

“Well, I’d rather you not say that you’re fucking me,” he says, squeezing her hand as he moves to put the rest of the makeup back. “Not so bluntly, at least. But there’s no need to deny it, if they ask point blank.”

“Who knows, at this point?” she asks, out of curiosity as she lets his hand go to stand and walk towards the mirror. She grabs the brush from the desk on the way and runs it through her hair before waiting for his guidance on it.

He pulls her hair back and up, frowning before shaking his head and letting it fall in waves to her shoulders again. He uses the end of the brush to part it right down the middle – a softer, more casual version of her gala hairstyle. “Hux. Elliot. Enna. Whoever calls you on daily basis.”

“Finn and Poe,” she replies.

His hands stop arranging pieces of her hair, and she watches him frown in the mirror. “Poe Dameron?”

“The very same.”

“And Finn Trooper?”

“I’m surprised you know his name,” she admits as she runs her fingers through her hair and turns to look at him. He’s already walking towards his closet, pulling out a black blazer with white trim. It’s not a neckline she’s seen before on him; it’s slightly Imperial, a bit oriental with its high, square neck and lack of lapels. His black dress shirt, black pants and black shoes leave the white trim as the center of attention, drawing eyes right up to his face. She watches him as he runs his hand through his hair, walking over to her.

“I know everyone who works below me,” he confesses. “Or I try to, at least.”

“That’s … impressive, given how many work at the company. Purse?” she asks, glancing towards him as he grabs his phone and wallet, slipping them into his pockets.

“Cream Chanel,” he explains. “Everything’s already inside of it, and it’s by the door.”

“You know, I wish you would stop doing that,” she mutters as she walks to grab the crossbody bag that’s sitting on the table by the door. She slips the gold chain around her shoulder and waits as he opens the door for her.

“Why?” he asks, frowning as they make their way to the elevator. She presses the button, smiling a bit at his hand on her lower back despite the fact that she’s wearing flats.

“Because purses are kind of personal things,” she admits as the mechanism lets out a ‘ding’ sound, and the doors slide open.

“Says the girl who carries a duct-tape backpack to work every day,” he mutters darkly as they step inside. She presses the button for the lobby and leans against him a bit as they travel down. “Do you even own a purse?”

“Yes.”

“Brand?”

“… H&M, I think?” she offers.

“Better than Walmart,” he reluctantly admits as they step out into the lobby.

She snorts and shakes her head as they walk outside. She’s almost immediately blinded by the cameras that are going off at rapid speed.

Her heart nearly thumps out of her chest as there are at least three microphones shoved in her face, and she’s entirely sure she looks terrified in the pictures that they’re taking of her.

“Is it true that you and Kylo Ren are a couple?”

“Is it true that you’re sharing a hotel room?”

“Can you say anything on the status of your relationship?”

“I-“ she starts, completely unsure of what to say, but then her boss is there and she sees the faces of the paparazzi and reporters as he towers over her, hand wrapping around her waist and guiding her towards the car.

She’s not sure what his face was, but it must’ve been terrifying since the paparazzi actually look a bit scared of the man who’s nearly pushing her into the car. He stands in the door as she slips in, clutching her purse to her chest, and slides onto the seat beside her a split second afterward. The door’s closed almost immediately after he’s in, and he’s reaching for her hand, fingers clasping around hers and squeezing as the car pulls away from the entrance of the hotel.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quick and sharp. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know they were out there, I-“

“Is it always like that?”

She could tell him that’s it’s all right, that she’s fine, but truth be told she’s a little shaken. Her heart’s still pounding from the sudden intrusion, head still reeling from the cameras and the sudden questions. She takes a deep breath, thumb stroking along the embellishment on the cream leather of her purse.

“Yes,” he admits. “And it might get worse, at times.”

“Great,” she deadpans, reaching up to run a hand through her hair with a sigh.

“Statement,” he says simply.

“No, don’t bother,” she says, glancing towards him.

Her heart stutters in his chest as she looks at him.

He looks worried, hand holding hers so tightly she’s kind of afraid he might be cutting off her circulation. He looks as though he's terrified he scared her off, just from a few cameras and some rude, intrusive questions.

She squeezes his hand back as best as she can, and offers him a small smirk. “If we’re going to do this,” she says, nodding towards their hands. “… then I want to know all of what comes with it. Cameras, questions, everything.”

“Not to mention the speculation, the articles, the slanderous remarks, the-“

She has to lean over a good deal to kiss him, but at least it shuts him up. Her back aches slightly as she stretches over the seat, but his hand as it comes up to cup her cheek is soft and warm. She can feel the callous of the thumb on his dominant hand as he strokes her cheek with it, and he hums against her lips before she pulls away.

“I’ll be the judge of what I can handle and what I can’t,” she mutters against his mouth. “You just try to handle it the best way you can.”

“Even if ‘handling it’ means glaring at them and pulling you away?”

“As long as ‘handling it’ doesn’t involve body bags, you can do whatever the fuck you want, Mr. Ren,” she mutters, smirking at the way his body stiffens. “… did I just find a new turn on?”

“Shut up.”

She grins against his mouth as he pulls her in for another kiss, this one hungrier than the first and confirming her question.

-

The preview’s outside. That hadn’t been planned for. She shivers in the autumn air as they walk along the modern courtyard, the sketches of the designs hung up on the white-painted cement walls. She huddles near her boss as casually as she can, already freezing in the short-sleeve, short-skirted dress he’d chosen for her.

“You could’ve warned me that it was outside,” she hisses as they work their way around the small courtyard. There is tea, thank God, and coffee, and she’s had at least four cups already in a vain attempt to keep warm.

“I wasn’t informed,” he replies. “They should’ve told us.”

“Damn right, they should’ve,” she mutters, shivering again. “I’m freezing.”

“I know. I can see the bumps on your arms. Your hair’s standing on end.”

“Shut up, Ren.”

She takes another sip of her tea, and nearly spits it out when she’s suddenly enveloped in warmth. She stills at the sudden weight on her shoulders, and the overwhelming scent of what she knows to be Ren as it wafts around her. She uses her free hand to pull the blazer closer around her, and glances to where her boss is now standing with his hands in his pants pockets, looking at the sketch next to the one she’s standing in front of.

“This is a bad idea,” she says as she walks to stand next to him.

“Probably,” he admits. “But I’m not going to let my assistant freeze to death because of a lack of information.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “What do you think of this sketch?”

“I think Elliot and Enna are making their way towards us.”

“Not the answer I was looking for,” he mutters as she turns to greet the Brit and the French woman. The shorter man’s coming at her with open arms and a bright grin.

“Sweetheart, you must be freezing!” he says, looking down at her bare legs in concern.

“A bit, yeah,” she admits, glancing towards Ren who’s come to stand beside her.

“They didn’t tell you it was outside?” Enna asks, looking snug in her slim black pants and bright red pea coat. Rey’s immediately envious of the woman, cuddling more into Ren’s blazer and trying to keep the heat in as much as possible.

“No, they didn’t,” Ren replies. “Is the show outside?”

“No, it’s inside,” Elliot says, and Rey breathes a soft sigh of relief. The British man must’ve heard since he offers her a small smile. “Don’t worry, love, you’ll be warm soon. Though I see you’re getting a bit cozy already.”

“I didn’t want my assistant frosting over,” Ren insists. “It was common courtesy.”

“Sure. And she’ll smell like your cologne for the rest of the day. Not to mention she looks downright adorable in your blazer. No second agenda at all. Sure, I believe it 100%,” Elliot deadpans.

“Renolds,” Ren says warningly.

“Ren,” Elliot replies, grinning. “Where are you sitting for the show?”

“28 and 29,” Rey pipes immediately, fairly sure that Ren doesn’t know the exact numbers for himself. “You?”

“Damn. I’m in 81, Enna’s in 65. We’ll see you at the after party, though?” he offers.

“Yes,” Ren replies simply.

“Fantastic. See you then!” The man’s gone with a small wave, though the platinum blonde editor remains.

“How’s your ankle?” she asks, and Rey feels her cheeks flush.

“Better,” she replies immediately, giving the other woman the best smile she can manage. “Much better, thank you.”

“And the rest of you?”

Rey stares at the other woman’s smirk. “… sorry?”

“He isn’t exactly the most gentle lover,” Enna says, reaching a hand up to tug at her own collar. Rey’s hand flies to the collar of Ren’s blazer immediately, pulling it up slightly. The woman smiles kindly and nods. “There you go. I’m going to go get some tea. Do you need any more?”

“No,” Rey says, honestly surprised that her voice is working at all. “I’m fine.”

“Then I’ll see you after,” she replies before nodding at Ren. “Ren.”

“Enna,” Rey’s boss says as a farewell, and then the woman’s gone as well, walking off towards where the tables of food and drink are.

“One of my one-night stands,” Ren explains before Rey can even open her mouth to ask. “One of the ones I don’t regret.”

While the thought does make her feel uneasy, it doesn’t make her sick to her stomach like it probably should. She honestly should've expected it with the way the two speak to each other, and the way he'd touched her upon their first meeting. It's barely a surprise, if she's honest with herself. So she just says a little, “Oh,” and watches as the blonde rejoins Elliot at the far side of the courtyard.

His hand finds the small of her back, and she relaxes almost immediately as she looks up at him to find him gazing down at her.

“It meant nothing,” he says, almost vehemently, and she smiles as she puts the mug of tea to her lips.

“I wasn’t concerned,” she admits, taking a sip of her tea as Ren leads her towards another sketch. “Should I have been?”

“I thought you might be curious.”

“I’m really, really not. What you did with her and with models is none of my business.”

“That’s a new perspective I haven’t heard before,” he mutters, sounding kind of in awe as they stop in front of what Rey’s sure is some explosion of orange juice on a sketched woman. He’s quiet for a moment, and Rey’s sure he’s trying to analyze and see if it can make it onto the cover of the magazine. It would be a good color for a fall issue; a bright, warm orange. It’s not until she notices his frown and furrowed brows that she realizes that he’s confused. “… can you make sense of this?”

“Nope,” she confesses, popping the ‘p’ as she looks at what she’s sure will be an … interesting dress on the runway.

“Thank God, me either.”

-

She gives up his jacket as they step inside and make their way to their seats inside the abandoned theatre. She glances up at the crystals hanging from the ceiling, sparkling in the late morning light. “How much do you think those cost?” she asks as he leads her to their seats, hand on the small of her back. The crystals hang from strings, and when hung together they form the shapes of branches all along the ceiling. There are no leaves; it works for the autumn/winter collection, a sort of winter wonderland-vibe offset by the warmth of the rest of the room, the lighting warm and inviting as she settles into the seat.

“You don’t want to know,” he tells her as he sits next to her. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine, now, thank you.” She looks around, trying to find Enna or Elliot in the crowd. Instead, she stills as she looks across the way and sees dark, curly hair and clean stubble. “Kylo.”

“Hm?”

“Tony.”

He stiffens immediately beside her, gaze snapping to where she’s looking. “… it’s not a quick process, getting him taken out,” he mutters, just so she could hear him. “He’ll be the editor for another two months, at the very most.”

She’s on edge, all of her nerves seeming to tingle at once and her head feeling heavy as she watches the other man speak to the pretty brunette next to him.

She feels Ren’s arm press against her shoulder, and she looks towards her boss.

“I can ask someone to relocate him,” he informs her. “Just say the word.”

“No.”

“Wrong word.”

She leans into him a bit more. “I’m fine. I can handle myself. It’s just-“

“Ben!”

The sharp voice of Han Solo carries across the aisles, and Rey's gaze snaps to the former model walking towards them. Ren’s standing immediately, and Rey almost falls over as the muscled arm she’d been leaning against is suddenly gone. She stands as well as soon as she gets her balance back, smiling as Han Solo and Leia Organa make their way down the stairs.

“Dad. Mom,” Ren says stiffly. Rey watches as he grips his father’s hand, but then pulls his mother in for a gentle hug and a cheek kiss.

The assistant smiles softly as Leia kisses her son’s cheek as well, and then she’s being startled by Han Solo appearing directly in front of her with the smirk that she remembers from, admittedly, a few of the posters she'd had in her bedroom when she was younger. She fights the blush threatening to overtake her cheeks, smiling politely instead.

“Hello again, sir,” she says on reflex, eyes widening as she takes in the former model's growing smirk.

“Don’t call me ‘sir’, just Han works,” the man dismisses, taking her hand in his. “Though I have the feeling you’ll be calling me your father-in-law, soon."

All right. A marriage joke and a dad joke all in one. She can handle it, she thinks. Or maybe not.

Rey bites back the laughter that’s threatening to spill through her lips as she glances around the former model’s arm to stare at her boss, who looks absolutely mortified. Leia just looks exasperated with her husband, rolling her eyes and walking towards Rey in a navy blue v-neck dress, simple and elegant with a diamond necklace that looks a lot like the one Ren had given Rey the night before.

“Forgive him,” the older woman says, taking Rey’s hand in both of hers. “He’s a little forward.”

“A little,” Rey admits, smiling at the shorter woman.

“A lot,” Ren grumbles from behind his mother. Rey throws him a grin, hopefully showing him that she took no offense from his father’s remark, and she watches as his shoulders loosen just the slightest bit beneath his blazer. His face smooths out a bit more as he puts his hand on his mother’s back to guide her to her seat.

“Lovely purse,” Leia says of the cream crossbody Rey’s still holding in her other hand.

“Oh, thank you, Chanel,” Rey says quickly, sitting as the other woman sits down next to her.

“I can tell,” Leia replies with a wink.

“What if I wanted to sit next to her?” Han asks, frowning from around Leia’s otherside.

“Too bad,” Leia says back, and Rey has to press her lips together to keep from laughing at the older couple as Ren settles next to her again. “You can sit next to her at the afterparty.”

“Are they always like this?” Rey asks, leaning into Ren slightly so that only he can hear her. The words are barely above a whisper, and she looks up to meet his eyes as he glances down at her.

“Bickering? Unfortunately, yes,” Ren mutters. “I’m sure long ago it could be interpreted as unresolved sexual tension, but as you know, they managed to resolve it at least at once.”

She really shouldn’t laugh, but she snorts and draws the attention of both her boss, and her boss’s parents. She tries to cover it by coughing and reaching for the water bottle under her seat. “Sorry, went down the wrong way,” she tries to cover.

“You’re not eating anything,” Ren observes.

“Shut up, you’re not helping,” she says, voice watery as she tries to crack open the seal of the water bottle. “I can’t-“

The bottle’s taken from her by the woman to her left, and she watches as Leia twists the cap with little to no difficulty and hands it right back. Rey stares, surprised as the older woman winks at her. “Don’t worry, you loosened it for me.”

Rey blinks before looking towards Ren. “I like her.”

“We like you, too!” Han pipes from down the row.

“Dad," Ren snarls.

“Han," Leia warns, but Rey can hear the smile in her voice.

Rey just tries desperately not to do a spit take.

-

"That orange dress looked just as ridiculous on the runway as it did in the sketch," Rey says as they make their way up the stairs after the show.

"I agree," Ren replies, hand on the small of her back again as he guides her to the side. "Remind me to call Lagerfeld and ask to borrow it for the next cover."

"... you've got to be kidding me."

"I am," he says, smirk emerging as he guides her through the doors. His parents follow soon after, bickering about something or another.

"I'm just saying, what's the sense in making something completely transparent?" Han's asking. "It's not like anyone's gonna wear it."

"Fashion, Han."

"That's a bullshit answer and you know it, Leia."

"Mom, Dad," Ren tries. Rey leans back into his hand as he pulls her just a bit closer so that they aren't taking up as much room in the hallway. "Please try to be civil."

"Who said we're not being civil?" Han demands, and Rey hides a smirk behind a cough as he glares at his son.

Ren glares right back before glancing down at Rey. "Rey, I'm going to need you to call Armani and ask if they have the five dresses ready at the hotel. And then I need to you to actually do your job like I asked you to this morning and call Penny. I need at least twenty resin necklaces by the time we return to New York, as well as ten bracelets, ten pairs of earrings and five bags."

He's on edge, she can tell. He's hardly ever that sharp with her. It's a reasonable enough request - she's done stranger for the Editor-in-Chief. But the part about her doing her job was entirely unneeded, and she glares at him as a result. She could call him an ass in front of his parents; she wouldn't be opposed to putting him in his place, honestly. It would be her pleasure. However, a split second after that thought crosses her mind, she just smirks and nods as another idea starts to bloom and flourish. Oh, yes, this one is so much better. "Yes, sir."

His eyes snap to her so suddenly she has to resist the urge to snicker. "Is there anything else you need me to do for you, Mr. Ren?" she asks, throwing in an eyelash bat just for the hell of it.

"No."

"I'll take care of that right away then, sir," she says, making her voice as smooth as she possibly can before she throws in a wink just to see him squirm. And squirm he does, glaring at her as she walks away.

She kind of wishes that she did wear heels today; the clack they'd make on the old wooden floor of the venue would be so satisfying.

She doesn't even make it to the back half of the building before her phone's ringing, the Imperial March signaling that His Asshole-ness is hailing her. She swipes the screen and puts the phone to her ear, walking towards one of the unused dressing rooms for when the building is used as a legitimate theatre and not just a makeshift runway. "Do I want to know what excuse you just pulled to get away from your parents?" she asks, smirking.

"Where are you."

His tone's so harsh that it doesn't even sound like a question; it's more of a command, and she stills at the idea that maybe she'd gone too far this time. She runs her hand through her hair, nervous. "I'm in the back portion of the building, in one of the dressing rooms."

"You have no idea how much shit you're in," he snarls, emphasizing the curse word. She stills as she hears his thundering footsteps on the wooden floors outside. He's getting closer, she knows. "Playing that game in front of my parents."

"You're the one who insinuated that I can't do my job," she hisses. "In front of your parents!"

She whirls around as she hears the doorknob jiggle. He doesn't so much open the door as he does force it open, and she yanks the phone down from her ear as she glares at him.

He's in front of her in just three long strides, door slamming shut behind him so hard it rattles the mirror up against the wall. She lets herself be grabbed around the waist by his left hand, his right slipping into her hair and slotting her mouth against his. Her phone clatters to the floor with a crack, but she can't bring herself to worry if she broke it or not when he's kissing her like this.

If she'd thought their first kiss was rough compared to their others, this one proves her absolutely wrong. He claws at the back of her dress with the hand on her back as the other slips underneath, cupping her ass and squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. She can feel his nails in her skin, and she curses softly before her mouth is being borderline attacked by his again. There's tongue and teeth and more sucking than she's entirely used to, and she's glad he's holding onto her because she's not entirely sure if her knees would be up to keeping her standing if he were to pull away completely.

By the time he pulls back from her, he's panting, eyes dark. "Kneel."

She growls, her right hand in his hair. She tugs, hard, yanking his head down to her level as he hisses in pain. Her mouth skirts across his in a poor, sloppy version of a kiss.

"You can order me to call Armani," she hisses. "You can order me to call Penny or Leslie or whoever, and you can order me to do whatever illogical shit that you ask me to do on a daily basis. But you do not order me to kneel."

To her complete and utter surprise, he just smirks as his hand slips beneath the lace of her panties, cupping her bare ass. His touch doesn't soften, necessarily, but the sharp bite of his nails in the tender skin disappears. "And that's why you lasted more than a week," he breathes, kissing her again. She yelps against his mouth as he pulls her flush against him, and she realizes that he's hard in his slacks, hot against her thigh where he's rucked her dress up.

"What turned you on?" she asks. "The hair pulling, the growling, or my talking back?"

"All of the above," he mumbles. "You're one of the few to say 'no' when I ordered that."

She hums softly as he kisses her again. "You want me to suck you off?" she breathes against his mouth when he bothers to pull away for half a moment.

"God, yes," he moans, and she laughs against his mouth at how eager he sounds. "We don't have time for much else - I gave them an awful excuse."

"What did you tell them?" she asks as he starts to shrug out of his jacket. "I thought we didn't have time for anything else, why are you taking off your jacket?"

He throws what she's sure is a several hundred, if not a few thousand, dollar blazer to the floor just beside their feet. "I told them I needed to talk to Lagerfeld."

"Wouldn't he be backstage?" she asks as he kisses her again. She whimpers softly as he bites at her lower lip hard enough that she tastes blood, dark and coppery against her tongue. "Fuck, Kylo-"

"That's why it was awful. The jacket's for your knees," he mumbles against her mouth. "Or I can go down on you, whatever you prefer."

"I think we need to take care of this first," she admits, reaching down to brush her fingers along the hot length pressing against his slacks. He hums, body practically thrumming beneath her slight touch. She grins against his mouth, trying to soothe where she'd yanked his hair by massaging his scalp. "I like you like this. Desperate for my mouth on you, my hand, anything. I bet you'd just touch yourself if I left you here, wouldn't you?"

She gasps as his hand works around to her front, bucking her hips as his hand slips beneath the lace of her underwear. His fingers stroke along her folds and she grips at his hair as he parts her lips and slips his middle finger along her slit.

"You're not exactly unaffected by this, either," he purrs. "You're wet already."

"Your fault for barging in here and nearly eating my face," she mutters, bucking her hips against his teasing fingers. "Out, I can't kneel with you in there."

His hand slips out of her underwear, but not without another almost reverent stroke. She kisses him again before she moves to her knees, grateful for the silk lining of his blazer against her skin as she kneels on the hard floor.

He's wearing some sort of black leather belt, but he deals with it quicker than she could. They don't have much time, she knows, so she lets him undo his pants and pull his cock out. There'll be time for teasing later, she decides as she leans forward and presses her lips to his tip.

The reaction is immediate. He moans, perhaps a bit too loudly as she moves to kiss the underside of the hot head. She reaches her hand up, slipping it beneath his pants and his shirt to dig her nails into his hip. "Fuck, why-" he breathes.

"Too loud," she hisses before licking a stripe up the thick vein on the underside. His hips buck again, and she feels the tip skirt along her cheek. "Hey, stop it!"

"Sorry," he breathes. "Are you sure about this?"

"Wouldn't be kneeling if I wasn't," she breathes back before leaning forward again and pressing kisses all along the hot skin. She can feel the stripe of precum his tip left along her cheek, warm but quickly cooling with every pass of her tongue along the underside. She's not sure she can swallow him, though she's sure she'll end up swallowing his cum for convenience sake.

His heavy on her head, fingers clenching in her hair as she opens her mouth and takes in the first two inches of him. She knows that's as far as she can go for now, not wanting to gag on him. She uses her hand for the rest, thumb finding the vein again. His hips buck again, and she claws at his hip warningly, meeting his eyes as he gazes down at her.

She nearly smirks. He looks completely undone for her, and she wonders idly if his desk back in New York is big enough to cover her if she were to try this there.

His hand yanks on her hair after the sixth pass of her tongue, trying to pull her head back. "Not going to last," he mutters.

"Don't care, I'm swallowing anyway," she breathes back.

"You don't-"

"You see anything in here we could use to clean up?" she demands, still pumping him slightly.

"There's a tissues in your purse, and a pack of cleaning wipes."

That has her hand stilling on his cock, eyes going wide as she stares up at him. "What?" she demands.

"Rey," he warns. "Don't stop."

Right. That's a discussion for later. She moves forward again, swallowing a bit more than she had before. She barely gets a warning before he's cumming down her throat, hot and bitter. She takes as much as she can, but does choke about halfway through. He's kneeling almost immediately, grabbing for her purse abandoned beside her and rummaging through it. Not half a second later he's wiping at her mouth. She closes her lips and swallows, watching him as he wipes his own cum from her mouth. His eyes are still dark, pupils blown wide as he watches her, smiling a bit shyly.

"I didn't exactly plan for this, but I'd planned for something," he admits as he tucks the tissue away.

She can't help it. She laughs softly, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair again. "Is that why you pack my purse?"

"Maybe," he mutters. "There's also a chocolate bar in there from the minibar, in case you need to ... cleanse your palate or something."

She snorts, looking down to his softening cock as he tucks himself back into his pants and zips himself up. "How much time do you think we have before your parents find us?"

"Five minutes, tops," he replies.

"Kiss me?" she asks. "Or do you want me to-"

She doesn't even finish her sentence before he's reaching for her, pulling her up and flush against him as she twines her arms around her neck. She smiles against his mouth at how gently he's holding her after their little fight before, touching her back and neck almost reverently, like she's about to break beneath him - or worse, pull away.

"We should go," he mumbles against her mouth. "They already know, but we should go."

"You didn't exactly give us the best cover," she admits, pulling back a bit. "How do I look?"

"Like you just gave your boss a blowjob," he deadpans, using his thumb to wipe away the precum on her cheek. He grimaces a bit, wiping it on the tissue he'd used before. "I'm just glad you were wearing a tint instead of a lipstick."

Rey hums as he stands, offering his hand to her to help her up. She lets herself be pulled up, picking his blazer up on the way. "Thanks for this, by the way."

"This wood is old enough to splinter, and not coated recently," he says, turning the back of his jacket over and showing her the few bits of wood that had attached themselves to the fabric already. He brushes them off and slips the jacket back on over his shoulders. She reaches forward and adjusts the front of it, reaching up to adjust his tie as well. "Thank you."

The kiss she gives him is softer and sweeter than their previous ones. She smiles against his lips as she takes her purse from him. "Let's go find your parents, who definitely don't know that their son was just sucked off by his assistant."

"I sense your sarcasm, and I don't appreciate it." He runs his hands through her hair as she does his, trying to make him look as presentable as possible. It's not exactly great, but at least he doesn't look like he'd just been blown, she decides as she steps back and opens her purse. He puts his hand on her back, guiding her as she looks through the pockets.

"Is there really a chocolate bar in here?"

"Left zippered pocket."

She makes a small, pleased noise as she finds it. Rey breaks the flimsy wrapper with her nail, and hums as she breaks off a piece and pops it into her mouth, sucking on the treat as they walk back to the rest of the after-show party.

Leia sees them almost immediately and smiles. The smile falls almost immediately as soon as her eyes move to Rey, though, and the assistant's heart drops as the woman smirks a bit and gestures to the side of her own mouth.

"Did you get to the chocolates already?" the older woman asks.

"Yes," Rey replies immediately, because she feels like it's the correct answer to the question she has no idea how to respond to. "So much better than American chocolate."

"I like the cream-filled ones, too," Leia offers, and Rey frowns, pressing her thumb to the corner of her mouth and wiping off the chocolate that's there. She sticks her thumb in her mouth and her eyes widen at the combined taste of her boss and the chocolate he'd given her. Fuck. She glances at Ren, a little horrified, but he doesn't seem to be as concerned.

"They're the best," she tries, smiling as soon as she pulls her thumb from her mouth again.

Han's her savior as he comes back with a plate of chocolates and small pastries, two bottles of water balanced in his other hand. "Oh, you're back," he says, not sounding exactly thrilled at his son's appearance.

"I took Rey some chocolate after she texted me and said she was feeling faint. We didn't have breakfast," Ren says quickly.

"How sweet," Leia replies, and Rey thinks that she might be smiling slightly. "I found Lagerfeld and told him you wanted to speak to him about the collection."

"Fantastic. I'll find him now," Ren replies flatly, and Rey feels his hand on the small of her back again as he starts to lead her through the crowd of people. "We'll see you later."

"All right, love."

Rey waits until the older couple's out of earshot before looking to her boss and whispering, "Fuck!" as vehemently as she can.

Much to her dismay, the man looks like he's about to crack up. He's smirking, the left side of his mouth straining with the effort not to laugh.

"It's not funny, Ren."

"It's a little funny."

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is." He glances towards her, and she breaks, snorting slightly as they make towards the head of the fashion house.

"... all right, maybe a little. You need to eat more fruit, by the way."

The "What," that comes from him sounds like a quack more than anything, and she struggles to keep herself from laughing as the Lagerfeld starts towards them.

Chapter Text

“I’m almost entirely sure you just broke about 12 people’s hearts and crushed several dreams back there.”

He slips into the car after her, door slamming immediately afterwards. He watches out of the corner of her eye he pulls out the rest of the chocolate bar, biting a square off. The happy sound she makes has him smiling softly as he reaches down to adjust his blazer, plucking at it so it’s a bit less tight around his broad chest.

“You and I both agreed that the orange dress was a monstrosity,” he declares as he adjusts his cufflinks, glancing down at the gold and onyx pieces.

“Don’t pull me into this,” Rey mumbles around a mouthful of chocolate. He looks up to find her pointing at him, one dark brow raised. “I didn’t make two men cry.”

“The coat collection was dreadful,” he continues. “There’s rebranding, and trying to find a new image and fit in with the times, and there’s hacking and slashing tradition. They hacked and slashed. Absolutely pathetic. Not one thing that I liked.”

She hums, and he glances over to find her putting another piece of chocolate in her mouth. He watches as she chews and swallows before sticking her fingers in her mouth, lips closing around the digits as she licks the melted chocolate from them.

He snorts softly, pulling his phone out to check his emails.

“… are you laughing at me?” she demands.

He doesn’t lift his eyes from his phone, tapping an email from Kate Spade and scanning it quickly before deleting it. He’ll deal with that brand in the spring, as he always does. “No.”

“Yes, you are!”

“Fine, I was,” he admits simply. “Because you’re eating a 8 euro chocolate bar like you’re in a porn movie.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees her freeze, and he casts a glance towards her to see her reaction. She’s staring at him, mouth slightly open and eyes slightly horrified.

“… this chocolate bar was 8 dollars?”

“Euros, if you want to be precise, but yes,” he replies.

“… it’s like an inch by four inches,” she insists. “That’s insane. That’s … that should be illegal.”

“I bought you a $117,000 necklace and you’re flipping your shit over a chocolate bar,” he deadpans. “Good to see you have your priorities in order.”

“You bought your assistant a $117,000 necklace,” she says right back. “I don’t exactly think that your priorities are in the best order, either.”

“Touché,” he mutters as she breaks another square off from the chocolate bar. “What’s our schedule?”

She reaches into her purse and pulls out the small leather notebook. “Today’s Wednesday, right?”

“Yes. What kind of assistant are you where you can’t keep track of the day of the week?”

“Well, I’m sorry that this week has been a bit of a blur,” she snaps. “Between you and me and all of Paris.” She says ‘Paris’ like ‘Pear-ee’, and he’s actually kind of impressed that she can rhyme while annoyed.

“That was impressive.”

“Thanks.” Her eyes are down at the paper. “It’s 2 now. The party’s at 6, and goes until 8:30. And then we have dinner with Hux and Phasma directly after that.”

“Have you confirmed with the restaurant?”

“Yes, the reservations at 8:45,” she adds. “But we have 4 hours for you to edit the Book.”

“Excellent.” His shoulders lose some of their tension as they pull back up to the hotel.

“Do you really have that much to do?” she asks as she slides out of the car. He gets out on the other side, and waits for her as she walks around. “It can’t be that hard, can it?”

“If it was easy, anyone in the world could have the job I do,” he says as they climb the steps. “But no one could do this job like I can.”

“Ego, much?” she mutters as they wait for the elevator.

He bends to kiss her temple, smiling against her skin as he feels her lean into him. He takes a chance and puts his hand at the small of her back before sliding it around to touch her waist. “Just honest.”

“Hm,” she hums as the elevator doors slide open. They step aside to let a handful of guests out, and then they slide inside. Rey presses the button, and in the privacy of the small elevator he reaches out to take her hand. She lets him, and he squeezes her fingers in thanks.

“I’m thinking Herve Leger tonight,” he says, and in the reflection he can see her look at him, confused.

“Who?”

“… you’re joking, right?”

-

She’s stepping out of her shoes before they even get into the bedroom, stopping in the middle of the living area to tug them off. He watches her, amused, as she tries to unzip the top of her dress by herself.

“I thought that was my job?” he asks, walking over and tapping her hands. They drop to her sides immediately.

“Well, I thought that you would go bounding into bed to work on that stupid Book,” she admits as he tugs the zipper down her back, settling it at the end of its path on her ass. He bends forward to press his lips to the warm skin at the top of her spine.

“I think I can spare a moment and a half to undress a beautiful woman,” he mutters against her, and he hears her snicker.

“Wasn’t sure. Do you need anything?” she asks, stepping away from him so that she can slide the dress down her arms. He watches as she strips, her small hands pushing the dress down her legs. She drapes it over her arm as she walks into the bedroom, and he watches her go in the underwear that leaves just enough to the imagination.

“Some wine would be wonderful,” he admits, following her as he sheds his blazer. She’s walking back from hanging the dress up, and holds her hand out for the jacket. He lets her take it from him and starts to pull the tie from his neck. “Red, white, don’t care. Pick whatever you’d like.”

“I’m getting tea,” she replies. “Want something to eat?” He watches as she snags the menu from the desk and flops down on her side of the bed, still in her underwear and completely unselfconscious. She holds the small black book over her face as she kicks her legs off the end of the bed, dark hair splayed out around her head.

He has to smile softly as he pulls his shirt off before reaching for a long sleeved black t-shirt to pair with the sleep pants he’d discarded that morning. “What are the options?”

“Lots of things I can’t pronounce,” she admits, looking up at the black book before she holds it up in the air for him to take from her “Help.”

“Help what?”

“Help, please, I’m not bilingual like you.”

“Quadrilingual,” he supplies as he takes the book from her and starts to look through it. “Savory or sweet?”

“Quadri - really?” she asks, pushing herself up onto her elbows and staring up at him. He looks at her over the edge of the book.

“Yes,” he replies. “English, Italian, French, and Mandarin. My Japanese is a little rough.”

“Damn. Talented mouth.”

He stares at her, raising one dark eyebrow as she gazes right back at him.

“That was 100% intentional,” she tells him, and he just snorts, shaking his head before handing her the book.

“Turtle cheesecake. And some port wine.”

“You willing to share?”

“… do I seem like someone who shares things?” he asks as he reaches to unbutton his pants.

She rolls over onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hand and shrugging. “You share your t-shirts with me.”

“That doesn’t count. I benefit from that.”

“… that’s kind of the concept of sharing. Both parties benefit,” Rey explains as he shucks his pants off and toes off his shoes. He puts the shoes back near the closet before folding the pants and putting them up to be cleaned.

He walks back to her in his black boxer-briefs, smirking as he walks forward. She pushes herself up onto her knees, arms already waiting to wrap around his neck as he steps in front of her. He puts his hands on her slim waist, letting her kiss at his jaw. “I benefit more than you.”

“I don’t know, I’d say wearing a soft, vintage t-shirt to bed is pretty beneficial,” she mutters against his skin.

He hums, turning and bending to catch her lips with his. “And I’d say seeing a beautiful woman in my t-shirt, with the knowledge that there’s nothing underneath that shirt, is a lot more beneficial,” he mumbles against her mouth.

“Yeah, for what, wank material?” she mutters.

He snorts, shaking his head as he pulls back. “Classy.”

“You’re a guy,” she insists. “It’s gotta happen at some point. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought of me while doing it.”

“Considering I’ve done it in front of you, just after eating you out, I’d say your point’s invalid,” he mumbles before bending to kiss her again. “Just order the damn food.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and he can feel her smile against his lips.

-

It’s three by the time room service comes.

The cheesecake’s huge. It’s bigger than Rey’s palm, drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauce and sprinkled with sea salt. She stares at the two cakes on the tray, one for her and one for him.

“Remind me to order room service more often,” she mutters, grabbing a fork and one of the plates before settling down on the bed with the cake.

Kylo chuckles softly, taking his own cake and walking around to his side. She sits cross-legged, smack dab in the middle of the bed with one of his t-shirts on. It covers her, mind, but it reveals some of her shoulders and part of her chest as the neckline's not entirely there anymore. He watches as she dugs her fork into the tip of the cake, and smirks as she puts it in her mouth and promptly moans.

“Good?” he asks as he grabs the Book, his pen and his glasses.

“Orgasmic,” she mumbles around the bite.

He snorts as he climbs onto the bed and sets the Book across his lap. He has the cake on the table to the left of him, as well as the glass of port wine. He scoots against the headboard and starts to mark with his left hand, his dominant.

The lighting’s off in one of the spread shoots. It’ll take some minor adjusting in Photoshop, but it’s off nonetheless. He makes a note on the page next to it before scooping some of the cake into his mouth.

It’s not the best he’s ever had, but it’s pretty damn good. He shrugs and takes another bite, savoring the sweet-salty combination before turning to the next page and making a few marks as to where the kerning’s off in the title.

He hears the rustling of the sheets, and looks up to see that she’s pulling herself over beside him. She reaches over and grabs her plate of cake from where she'd left it in the middle of the bed, and then she’s looking over his shoulder as his pen hovers above the page.

“… what are you doing?” he asks.

“Watching,” she says, taking another bite of her cake.

“Watching what?”

“You, you idiot,” she mumbles around the treat.

“Why?” he asks flatly.

She swallows and licks the bit of chocolate from her bottom lip. “Because I want to know what you’re doing.”

He stares at her. Her lips are still tinged pink from the tint they’d applied, eyes impossibly wide and doe-like from the eyeliner he’d lined them with. She’s staring up at him, beautiful and curious, and he can’t bring himself to tell her that she’s incredibly distracting.

“… the kerning of the title’s off,” he explains, pointing to the space between the letters. “See how the A doesn’t match up with the R? The space between the next A and the R’s slightly bigger.”

“… uh huh,” she says, somewhat dubiously.

“You don’t see it, do you?”

“Nope.”

He turns to press a somewhat sticky kiss to her temple. “And that’s why I’m the editor-in-chief, and you’re just my assistant.”

“Excuse you?” she demands, playing the part of affronted very well. “Just your assistant?”

“Assistant-slash-lover-slash-undefined relationship,” he deadpans as he makes notes of what letters need to be fixed.

“I’ll take it,” she admits, taking another bite of her cake.

They eat and work in silence for the next half hour. His attention’s divided between her, the Book, and the cake. Eventually, it becomes just her and the Book, after the cake is nearly gone, just a few crumbs left on the plate.

He manages to edit for another half hour before he glances down and sees her curled up beside him, asleep.

He smiles softly. This – this was the reason he left his right hand open, why he kept it available. He reaches down to push some of her hair aside before his fingers find the nape of her neck. The skin’s warm there, and impossibly soft, the hair covering it downy and silky. He enjoys running his fingers through it as she hums softly in her sleep and curls closer to him. He takes the time to tug the covers up and over her shoulder before his hand moves to her neck again.

Her asleep is, admittedly, more distracting than her awake. She’s softer like this, gentler. He finds he’s casting glances at her often even as he works through another hour, listening to the slow and even sound of her breathing and the soft sound of the sheets rustling whenever she decides to move slightly.

Kylo runs the pad of his thumb along her jaw, watching as she leans into the warm touch. The left corner of his mouth quirks up slightly as he continues to look down at this fantastic, gorgeous woman.

He’s in love with her.

It’s not a shock to him, not really. He’s pretty sure he’s been half in love with her for a while. As much as they bark and banter, he finds himself enjoying most of it. Not to mention the small, kind things she does, the little quirks she probably doesn’t acknowledge or remember.

That time when they pushed publishing up by two weeks without his knowledge, and cut half of his funding for the month due to some stocks falling. He’d been a mess for the entire day, and she’d just wordlessly brought him coffee after coffee without him having to order her to. That time when he fell asleep on his desk at 3 in the morning, too into his work to go home, and woke up to find that his papers had been pulled from beneath his face and his pen was put back in its leather case. And that time when they’d almost lost the Book and he’d thrown a fit large enough to break a Mac screen, a lamp, and three vases, and she’d walked into his office a half hour later with the damn thing in her hands and a story that revealed absolutely nothing of who’d lost it in the first place in fear of them getting fired.

And then there were the little things he’d noticed on this trip. The fact that she has two holes in each ear, the top one reserved for a small diamond. Her wobbliness and uncertainty in heels, despite the fact that her ass and legs look fantastic when she wears them. Her confidence, worn like a designer dress everywhere she goes, and her near constant patience with him – also worn everywhere she goes.

How her cheeks dimple when she smiles. How her entire face seems to scrunch when she outright grins. How her voice echoes along the tiles in the shower as she sings Moulin Rouge, thinking that the sound doesn’t carry into the bedroom but oh, it does.

He stares down at her, running his fingers through her hair again and cupping her cheek. She nuzzles into him, and his chest feels impossibly warm as he watches her press a kiss to the center of his palm.

“What time is it?” she asks, eyes still closed.

“A little after 5,” he replies softly, clicking his pen and setting it aside. He only has about fifty more pages to edit, and he can do that later. For now, he sets the Book aside and watches her. As soon as his lap is open, she moves to rest her head on his thigh, curling close as he continues to stroke her neck. He moves his hand down to her back and makes a fist, rubbing his knuckles along her skin with the slightest amount of pressure.

She outright moans, and he chuckles, doing it again. He finds a tender spot beneath her shoulder blades and presses down on the knot. He nearly startles as she gasps and arches away from him. He follows her, continuing to work at the knot until she groans and buries her face in the groove between his thighs. He hums, moving to her shoulders again.

“That feel good?” he asks, smirking since he already knows the answer.

“You’re better than Finn at that,” she admits, voice deeper than usual as he continues to massage her back.

“Am I really?”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he admits as he continues. He watches as her eyes close again, and he allows himself a smile as he works out the knots that have formed beneath her skin.

By the time he finishes, she looks more like that non-Newtonian fluid than a human girl, a puddle beneath his touch. He chuckles softly and gently rubs at her shoulder. “Come on, up. We need to get you dressed.”

“Do I have to wear heels?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck you.”

“That a promise?” he asks as he guides her head off of his lap. She sits up, though reluctantly, and he can feel her eyes on him as he walks to his own closet to get his suit out for the party.

“If you want to, tonight,” she admits as she slides off the bed. He sets his suit on the bed and walks over, knocking her hands away as she tries to tug his t-shirt off herself. He kisses her as he pulls it up, fingers skirting along her lace-covered skin as he goes. He parts from her to pull it over her head and throws it God-knows-where before pulling her close and kissing her again.

She leans into him, wrapping her arms around her neck as he holds her. She tastes overwhelmingly of chocolate, and he smiles at her apparent sweet tooth, breaking the kiss to move down her neck. He presses one kiss to the curve of her shoulder, just before her neck, before he buries his face in the curve and just holds her.

“Are you all right?” she asks, and he hates himself for the worried tone her voice takes on.

“Fine, why?” he replies, his own voice muffled by his mouth against her skin.

“Because you’re just hugging me.”

“Is that not allowed?” he questions, pulling back to look down at her curiously.

She’s staring up at him, looking incredibly confused and a bit concerned. She reaches up to play with the ends of his hair, twirling and curling them around her fingers, prompting the strands into waves. “No, it’s fine,” she replies. “You’re just acting strangely.”

“I just realized something,” he admits.

“And what might that be?” she asks, tilting her head slightly as she cups his cheek.

‘I love you’ is on his tongue. It waits just behind his teeth, hesitating behind his lips. It would be so easy to say it, he thinks – perhaps as easy as breathing. All he has to do is open his mouth, but even as he parts his lips, the words are still stuck.

She’s still staring at him, still looking worried.

He smirks, instead, bending to press his lips against hers. “I realized that we’re going to be late if you don’t get your ass moving.” He takes the opportunity to slap her right ass cheek, and laughs softly as she yelps and jumps against him.

“Fuck you,” she says, but she’s laughing. “It would help if you told me what I was wearing, asshole.”

“The rose Herve Leger dress with the nude Louboutin’s,” he replies.

“That doesn’t help me.”

“The tight red dress.”

“That helps me.”

“You really should learn these names.”

“Hey, I know Valentino and Dolce and Gabbana and Versace and Chanel and Louboutin,” she insists as she walks to the closet. He watches her as she goes, snorting as he watches her purposefully swing her hips in retaliation, lace-covered ass moving with them.

“Do that again and we’re not getting out of here on time,” he warns, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches her.

She glances over her shoulder, and her smirk is absolutely devious as she reaches around to unclasp the bra from around her back. He watches the straps as they fall from her shoulders, and the lace garment falls to the floor. She casually steps over it, not even giving him a peek of her bare chest, all naked back and lace-covered ass as she reaches for the dress.

And then she’s bending down to get the heels, and he swears to God this woman’s going to be the death of him.

“You’ve reached a new low, Kenobi,” he warns as she walks back, purposefully holding the dress in front of her bare form before laying it on the bed along with the shoe box.

“And what exactly do you mean by that, Mr. Re-AH!”

He’s lunged forward and grabbed her, pulling her back against him as she nearly bows in half in an attempt to break his grip.

Her laughter echoes through the room, and he grins, hanging onto his struggling lover as she tries to kick at him to let her go. He can tell she’s not serious; her efforts are weak, at best, and she’s grinning as he presses kisses to her bare shoulder.

“You gonna let me go?” she asks, breathless.

“This is the second time we’ve done this, babe,” he mumbles. “You know the answer by now.”

“… babe?”

-

“You are a disaster.”

“And you’re an asshole who put me in fucking platforms. Seriously, Ren, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that your legs and your ass in that dress plus platform heels equals Hux drooling and therefore embarrassing himself in a setting with several dozen cameras at the ready.”

“… you really are Satan,” she mutters, but he can hear the pleased awe in her voice as he guides her into the small gallery that had been rented out for the party. The sketches are, again, plastered over the walls, and he’s grateful for it. Should he wish to avoid anyone, they provide a wonderful escape.

There will be no eating her out here, but he isn’t exactly disappointed. He gets to watch her in the sinfully tight bandage dress, lithe form hugged spectacularly by the fabric. She’s already turned a few heads as they walk towards where Elliot’s standing in a suit of pure blue, as if the pigment was scraped right off of a Mondrian painting. Kylo’s happy with his own black suit, black tie, black shoes and white shirt combination. With Rey’s bright, seductive red beside him, he feels properly minimal next to her magnificence.

… she's magnificent, yes, but also a bit wobbly.

He keeps his hand on her back to guide her, and he feels her weight against his palm as she relies on him more than he’d expected.

“I’ll get the drinks,” he offers as they walk towards Elliot. The Brit turns at their arrival, face brightening immediately.

“Are you sure you should be wearing those with your ankle?” he asks, frowning down at the tall shoes, and Kylo’s blood runs cold as he remembers. He feels Rey stiffen against his hand, and glances down to see her wearing an expression that’s borderline shocked. Her eyes dart to him, and he looks towards Elliot.

“It wasn’t sprained,” he explains. “It just gave out beneath her. No break. Nothing a little ice couldn’t fix.”

“Well, that’s good,” Elliot offers, though he sounds a bit skeptical. Kylo can’t blame him; their cover stories, while none have fallen through, aren’t exactly the greatest. “Ren, what did you think of this dress?”

There’s a touch to his arm, and he glances down to see that Rey’s stepped away from him. She offers him a soft smile. “I’m getting something to drink,” she says. “What would you like?”

“Champagne,” he replies instantly. She nods and starts to walk away. And yes, she might be a bit wobbly, but she doesn’t fall and her legs and ass do look fantastic in that dress. He watches her go, wondering how in the world he’d managed to secure her as his assistant, let alone his lover.

“What do you think of this dress?” Elliot asks. “I wasn’t a huge fan.”

Kylo glances from the sketched dress back towards the bar, watching as Rey speaks with some photographer. He knows the girl; Jessika Pava, one of the acclaimed photographers. She’d worked with him a few times, under the US’s General Fashion. But then she’d moved overseas to Amsterdam. He watches as the shorter woman speaks with Rey, who seems completely and utterly enamored with the other woman.

“Silence. Not good.”

“Too many ruffles. It’s distracting to the eye. It leads your eye across rather than down, as well, and makes the model seem significantly heavier than she is. I have no idea whose waist sits there, but I’m willing to bet that the dress will fit and flatter nobody,” Kylo says matter-of-factly, not even looking at the sketch as he watches Rey speak to the other woman. Pava has a camera around her neck; it shouldn’t put him on edge, but it does.

“All right, Romeo, back to your job.”

“She’s related to my job,” he protests as he watches Rey drink something from a larger glass. She’s nodding enthusiastically, smile wide enough to show her dimples as she laughs with the other woman.

“Hey.”

Elliot snaps his fingers in front of the editor-in-chief's face, and Kylo jolts at the sudden sound and intrusion of personal space. The Brit’s smirking. Kylo just glares at him, annoyed.

“I’m making sure two certain males don’t approach her,” he confesses. “And that she actually brings back my champagne.”

“Just go,” Elliot says, waving a hand. “I’ll talk to you later, lover boy.” The smaller man leans up to press a chaste kiss to Kylo’s cheek. Kylo hums softly at the display of friendly affection, used to the other man’s firm lips brushing against his skin from almost 4 years of friendship, now.

He walks over to the bar, and as soon as he’s within twenty feet he sees Rey look his way. She freezes, eyes going wide as she realizes that she must’ve kept him waiting, and scrambles for the two glasses.

“No need,” Kylo offers as soon as he gets close. He stands beside her, offering the barest quirk of his lips to Jessika. It’s as close as anyone in this business gets to a smile; he deals them out rarely. “Pava.”

“Ren,” the other woman greets, her smile bright and slightly crooked. “How’s the magazine without me?”

“Wonderful, actually,” he retorts. “Productivity’s soared since you left.”

“Ren,” Rey hisses from beside him, but Jessika just snorts and shakes her head. Kylo has to admit that she looks good. Her straight hair’s pulled back into some sort of bun, and she’s dressed in nice black slacks and some sort of orange blouse with a white leather accent coming down the front and around her sides. He doesn’t know the designer, but it looks well-made and suits her figure well.

“No, no, he’s probably right. Poe and I were awful,” she admits, taking a sip of her whiskey.

“Horrific,” Kylo deadpans as she grins around the lip of the glass. “We’ll have to arrange a session with you. The magazine will pay for the flight, hotel and transport. I’d love to do a spread with your help.”

“It’d be my pleasure,” she says. “So, this is the new Emily?”

“Emily?” Rey questions, and he glances down to see her frowning up at him.

“My assistant when she left for Amsterdam,” Kylo explains. “She didn’t last a month.”

“This one claims she’s lasted for over four,” Jessika says, nodding towards Rey. “Impressive.”

“She’s one of the most spectacular assistants I’ve had,” Kylo replies honestly. “I hope to keep her as long as I can.”

“And what the tabloids are saying … ?” Jessika asks. “Is it true?”

“Always one for gossip,” Kylo says, not unkindly. She and Poe were truly terrible, not in the sense of spreading gossip but in the sense that they clung onto every single bit of it. If he spoke to her directly about a shoot, she’d talk about what was happening on the lower levels instead.

“Just curious, that’s all,” Jessika claims.

“We’re together,” Rey pipes up, though it’s barely above a whisper and so quick that Kylo almost misses it. His eyes dart to her to find her holding her glass so tightly it’s in danger of shattering, and her cheeks are flushed pink as she holds her head defiantly and looks Jessika in the eyes.

He steps closer to her, putting his hand on her lower back. Almost immediately she seems to relax, and he has to bite down on the urge to bend and press a kiss to the top of her head. The urge to kiss her on the lips is even stronger.

“I’d very much like for you to keep that little fact quiet, though,” Kylo interjects quickly, and out of the corner of his eye he sees her gaze snap to him. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Jessika insists, and he knows that she means it. “Secret lovers. How sexy.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it secret with the amount of photos published of us,” Rey says, and there’s an edge to her tone that wasn’t there before. “Sorry, it was lovely talking to you, but I think we’d better keep up appearances.”

“Right,” Jessika says. “Right, yeah, of course.”

“Ben!”

Kylo wants to groan aloud as he hears his father’s voice calling him. “We’ll be in touch about a spread.”

“I’ll hold you to it. You have my new email?”

“I’ll have Rey find it,” he explains as he takes the glass that Rey’s holding out to him. “Nice seeing you.”

“You too, Ren.”

“Ben!”

“Ren,” Kylo corrects calmly as he walks with Rey towards his parents. His mother looks beautiful in a dark blue lace dress, the fabric reaching her knees and the three-quarter-length sleeves flattering on her form. He can see the Tiffany necklace around her neck; a gift from his father about sixteen years ago, now, he’s willing to guess. “You look lovely, Momma.”

“And you look handsome,” she replies, offering him a soft smile. “And Rey – you look absolutely stunning. I’m surprised he’s not drooling over you. Herve Leger?”

The way Rey gapes at his mother is actually kind of satisfying, Kylo has to admit, as she struggles to come back from his mother’s comment. “Um, so he tells me?” she offers.

“Nude Louboutin’s, McQueen clutch, and is that a Cartier necklace?” Leia asks, frowning at the diamonds around the assistant’s throat.

“Yes,” Rey replies, fingers flying to the stones at her neck.

“Beautiful, just beautiful,” Leia offers. “Can you turn?”

“I’ll try. These heels aren’t exactly easy,” she explains.

“I won’t let you fall,” Kylo mutters under his breath, and she looks at him, eyes softening slightly at his words. He watches as she does a small turn as best as she can, little tiny steps in the platform heels. He has his hand at the ready as she goes, just in case she should tumble. But she doesn’t, and she’s smiling as she comes back around.

“Hot,” Han exclaims, and Kylo snorts as his mother reaches back to slap him with her gold Yves Saint Laurent shoulder bag. The bag is legitimately metal, so it hits Han in the chest with a hard ‘thwap!’. Leia didn’t even look back, her eyes still focused on the young woman in front of her as Han snaps, “Ow!”

Kylo just smirks. He knows full well it’s not out of jealousy; no, his father is hers and hers alone, and both parties know that like they know each other. However, it’s an opportunity to tease the man.

“Watch your mouth, Solo,” Leia says warningly.

Rey seems just as amused as Kylo feels, and he glances down when she leans into him slightly.

“Cold?” he asks, already preparing to shed his jacket for her. The dress doesn’t exactly cover her arms; he wouldn’t blame her if she were to be absolutely freezing.

“No,” she says simply, leaning against his right arm as Han grumbles a bit.

Kylo lets the left corner of his mouth quirk up slightly as he watches his parents and their conversation, content with feeling her weight and warmth against his arm through the suit jacket.

-

Watching his assistant eat will always be amusing to him.

In the short time that they’ve been in Paris, he’s already drawn up a mental chart of her reactions. If she smiles around the fork, it’s good. If her eyes widen, it’s very good. If she’s slow at pulling the fork from between her lips, it’s incredible, and if her eyes widen, she smiles, and then she outright moans, it’s an absolute experience.

The small snacks at the cocktail party are good. He doesn’t eat much, wanting to save some of his room for the dinner they’re going to with Hux and Phasma in about a half hour, but Rey has a gold-rimmed plate with Chanel’s signature in the middle stacked high with bites.

“What’s this?” she asks him, leaning on the black-cloth-covered table they’d claimed with his parents. Leia’s sitting with them; Han’s off getting drinks and food for the both of them.

“A fig wrapped in goat cheese that’s been wrapped in bacon,” he explains, watching as she takes a bite. Her eyes widen, and she’s slow at pulling the gold pick from between her lips. Incredible, then.

“What the fuck,” she breathes, and Leia laughs beside her as Han returns with a few picks of his own and two glasses of red wine.

“What just happened?” Han asks. “Why’d she curse?”

“Because, Han, she’s never had this kind of food before,” Leia explains. “It’s a new experience for her.”

Kylo watches as she stuffs the rest of the fig into her mouth, moaning. He smirks, leaning on his hand as he gazes at her, feeling incredibly fond of her. “Like it?”

“Love it,” she insists before reaching for a small pastry. “This?”

“Mini quiche,” he replies. “But not the kind they have at high school reunions.”

“Then what kind is it?” she asks, frowning at the food between her fingers.

“Just eat it.”

“Yes, sir,” she says cheekily before popping it into her mouth. He watches her chew, her brows furrowing as she tastes it before she shrugs.
“Bad?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her as she reaches for his champagne.

“Not as good as the fig,” she explains before she takes a sip of his drink. She leaves lipstick marks on the glass, bright red and almost sinful. He wipes them away with his thumb as she watches him, cheeks flushing lightly.

He smirks, remembering her talk the night before of her leaving red lipstick marks on his cock. Though he doubts it’ll happen tonight, given their earlier activities, the red lipstick does bring those thoughts forward and his smirk broadens as he takes a sip of his drink, right where her lips had been. The glass is still somewhat smudged with red.

He reaches forward to pick the two figs off of his own plate, putting them on hers. Her eyes widen and she reaches forward to put them back on his. “Ren, I don’t need-“

“He wants to hear you moan again,” Han interjects.

“Dad,” Kylo says warningly.

“Don’t tell me I’m wrong because I know I’m right,” the model insists, holding his hands up as his mother just looks exasperated with the older man.
Kylo just shakes his head, watching Rey out of the corner of his eye.

She looks embarrassed, yes; he’s sure he looks embarrassed too, his cheeks probably a bit pink, too. But she doesn’t look uncomfortable. If anything, she looks amused as she picks up the fig and pops it into her mouth, smirking at him as he just shakes his head at his father.

He mouths a quick ‘I’m sorry’ to her, but she’s already swallowing and smiling. She reaches into her clutch and he watches as she pulls her phone out, frowning as she types. For a moment he’s worried something might be wrong back in New York, but then his phone buzzes.

He pulls it out while his mother’s talking to his father, something about inappropriateness and tact, and the corner of his mouth quirks as he sees the message she’d sent him.

Message from: Rey Kenobi
Don’t worry. I kind of like them.

-

“Do you think they’re easy to make?”

“What?” he asks as he slips into the car beside her.

“The figs.”

“You take a fig and cut it in half, spread some goat cheese on it, wrap it in bacon and broil it,” he explains as she tugs her skirt down just a bit.

“You sound like you’ve made them.”

“I have.”

She looks towards him, surprised. “You can cook?”

He smirks. “My talents aren’t exclusive to judging the space between letters and yelling at people,” he explains as the car starts to move away from the gallery.

“Wow, shocking,” she says, voice practically dripping with sarcasm as she smirks back at him. “Your parents are nice.”

“My father has no filter. I should’ve apologized for that this morning,” he replies.

“No, no, it’s fine,” she insists. “I really do like them. Your mother’s sweet. And your dad’s…”

“Dad,” he explains.

“I was going to say flirty and funny, but that works, too,” Rey replies.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling in love with my father.”

“… I did have posters of him in my room back in Arizona,” she admits, and even in the darkness of the car he can see that her cheeks are turning darker.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mutters, head tilting back and eyes towards the ceiling as he runs his hand through his hair. “My assistant’s in love with my father. God help me.”

“I didn’t think Satan prayed to God.”

“This is an exception,” he mumbles. “My assistant’s in love with my father.”

“I’m not in love with him, I just think he’s charming and attractive.”

“You’re killing me.”

“And he’s a huge flirt, and –“

“This is my father we’re talking about.”

“If he was younger-“

“No,” he insists. “No, we are stopping that train of thought right there.”

Her laughter’s loud, and he looks over to see her bent over, forehead nearly pressed to the seat in front of her as she giggles. She looks at him, eyes squinted from her smile and dimples out in full force as she tries to get her laughter under control. He has to smile back, shaking his head.

“You are evil,” he tells her.

“Says Satan,” she retorts.

He glances over at her, watching as she pulls her lipstick from her bag with a small mirror. She reapplies it carefully, following the line of her lips with her eyes focused on the color she’s swiping across her skin. She smacks her lips together before pressing her thumb between her lips, pulling it out slowly before she reaches into the bag and pulls out the wipes he’d packed in there. He watches as she wipes the lipstick from her thumb. “Multiuse,” she says, holding up the wet wipe.

“That was the idea,” he explains. “Come here.”

“What?” she asks, glancing at him. “Did I mess it up?”

“Slightly,” he admits, reaching forward with both hands. One cups her cheek while his other hand moves towards her mouth. She stays still, and he meets her gaze. The city flies by in her eyes, gold and bright against warm brown. He smiles a bit as he moves his thumb down the bow of her lips, catching the bit of color that had slipped up when she smacked. He wipes it away before taking the wipe from her, rubbing the color from his skin. “There. Better.”

She presses her lips to his half a second later. It’s a chaste kiss, sweet and innocent, with warm, closed lips. He hums, letting his eyes slip shut as she kisses him. She pulls back after a moment, smile happy.

“You have lipstick on your mouth,” she says.

“Now whose fault is that?” he grumbles, taking the mirror she offers and wiping the color from his lips.

“Sir, we’ll be arriving at the restaurant in two minutes.”

“Thank you, Mitaka,” he replies, trying to get the red off as best as he can. He thinks he has most of it by the time they pull up to the restaurant, and he tucks the wipe into his pocket as he stands. He reaches a hand down to help her out, seeing as she’s both in a ridiculously short dress and a towering pair of heels.

There are no paparazzi here, so he allows himself the pleasure of his hand on her waist as they walk inside. “Ren,” he states.

“Right this way, sir. The rest of your party’s already here.”

They’re led through the restaurant, Kylo in front and Rey slightly behind for appearance’s sake. He pulls out her chair for her when she sits, however, and nods at Phasma and Hux.

The platinum blonde woman’s wearing a dark, metallic Versace dress and Louboutin’s, the toe of the platform black but the color at the heel a bright blood red, the color shifting through the shoe. The already 6’3 woman towers over Kylo in her heels as she stands to kiss his cheeks, offering him a gentle smile as he walks to greet Hux.

In his time as Editor-in-Chief at General Fashion, he’s not entirely sure that he’s seen the man so tired. Always impeccable, Kylo has no doubt that the man takes at least an hour each day to get dressed, perhaps more. He certainly doesn’t look like he put in as much effort today.

He’s dressed in a slim cut, black double-breasted blazer with a white shirt and a grey tie. His hair, though still styled, isn’t quite as perfect as usual, and his eyes look just a bit red. There are dark circles under them, and though Kylo’s near certain that they’re almost always there, he’s never actually seen them uncovered before. Hux is the kind of man to cover them, as Kylo covers his, but they’re out and obvious for the world to see.

“Ren,” the man greets as the Editor-in-Chief sits down. “Kenobi.”

“Pleasure to see you,” Rey offers amiably, and Kylo looks at her. She looks just as confused by the other man’s appearance as Kylo feels, and it’s comforting to know that he’s not the only one to see the difference.

“I didn’t see you at the preview party,” Kylo realizes, frowning.

“I’m not feeling particularly well,” Hux says, voice low and almost soft. “My apologies.”

He shouldn’t be concerned. This is Hux. The man’s never concerned for him, ever. But Kylo can’t help feel a bit of worry, just a little twinge, as he watches the man reach for his glass of red wine, already half gone.

“We ordered some bread and some escargot,” Phasma explains. “If that’s alright.”

“That’s fine,” Rey interjects.

Kylo talks with Phasma until their food comes. He extends some ideas, the suggestion of having Jessika Pava come for a spread. The younger woman’s all for it, and he’s surprised and pleased that he doesn’t even have to tell Rey to take notes. She’s already pulling the schedule from her bag, a pen with it as she jots down their conversation in the back few pages. He notices that the pages are covered in notes, small little lines and bits and pieces of something or another. He makes a mental note to ask her about it when they return to the hotel room.

Hux is silent, and Kylo counts two glasses of red wine, the man’s lips stained from the darkness of it. His worry brews as the night goes on, though he’s entirely sure that the man can take care of himself. Still, it’s unlike the editor to go silent for so long, and Kylo exchanges glances with Rey a few times over the course of their dinner.

Her reactions to the food are restrained, though he does notice the few times that her eyes widen and her fork is slow to be pulled from her lips.

When she cuts into the veal he’d ordered for her, and slips a bit between her red lips, he’s treated to her hand lashing out beneath the tablecloth to grab at his thigh. He nearly startles, water almost splashing from his glass as he’d been about to take a sip. With Phasma and Hux occupied by their own meals, he glances over to find her eyes wide and smile brilliant.

With a quick glance towards the other two, he allows his face to split into a smile. ‘Good?’ he mouths, wanting to laugh at her enthusiastic nod as she squeezes his thigh again before retracting her hand to eat more.

He’s definitely in love with her, he decides, watching as her eyes close in ecstasy as she takes another bite, dipping the bit of meat into the Robuchon-styled mashed potatoes. Watching someone eat shouldn’t bring him as much joy as watching her does him.

Between dessert and dinner, Phasma stands. “I’ll be back,” she says, and that’s when Rey stands up, too. Kylo glances towards Hux as the women leave to use the restroom.

“Are you-“ he starts to ask, but Hux interrupts him.

“You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

He frowns at the redhead across the table, watching as Hux runs the tip of his forefinger around his red wine glass, the man’s eyes on the white tablecloth.

“In what way?” Kylo asks, frowning.

Hux looks up, meeting his gaze. “You and Rey. You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried.”

The editor in chief stares at the other man,

“You think I’m going to tell on you,” Hux says. “You think I’m going to go running to the tabloids, spilling everything about you two.”

“Are you?” Kylo demands, feeling hot beneath the tight material of his suit jacket as he watches the other man take another sip of his wine.

“No,” Hux says, almost directly after pulling the glass from his lips. “No, I’m not. Do you know how much money it took to cover your little stunt at the museum?”

“What stunt?” Kylo asks. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a snarl, but it does anyway. “She hurt herself, I needed to-“

“I’m not talking about that,” Hux snaps. “I’m talking about you eating her out in the middle of a fucking hallway. There were security cameras, Ren, it’s a fucking museum. I had to pay them over $50,000 to surrender the tapes to me.”

Kylo watches, shocked still as the man pulls back to dig in his blazer pocket. A slim, silver USB is slid across the table and he stares at it, blood running cold.

“That is the only copy of that tape,” Hux explains. “I thought you might want it.”

“Why-“ the editor-in-chief starts, but the executive editor cuts him off.

“You’re in love with her.”

Kylo stares at the other man, waiting for some sort of expression, some sort of reaction, anything. But instead he gets nothing. He gets tired eyes, and red-tinged lips that aren't smirking or smiling or even frowning. Hux is just staring at him, and that’s when Kylo realizes that he’s supposed to either confirm or deny the redhead’s words.

“Yes,” he confesses simply.

He is expecting a scoff. He’s expecting some sort of snort, some kind of laugh, some kind of cruel jab towards him and his human feelings. He’s Satan, after all; he’s far past human emotions.

But no.

Instead he gets a soft, tired smile, and then Hux is running his hand through his hair and leaning his elbow on the table, propping his head in his hand.

“I knew it,” the redhead states. “Admittedly, getting you to confess was a lot easier than I expected it to be.” He sits up again and takes a long sip from his wine, as if Kylo’s driving him to drink. He certainly looks that way, the editor-in-chief admits to himself, watching the other man as he pulls the glass from his lips. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I knew?”

“I have the feeling you’re going to tell me anyway,” Kyo says.

“You look at her like she’s the sun,” Hux explains. “You look stupid, quite honestly, but it’s also a bit sweet. You look at her like she’s your queen, proud and lovesick at the same time.”

“Is it that obvious?” he asks.

“You tell me,” Hux replies. “You’ve seen the pictures online, in the papers, in the magazines. They’ve been publishing pieces left and right, trying to figure out who she is and where she’s from. Trying to get every bit of personal information that they can.”

“I’ve offered statements,” he replies. “I’ve told her several times that I can put a stop to all of this.”

“Ren, you fucking bridal carried her out of the museum. The ball’s already rolling, and it’ll take more than just a statement to stop it.”

The man sighs, then, and Kylo watches as his shoulders drop and his hand runs through his hair again, messing up the once–perfect strands. “… you’re happy, aren’t you?” he asks, green eyes finding Kylo’s across the table.

“… yes,” Kylo admits. “Incredibly.”

“Then just do me a favor and try to control your damn fixation,” the other man mutters. “No more eating her out in front of security cameras. I had to tell the board that you’re planning some sort of Chanel shoot with that amount of money.”

“Thank you,” Kylo says, and he sincerely means it as he watches the redhead practically come apart in front of him.

“Just … promise me that you won’t turn into some lovey-dovey, Disney-esque couple. I do enjoy watching people quiver in their shoes at your presence. It makes Mondays so much more interesting.”

Kylo snorts. “I don’t intend on losing the ‘Satan’ moniker anytime soon.”

Hux’s smirk is soft, but he straightens and runs his hand through his hair again to put it back in its place. Kylo can hear the clicking of heels behind him, and then Rey’s sliding back into her chair, looking between him and Hux. “Is everything all right?” she asks.

“Fine,” Kylo says, taking the USB from the table and pocketing it. He looks around the dimmed restaurant before reaching up to tilt her chin towards him. He leans down to press his lips to hers, grateful that, instead of reapplying her lipstick, she’d wiped most of it off after eating in preparation for desert. It allows him to kiss her a bit more deeply, allows him to nip at her lower lip. She’s seemingly shocked still for a moment before she leans into him, kissing him back albeit a bit hesitantly.

“God, not at the table, Ren,” Hux groans.

Kylo grins against her lips.

-

“Do I want to know what happened between you and Hux?”

“Nothing of importance,” he tells her as he unzips her dress. Immediately she takes a deep breath, and he pushes the fabric from her shoulders. The dress falls to her feet and she steps out of it, stepping out of her heels as well in the process.

“What was that USB?” she asks, turning in the black lingerie and regarding him curiously.

He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls the slim drive from his pocket, holding it out. She opens her palm and he drops the drive into it, watching as her fingers curl around the cool metal. “That,” he states, “is the footage of my eating you out at the museum.”

Her eyes snap to his immediately, horror crossing her face. “What?” she demands.

“Hux paid the museum $50,000 for the footage,” he explains. “And ensured that it was deleted. This,” he says, nodding to the USB in her hand, “is the only copy of that footage.”

Her gaze moves from his face down to the metal drive in her hands. “… and you think he’s telling the truth?” she demands. “Kylo, this is Hux we’re talking about.”

“You saw him at dinner,” he insists. “You want to tell me that’s not a man who just worked his ass off to save ours?”

She continues to stare down at the drive. “… we need to be more careful.”

“That’s why I said what I said to Jessika,” he explains. “So that we can backpedal if needed.”

“Do you want to backpedal?” she asks, looking back up at him. “Do you want to end this?”

“God, no,” he insists quickly, hands moving to her bare waist and pulling her against him. “No, I don’t. But I’m saying that we should try to cover our tracks if we ever do want to end it.” He bends to press a kiss to her forehead, and she practically melts into him. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Fine with me,” she replies, tilting her head up for a kiss. “Don’t do anything without me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he admits with a chuckle, allowing her a soft kiss. He can feel her smile against his mouth, and feels her hand slide up his arm as he deepens it slightly to taste her. She hums before pushing at his chest.

“Go, otherwise you’ll never get that shower,” she insists, smirking.

He snorts as he shrugs himself out of his jacket and walks into the bedroom. He snags a pair of pajama pants from his closet before walking into the bathroom. He turns the water on and shucks his pants as he waits for it to heat up, wanting it as hot as he can stand it.

He slips beneath the stream and closes his eyes, letting the hot water pound on his back. He reaches a hand up to touch at the scabbing on his cheek. Most of it’s come off by now, but he can still feel the difference between the once-broken skin and the skin of the rest of his cheek. He smirks slightly as he feels it before reaching for his shampoo.

So that’s how it started.

In reality, he thinks it started a long time before then. Perhaps even the first time they’d ever shared an elevator, back in New York, when he’d seen her as some sort of dripping, living garbage dumpster with a smile brighter than sunshine towards a man she’d never met and was no doubt intimidated by.

If, he thinks, as he scrubs at his head, he was held at gunpoint and asked when the exact moment he fell in love with her was, he’s not entirely sure he could say. He smiles, rinsing the suds from his hair and leaning back into the scalding water. He's not entirely sure how long he stands there, his back to the water and mind focused on her.

He finishes up, wanting to get back to the woman waiting for him. He dries off and slips his pants on, not bothering with underwear as he’s almost entirely certain that they’d just be stripped off anyway.

He walks into the bedroom and stops dead, eyes going wide as he watches her.

"... how long was I in the shower for, exactly?"

“Um,” she starts, voice a bit breathy as her hand between her legs, beneath the lace of her panties, stops almost immediately. He sees her computer, the dinosaur of a thing open with the USB drive inserted into one of the ports. He blinks, taking in the computer, the USB drive, her flushed cheeks, one hand on her breast and the other in her panties. "Hi?"

“Hi,” he says, mouth forming a smirk as he crosses his arms and leans against the bathroom doorway. “What are you doing?”

She stares at him before pulling her hand from her bra. She’d pulled the cup down to cup her bare breast and he raises an eyebrow as she just leaves it like that. She pushes herself up on that arm, raising an eyebrow at him. “Really, Ren?” she asks. "You were in there for a half an hour."

“I just asked you what you were doing, no need to get defensive."

“You know damn well what I’m doing.”

“Well, then, don’t let me stop you,” he says, shrugging.

She stares at him, either too blissed-out to really register what he’s saying or just not getting it. “What?”

He walks over – or really, he tries to saunter, but he’s not entirely sure he does it well. He leans forward on the bed, hands steepled on the covers as she stares up at him, a deer in headlights. “I want to watch.”

“The tape, or me masturbating to the tape?” she asks, point blank.

“You,” he replies.

“Well, considering I’m also in the tape-“

“You’re stalling, Kenobi,” he purrs, leaning forward to capture her lips with his. He hums against her mouth as she bucks up to meet him, and he smirks as he hears the shifting of the sheets as she resumes touching herself. “You know just what I want.”

“I’ll let you watch on one condition,” she breathes against his lips.

“Whatever you want.”

“You can’t touch yourself.”

He smirks, hand snaking around to cup the back of her neck and guide her into a deeper, more sinful kiss. He bites at her lower lip, hard enough to coax a pained whine from her but not hard enough to draw blood. He pulls back, tugging her lower lip with him before he lets it go. He stares down at her, looking at her swollen lips and dark eyes. Fuck, he loves her.

“Deal,” he whispers.

“Then find your seat, Ren,” she breathes, and he pulls back, pushing himself off of the bed to settle in the desk chair. He leans back, crossing his legs and watching her as she continues.

From his vantage point, he can kind of see the footage she’s watching. It’s shitty quality, their forms slightly blurry and a bit jerky. But he can watch as he kisses her, arms wrapping around her and bending her into him.

For the first few minutes, he switches between watching her and watching the tape. He can see the exact moment he goes to his knees, his dark head of hair moving an inch or so downwards on the screen. He watches as he hitches her skirt up, holding it as he dips to kiss at her.

He wants to kiss at her now. He wants to re-enact the footage, wants to help her over with his tongue and teeth and lips. But she seems to be doing an okay job by herself, hand moving beneath lace and mesh. He can’t see exactly what she’s doing, and he’s sure he’s going to regret it, but for now it’s less of a distraction as he watches the tape.

He sees the moment she comes undone. The moment she clenches onto his shoulder, the moment she falls to her knees with him and kisses him. He’s half hard, he realizes, body hot and water still dripping from his wet hair as his eyes flick back to her real form on the bed. She's touching herself almost lazily, eyes focused on the footage as it starts over again.

“Take them off.”

Her hips buck from her own touch, and she turns her head to meet his eyes. “What, the bra or the panties?” she asks, hand not slowing at all.

“Both.”

She doesn’t even unclasp the bra. She tugs it over her head, flinging it to the sheets beside her. Her panties come off quicker, tossed to the floor as she moves her hand back down between her legs.

She pays attention to her clit, he realizes. She spends more time there than she spends time with her fingers inside of her, though sometimes she does dip two in and grind the heel of her hand against the bundle of nerves. But mostly it’s external stimulation, and he files that information away for later as he watches her arch off the bed.

He’s not entirely hard, not yet, but he’s damn close as he watches her. He meets her eyes briefly, and then she smirks. When his eyes flick back down to her hand, he realizes that she’s spread herself for him, showing herself off.

“Like what you see?” she asks, coyly, and he has the distinct feeling that she thinks it’s sexy to try and be sexy. But he’d much rather she not, honestly. The sex kitten look isn’t her.

“I’ve liked it for a while,” he mutters, standing and walking over to her. He climbs onto the bed beside her, and dips to kiss her. She smiles lazily against his mouth.

She cums a few moments later. He can taste her pleasured gasp, can feel her as she shakes and bucks and jerks her hips up to meet her own hand. He’s definitely hard now, he thinks, as his hand snakes down to knock hers away. He covers her cunt with his entire hand, just feeling her wet against his palm and fingers. She hums at the heat, grinding down against his hand as she chases another orgasm. It's not quite enough, he can tell, but he enjoys the feeling of her against his hand either way.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asks, smirking against her mouth as she pants against his lips.

“I think you know the answer,” she breathes.

"I want a yes, Rey."

"Yes," she mumbles. "Yes, fuck me."

He shifts so that he can pull his pants off, and by the time he’s finished kicking them from his feet she’s already climb over top of him. His hands move to her hips immediately, thumbs stroking at the bumps of bone as she straddles his lap.

This woman’s going to be the death of him. He knows this full well as she smirks and moves her wet lips along his cock, hips grinding into his but not letting him slip inside her just yet. He grips at her hips, trying to guide her so that he can get in her, but she’s having none of it.

And, honestly, he’s letting her, spurring her on as she nearly rolls her hips on him.

“Rey,” he says warningly. “I need-“

She bends, and her hair tickles his jaw and cheeks as she kisses him. He feels her hand reach down, the other braced against the sheets to keep somewhat upright. And then he’s catching in her, and she’s sinking down on him, and he’s groaning at how tight and hot and wet she is from her own stimulation. Though part of him wishes that he’d gotten his mouth on her, he knows that they’ll have plenty of time for that later.

“Not yet,” he warns, and she stills, mouth stilling as well.

“Are you okay?” she asks against his lips.

“You have no idea how hot you looked,” he mumbles, reaching one hand around to squeeze her ass.

She laughs, though he’s not sure whether she’s laughing at the squeeze or at his words. She starts moving as soon as he rolls his hips to let her know that she can go, and she sets the pace slow and steady.

“Rey-“ he starts.

“I want this to last,” she mutters. “You know damn well this could end tomorrow.”

She’s right. Of course she is. This could end tomorrow, and it hurts like hell to know that it’s a possibility. So he bends and presses his lips to her neck, kissing her skin instead of marking it, and she’s going to slowly it’s nearly painful.

“It’s going to get harder,” he mumbles against her freckled shoulder.

“Pun intentional?” she breathes as she sits up slightly, reaching up to push her hair back from her face with the hand that isn’t supporting her. He moves his hands to her hips, guiding her into a somewhat faster pace as she moves above him.

“Not really,” he replies, watching her. She’d turned off the main chandelier of the bedroom, but left her side of the bed on. As a result, her entire left side is illuminated while most of her right is cast in shadow. She looks beautiful – but he knows that she looks beautiful nearly all the time. However, now, he’s treated to the exaggerated shadows of the swell of her breasts, the dip of her hips and the curve of her neck. Her cheeks are flushed, from both her touching and from his, and he wonders how many times he’ll get to see her like this before they go back.

“You’re thinking too hard,” she mutters. “I’m riding you, and you’re thinking too hard.”

“I’m thinking about how beautiful you are,” he admits as she speeds up slightly. She rolls her hips and the sudden tightness of the angle makes him gasp. She leans back slightly and he groans, pleasure starting to go higher and higher. “Fuck, Rey…”

She moves one of the hands she’s leaning back on in an attempt to touch her clit, but she nearly loses her balance on top of him and ends up whining as she has to put her hand back. “Can you-“ she pants.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, reaching for her. As soon as he touches her she keens, bucking her hips and making him groan.

“Hard,” she breathes. “Hard, small circles. Fast.”

He does as asked, and she tightens around his cock. He’s going to go before her, he just knows it, but he can’t bring himself to care as she continues to swivel her hips in an attempt to bring him off. It works – she catches him at the right angle and he’s cumming, hand stuttering on the heat of her cunt as he goes.

“Fuck,” he breathes, trying to get her to go over with him. “C’mon.”

“Little more,” she replies, bending forward. He surges up to kiss her, wrapping his free arm around her waist. She moans against his mouth before she stills in his arms, and he can feel her walls clench around him as she goes over, breathless.

And then she laughs. She laughs against his mouth, a kind of short, easy sound as she comes down from her high. He lets her, hand that’s not on her clit reaching up to stroke her hair back from her face.

“You all right?” he asks.

“Fine,” she says softly. “I’m fine.”

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you since you put that damned red dress on,” he confesses. “Not to mention the heels.”

She snorts as she moves her hips up, letting him slip from her. He watches as she winces at the sensation.

“Want me to clean you up?” he offers.

“Too sensitive,” she admits. “I’ll be right back.”

He watches her in the low light as she climbs off of him, and he can see her as she stands at the foot of the bed and looks down at her thighs, slick with both of them.

“We made a mess,” she says, laughing as she walks to the bathroom.

“I can pick up some condoms tomorrow,” he calls, hearing the running water a moment later.

Either she doesn’t hear him or she has no response, because he just hears water for a few more moments. He hears the flush of the toilet shortly after, and then she’s coming out in the dress shirt that he’d left on the bathroom floor, fabric unbuttoned.

“I kind of like it,” Rey admits, grinning as she crawls over him. It’s not until he feels the warm heat and soft cotton against his cock that he realizes that she’d brought a towel in for him as well, and is cleaning him up like he’d done for her their previous time together.

“You don’t need to,” he insists, reaching forward to grab at her wrist. She uses her free hand to smack his away, hard enough to sting.

“Repaying the favor,” she explains before she climbs off and walks to the bathroom again. He waits for her, watching her emerge a moment later. She crawls up the bed and into his arms, curling into him. He immediately pushes at the fabric covering her shoulders.

“What, no shirt?” she asks, letting him guide it down her arms.

“Not this time,” he says. “I want to feel you.”

“You just did plenty of that.”

“You know what I mean,” he replies as he tosses the $800 dollar shirt to the floor without much of a care. He wraps his arms around her, her skin still hot and a bit damp from sweat. “I want this.”

He pulls her flush against him, and she hums as she lets him, reaching her hand up to play with his hair. “I want this, too.”

“You want me to hold you naked, or is there a deeper meaning to that statement?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

The kiss he gives her is sweet and slow. He can hear their lips, their kiss, and the general bustle of the city of lights outside. He can hear the shifting of the sheets as she moves to tangle her legs with his, and the soft sound of her hand running through his hair.

“Deeper,” he mumbles against her mouth.

“Me, too,” she admits in the same instant.

“You told Jessika we were together,” he says.

“And that can mean whatever you want it to mean.”

“Well,” he mutters. “I’d like it to mean you’re my lover.”

“Your lover?” she asks, laughing and pulling back to look in his eyes.

“Girlfriend sounds like we’re in high school,” he insists. “And partner sounds like we’re cops.”

“And ‘lover’ is horrible,” she insists. He can see her smile in the warm, dim light, soft and sweet. “Try again.”

He hums, bending to kiss at her jaw. “Queen,” he says against her skin. “You’re my queen.”

“Queen of Hell,” she says, holding him close to her. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“You’ll need to start wearing red more often.”

“I draw the line at a tail and horns.”

“But a pitchfork’s all right?”

“Only if I can use it against the paparazzi.”

Again, the urge to say ‘I love you’ is strong. It’s just on the tip of his tongue, so easy and simple. Three little words, three little syllables.

But he just nips at her jaw instead, hand finding her ribs and brushing his fingers across the sensitive area. He smiles against her skin as she laughs, loving the sound of her happiness with him.

Chapter Text

“Favorite childhood memory.”

She hears him groan above her, and smirks, continuing to draw random patterns on his bare chest with light fingertips. Their sweat’s cooled, the bedside table lights have been turned off, and the only way she can see him is by the warm light of the city coming in through the windows. She can’t tell how long they’ve been lying here, what with the alarm clock destroyed, but she can guess a half hour or so.

“Seriously, Kenobi? You couldn’t have gone with something a bit easier, like my favorite color?”

“Fine, answer that one, and then you can answer the childhood one.”

“Black.”

“Not surprised in the slightest. Okay, childhood.”

He’s silent for so long she’s worried he’s fallen asleep on her, like he did the night before. So she props herself on her elbows to stare down at him, and instead finds that he’s looking up at the chandelier and frowning. He’s thinking, she realizes, thinking hard and trying to give her the best answer possible. She smiles a bit, grateful he’s not going to bullshit on this one.

“… any time my parents were together, I guess,” he mumbles, brow furrowing further. “That wasn’t often.”

“… that’s depressing.”

“Alternatively, when I played in my mother’s closet for the first time,” he explains.

Rey grins, holding herself up on one elbow while she reaches across to spread her hand across his chest. The touch makes him look to her, his gaze curious as she presses her palm against his left pec, smooth skin and taut muscle beneath her touch. “Is the photographic evidence of this closet playtime?” she asks, only half joking.

“Of course,” he explains matter-of-factly. “My mother’s favorite is the one of me wearing her classic black Louboutin’s, a diamond necklace from Stephen Webster, one of her Chanel scarves, and nothing else.”

Rey snorts. “And the scarf is …. ?”

“Wrapped around my neck like a cape, of course, and covering absolutely nothing.”

She laughs, moving down to rest her head on his chest again. His hand immediately moves into her hair before stroking down to her bare back, fingers swirling in circles along the small of her back.

“Your turn, Kenobi. Favorite childhood memory.”

“Hang on,” she insists. “Do you think your mother would show me that picture?”

“I’d hope not, but considering my dad seems deadset on having you for a daughter-in-law and embarrassing me in the process, they’ll probably plot to show you every single baby picture they have.”

“Your dad’s hilarious,” she protests, looking up at his jaw.

“Because you’re not the person he’s embarrassing,” Ren mumbles.

“Oh, come on, you totally did give me those figs and bacon just to hear me moan.”

“And you totally moaned to tease me,” he insists, pushing himself up slightly to look down at her. “Don’t you fucking lie to me.”

He sounds anything but mad, though, and so she laughs. "Or I could've just been enjoying the incredible food that they've been serving here. Seriously, Ren not everything's about you."

“You never answered the question. Favorite childhood memory.”

“Getting ice cream with my grandpa when I was five,” she explains, not bothering to open her eyes. “We’d spent the entire day gardening, in the spring. He took me out for burgers and ice cream afterwards. It wasn’t until we got home that we realized that we were both entirely red from sunburn. That was a tanline and a half – took months to fade away.”

“You like gardening?” he asks.

“A lot,” she admits. “But the fire escape at my apartment’s too small, and there’s not really a window with direct light. I have three cacti, though.”

She hears him hum, and feels the slight rumble in the firm chest beneath her cheek. “…. It was your grandfather’s shirt, right? The one I stupidly threw out?”

“Yeah,” she admits. There’s a sudden wave of sadness, heart-clenching and hollowing. Within seconds there’s pressure behind her eyes, and the prick of tears. “Yeah, it was.”

“Have I apologized for that?”

“A few times, yeah.”

“Well, I’m sorry, again.”

She curls into him a bit more as his arm comes around her shoulders. “You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t make it okay. I should’ve been more respectful.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” she admits. “But it’s done, now, and I can’t get it back, so…”

There’s a soft pressure on the top of her head, and she relaxes a bit as he kisses her. His arm’s warm around her shoulders, comforting and almost possessive. It makes her smile a bit as he tightens his grip, lips still pressed to her hair.

“Favorite color.”

“Green,” she replies immediately.

“I would’ve guessed brown, with all you wore of it back in New York.”

She smacks her hand against his chest and he lets out a sort of pained laugh. She smirks. “Shut up.”

“Favorite candy.”

“Sour gummy worms. You?”

“Anything but dark chocolate.”

“Really?” she asks, glancing up at him. “But the whole dark, bold, and bitter thing so suits you.” It’s only partially sarcastic.

“Dark, bold, and bitter?” he questions, meeting her eyes. He snorts. “Since when am I bitter?”

“Since the day I met you!”

“There’s bitter, and then there’s aggravated, stressed, and on-edge constantly,” he admits. “I’m not bitter. I have nothing to be bitter about.”

“You’re not bitter about the whole fame thing? The whole people taking pictures of you without your permission? The whole tabloids, the slander, the rumors, everything. You’re not bitter about that?” she asks.

“No. Why should I be? Sometimes it’s harsh, yes, but it’s also funny, sometimes. Did you know I’ve dated four princes, two princesses, five heiresses, ten models and a slew of other random people?”

“And how many of those did you actually date?”

“Three,” he replies. “Each for about a month.”

“Harsh,” she mutters, drawing a sort of zig-zag along the skin of his left pec.

“No, they were the ones who broke up with me,” he explains. “The job makes going out on dates difficult. And if I did find time to go out on one, then I was almost always stressed and tired and an asshole.”

“You mean like usual.”

His hand smacks against her bare ass, and she yelps, but the noise dissolves into laughter a split second later as he smirks down at her.

"What is it with you and smacking my ass?" she asks. "I'm starting to think you actually do have a kink for it."

"It makes you laugh," he admits. "Why, am I hurting you?"

He sounds so worried, it makes her smile softly as she shakes her head, nuzzling into him. "Not really. But, come on, you have to admit that 'stressed, tired, and assholish' it’s your default,” she says.

“I know,” he replies. “I know full well I’m an asshole, but that makes everyone work harder to please me.”

“You’re scaring them half to death! You don’t seem happy unless everyone around you is panicked, nauseous or suicidal.”

“Are you any of those currently?” he asks.

“Well, no, but-“

“And I’m gloriously happy, so your point’s invalid. Moving on – ideal dessert.”

“Hold on, Ren,” Rey protests, pushing off of him and propping herself up on her elbow beside him. She grins at him as he stares up at her, head tilted and brow furrowed and looking very much like a confused puppy. “Did you just say you’re gloriously happy? Right now?”

“Rey, I have a beautiful and naked woman in my bed whom I just had sex with,” he says flatly.

“But you’re happy?”

“Yes, I am, how many times do I have to say it?!”

“You’re happy with me,” she clarifies, cheeks straining with her grin as she stares down at him.

She can see the moment the light clicks, the moment everything falls into place. His brow softens from where it had been furrowed, and then he’s staring up at her with this kind of awe that makes her chest feel both hollow and too-full at the same time, her heart seemingly in her throat as he gazes up at her.

“… yes,” he decides, finally. “I am happy with you.”

There’s this soft little smile; it’s not the big, bright smile that shows his teeth and his dimples that she knows and loves, and it’s far from anything he’s given the designers he likes or even his parents. The left side of his mouth quirks up a bit, so that it’s more of a kind little smirk. She stares at him as he reaches up to pull her down, and then he’s kissing her gently.

“You never answered my question,” he mumbles against her lips. “Ideal dessert.”

“Well, it would be you, if you bothered to eat fruit.”

“Kenobi.”

“Just saying, it makes a difference.”

He’s flipping her over, then, and she yelps as he moves over top of her. She laughs as he bends to kiss her neck, scraping and nipping and surely leaving marks against her skin. Her hand moves into his hair as he growls against her throat.

“You are horrible,” he mumbles.

“Look who’s talking, Satan.”

“Do we have a preview party tomorrow?”

“No,” she admits. “We can sleep late, if we want. There is a brunch at 11, with the rest of the General Fashion editors, and then the show’s at 1:30.”

“Dinner?”

“No plans. Want me to make some?”

He hums. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m your assistant, just let me do my job.”

“No,” he replies simply.

“What, are you going to surprise me with some five-course meal that costs over a thousand collars or something like that?”

There’s silence above her, and she goes lax beneath him, arms flopping to her sides where her hands had been in his hair and clutching at his shoulder. He just buries his face more into her neck , and she groans.

“Ren,” she says warningly. “I told you, I don’t-“

“I know, I just want to take care of you.”

“Taking me out to a dinner like that isn’t taking care of me, it’s spoiling me, there’s a complete difference. You’ve been spoiling me the entire time, Ren. The necklace, the makeup, the clothes, the lingerie-“

“I’m taking care of you,” he insists. “The panties you wore on the plane had a hole in the ass, Kenobi.”

“Oh, and like the panties I’m wearing now don’t show my ass?”

“There’s a difference between wearing fine lace and wearing cotton with holes in it.”

She snorts, shaking her head as he shifts again and lies beside her, his head on her chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

He just hums, and she looks down to see that his eyes have closed. She reaches her hand up to run her fingers through his thick hair, and notices how he practically melts beneath her gentle touch. She smiles, bending to press a kiss to his forehead as his arm drapes across her possessively. He makes this small little purr sound, and she grins at how content he seems just to lie on her bare chest.

She cares for him. Probably a lot more than she should, and a hell of a lot more than she thought was possible.

It hits her like a punch to the chest, so hard that her heart actually stops beating for a moment and her breath catches in her throat. In seconds he’s sitting up, looking down at her and frowning as she tries to remember how to make her lungs work properly again. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she says, slightly breathless and a little choked as she looks up at him. The little bit of light there is softens him, and he looks impossibly sweet as he looks down at her, eyes warm and worried as he tries to figure out what the hell just happened. “Just … forgot how to breathe for a second.”

“Did you remember how?”

“I think so.”

“You need water?” he asks. “To sit up?”

“No, I’m fine, really,” she admits, guiding him back down. “I’m good.”

“If you say so,” he mutters, closing his eyes again and lying down again. She watches as he goes, getting comfortable once more.

It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep on top of her, hot and heavy but also comfortable in the security he provides. His arm’s loosely over her waist, breathing slow and even. She lets herself look down at him, still surprised by her heart’s sudden revelation.

It’s kind of obvious, really, that she cares for him. She’s cared for him for a long time. It could be seen in her bringing him coffee when he desperately needed it but didn’t ask, going to great lengths to find the idiot who managed to lose the Book. That, on top of everything that happened in this city of blinding lights, and it’s less of a revelation as it is confirmation, she thinks.

This wasn’t what she signed up for when she took the position, but she’s not complaining. Not one bit.

It’s not love, she thinks. They’re still not there quite yet, or at least she isn’t. She glances down towards him, running her fingers through his hair.

She’s in love with this part of him, she thinks. The side of him that lies next to her in the morning, the side of him that holds her hand and keeps his hand on the small of her back and guides her dress zippers up and down. The part of him that’s sweet, almost sickeningly so, and the part of him that smiles at her like she’s his sun and his moon at the same time.

She’s in love with that part of him – there’s no doubt about it.

It’s the other half that she’s hesitant on. The half that’s demanding, ornery and an asshole most of the time.

He shifts on her chest, and her hand stills in his hair. She watches him as he rolls off of her, moving his head to the pillow and letting her breathe deeply again. His arm’s still draped across her waist, and she moves onto her side to watch him.

The scratch against his cheek is still somewhat present, though fading every day. But there was a reason she lashed out and hit him. There’s a reason that his pale cheek is still scarred pink.

She watches his face, his dark lashes against his cheeks and the way his full lips are parted slightly. She leans forward to brush her lips against his, soft and barely-there to keep him from waking up fully. Rey pulls back a moment later, closing her eyes and curling up to his chest.

With loving the man curled up with her comes loving the Devil.

And she’s not entirely sure she can.

He seems to sense her conflict, and pulls her closer into his chest, lips finding her hair. “I can hear you thinking,” he mumbles sleepily. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it in the morning."

“Sorry,” she whispers, as he falls back asleep again. She chances another glance towards him, chances another kiss against his lips, before she lets herself settle back into the pillows in an attempt to fall asleep with him.

-

She wakes to her phone blaring at 8:45, an absent boss, and fruit on her bedside table.

She groans, reaching over for the phone and blinking wearily at the number that’s on it. She frowns, recognizing the head of the clothing department’s personal cell phone number. Rey blinks at it once more before swiping and putting it to her ear.

“Hello?” she asks groggily, wiping at her eyes.

“Oh, thank God you’re awake, I’ve tried everyone,” the woman breathes, and Rey sits up on her elbow, pulling the sheet up with her to cover her bare chest.
“Marinette, what are you doing? Isn’t it like 3:45 there or something crazy like that? What are you doing up?”

“Trying to get the Alexander McQueen dress that Ren wanted for the Fall Fantasy spread.” The woman on the other end of the line sounds frantic. “I’ve called everywhere, every store, every representative, everyone short of Sarah Burton herself. No one has it! It doesn’t fit the model, her chest is too broad, we need another size, but no one has it!”

“Find another model, then?” Rey suggests, glancing towards the bathroom door as it opens. A cloud of steam comes out, and then her boss is walking through it, white towel wrapped around his waist. He raises a dark eyebrow at her, seeing that she’s on the phone, and tilts his head as he towels off his hair. She makes a sort of helpless gesture at him, a shrug complete with a little hand flip sort of thing, and then looks back towards the ceiling.

“I can’t! Ren specifically requested Ella for the spread! Can you find Sarah Burton and see if they have any more anywhere?”

“I’ll just ask Ren what to do,” Rey replies, watching him as he walks across the room to her side of the bed, now in black boxer briefs that probably cost more than half her paycheck. He stops at the mention of his name, looking at her curiously. He settles to sit at her feet, frowning as he watches her. She offers him a small smile, hoping it comes off as both a 'good morning' and 'everything's fine' all at the same time.

“You can’t do that!” The girl on the other line sounds like she’s hyperventilating now. “Then he’ll know that something went wrong, and it’s my job to get the sizes of everything, but the measurements of the model were wrong and I can’t find the dress-“

“Take a breath, Mari,” Rey says, trying to be as soothing and calm as she can as Ren puts a hand on her ankle and rubs the bone gently with the pad of his thumb. She throws another smile his way, watching as he stops and crawls up to sit next to her instead. She frowns as the department head continues to ramble, panicking at this point as her boss lies next to her. “I’ll take care of it, all right? I’ll ask him what to do. Don’t worry, he won’t be mad, I promise. I’ll take the brunt of it.”

“I don’t need you to, I just need Sarah-“

“Calm down, all right? Take a breath,” Rey says firmly as she turns to look down at the man currently kissing the bare skin of her shoulder. Then he's looking up meeting her eyes and mouthing, ‘Who is that?’

‘Marinette,’ she mouths back, pressing her thumb against the microphone so that the head of the department can’t hear her. “She needs the next size in one of the Alexander McQueen dresses for the Fall Fantasy shoot, but she’s called every representative and store and can’t find it anywhere. She’s asking me to speak to Sarah Burton.”

“Which dress?”

She removes her thumb from the mic. “Which dress is it, again?”

“The butterfly lace gown,” Marinette replies, sounding nearly in tears.

“Butterfly lace gown,” Rey says, once she’s covered the mic again.

“She can’t find that one?” he demands, sheets rustling as he sits up on his elbow to stare down at her, gaze narrowing and the corners of his mouth quickly downturning. “That’s going to be on the front of the spread, we need that dress.”

“We might need to find another one.”

“We can’t,” he growls. “If she can’t do her fucking job and find that dress, I’m-“

“Ren, calm down,” she tries to soothe. “I’ll hold a fucking séance for McQueen if it means he’ll tell us where to find another one of those dresses, all right? I’ll do my best to try and get it. Have you had you coffee yet?”

“No, Rey, I need -“

“If we can’t get that dress you’re not firing Marinette, you’re not going to break anything in this room, and you are going to find either another model to wear the dress that we have or you’re going to find something else for the cover of that spread. Is that clear?”

He’s quiet beside her, and then she raises a brow at him, waiting for his response. It finally comes, after he deflates slightly and moves to rest his head against her chest. “… all right.”

“Get up and drink your coffee, babe, before you outright murder someone,” she mumbles, the endearment slipping in almost absentmindedly as she tries to push at his shoulder to get him up and moving. He moves up and off, and she watches as he makes his way to the desk to pour himself a cup. With him off of her, she removes her thumb from the mic. “I’ll talk to Burton today. If we can’t get that dress, I’ll go through some models with Ren and find someone else to wear it, all right? Can you – when you wake up, I want you to sleep first – send me a list of the models with the proper measurements, the ones who would fit that dress?”

“Yes,” Marinette breathes. “Yes, I can.”

“Great, thank you."

"I don’t know what I’d do without you, Rey. You’re the best.”

"I’ll deal with the dress and Ren, you get some sleep, all right? It’s almost 4 in the morning in New York, go to bed!”

“Thank you,” the woman breathes. “Thank you so, so much.”

“Don’t mention it. Get some sleep.”

She hangs up and glances towards the man who’s currently leaning against the desk, a cup of coffee in his hand and free hand braced against the side. “See?" she asks, waving the phone at him before she tosses it back to the sheets. "Panicked, nauseous, or suicidal. You got breakfast?”

“We have brunch, remember? But I did order tea, coffee, and fruit to hold us ‘til then.”

She hums, glancing towards the tray that’s balanced on the desk with his coffee and her tea. Her eyebrows raise as she notices the two more bowls of fruit, and she snorts, hand moving in her. “Oh my God, Kylo, you really took that seriously?”

“Someone wouldn’t stop mentioning it,” he mumbles, taking another sip of his coffee. She notices that his cheeks are flushed slightly, though she can’t tell if whether his skin’s pink from the shower or from slight embarrassment.

She grins up at him, sitting up and opening her arms slightly for him to come to her. He sets his mug aside immediately, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “I was kidding, really. I'm sorry if you took it seriously,” she admits. “I’d blow you whether you ate fruit or not, I hope you know that, I don’t care.”

“Still,” he says, and she can feel see the tension in his shoulders as he shrugs. “Two of those are for me.”

“Oh my God, Kylo, no, you’ll be sick,” she insists. “Really, stop. I'm sorry, I was kidding." She shivers a bit, tugging the sheets up to cover her bare chest again. Can you hand me a shirt or something? I’m cold.”

He pushes himself off of her and stands, coming back with another dark grey t-shirt and a cup of tea with two spoons of honey. She holds up the t-shirt before putting it on, grinning. “You were an emo kid, weren’t you?”

“That’s not emo, that’s metal, there’s a distinct difference,” he grumbles, of the Death Star concert shirt she has in her hands. She tugs it over her head, letting it settle around her hips before she reaches for the mug. He hands it to her, and she takes a sip, nearly scalding her tongue and mouth. But it’s just the right amount of sweetness, and she smiles at him as he walks to grab a fruit bowl for himself. He settles beside her, humming as he takes a sip of his sugar-filled coffee.

“We need to leave by 10:30.”

“Noted,” she replies, picking a bit of honeydew from the bowl. She hums softly at the taste, nearly sickeningly-sweet flavor exploding on her tongue, and she moans a bit as she sucks the juice from her fingers.

“Do you always have to eat like that? You have no idea how distracting it is.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she reaches for her tea again. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re the one eating like that.”

She grabs a grape from her fruit bowl and tosses it up, catching it in her mouth and biting down before grinning at him. “Any of the models you fucked do that?”

He’s staring at her with some expression that’s an odd mix between exasperated and affectionate. His hair’s mused from her hands, chest littered in old lovebites. She smiles softly at him as soon as she swallows.

“It’s not exactly a dealbreaker, so I didn’t ask,” he admits. “But I can ask them at the next gala, if you want.”

“Yes, definitely get them to try to catch a martini olive,” she replies. “… I’m not serious.”

“I figured that out,” he admits, getting his phone and scrolling through his own messages. “Since it’s the Ted Baker show, you’ll be wearing Ted Baker. I’m thinking a Versace jacket, and of course Louboutin’s. Undecided for the bag, but I’m thinking either Prada or McQueen.”

She gestures vaguely with a piece of cantaloupe on her fork. “Whatever you say, sir.”

She can see him out of the corner of her eye, and she smiles at his soft blush. "... what is it about that?" she asks. "Is it a control thing? Me calling you sir?"

"No," he replies immediately. "No, it's not a control thing. I ... don't know what it is. I just like it."

She hums, taking another bite of cantaloupe. This time she moans a bit louder, just to see how he’d react.

“Oh, for fucks – stop it, Kenobi."

She grins around the fork.

-

If Ren’s Hades, then Hux belongs in his kingdom of dead. The ginger man looks almost lifeless; his dark circles are still visible, and he looks just a bit gaunt as he walks into the dining room. Everyone else is already sitting, and Rey looks up as the ginger man walks in, frowning at his appearance. Ren also looks concerned, glancing towards her briefly before sliding a cup of black coffee towards the executive editor as the redhead settles down beside his boss.

She watches as Hux downs some if it, before looking towards the Japanese editor-in-chief and starting some conversation she can only catch bits of.

Rey leans over just as Ren does, their shoulders brushing slightly. “Is he all right?” she whispers, frowning as she watches the other man.

“I’m not sure,” Ren admits quietly, barely moving his lips.

“I can hear you, and I’m fine,” Hux snaps, sounding more like the Hux Rey knows from New York.

“Clearly,” Ren says flatly. “Control your temper, Hux.”

“That’s rich, coming from you, Ren.”

“He’s fine,” Ren decides, pouring the editor more coffee.

Rey watches for a moment, more than used to their dynamic by now, before looking back down to her waffles.

“Are you all right?”

It takes her a while to realize that the question’s not directed towards Hux, but towards her. It’s not until Ren touches her thigh gently that she pulls her gaze away from the waffles in front of her and towards Enna, who’s sitting across from her and looking at her, concerned.

Ren fucked her.

The thought’s sudden, surprising in its ugliness, and Rey almost physically reels back from it as the platinum blonde frowns at her, obviously worried. It shouldn't bother her, she knows - despite the first time she'd met the taller woman, with Ren guiding her to the table, the man's never shown any interest in the blonde aside from anything professional. She blinks, trying to will away the thought that disappears as suddenly as it had popped up.

No, he's with you, he's not with her. He told you he wasn't interested, remember?.

“Fine,” Rey offers. “Just not very hungry.” It doesn’t come out as strong as she wants it to, and she can feel Ren’s fingers on her thigh, warm and comforting.

She brushes them off, feeling him stiffen beside her at the blatant rejection.

“Ren, what did you think of the Chanel collection?”

“Godawful,” Ren admits. “I have no idea what Lagerfeld approved, but it couldn’t have been much. It was dreadful. Really, I have no fucking clue what they were doing.”

His tone’s harsh, almost angry, and so, so far from the gentle tones he uses with her. It should comfort her a bit, that she’s different, but instead she nearly winces. A quick glance towards him proves that he’s frowning just slightly, but everyone at the table seems a bit more on edge with the change in expression.

“… the bags weren’t too bad?” one of the assistants offers. “I liked the cream one-“

“Casey,” the German editor says firmly, and the girl falls silent a second after.

The entire table’s silent, eyes carefully watching Ren for some sort of outburst. None comes, but the tension remains even after several heartbeats pass.

Rey realizes that she’s ramrod straight, and though the waffle in front of her’s a perfect golden brown with strawberries and cream and powdered sugar, it’s far from appetizing. She stands, grabbing her Alexander McQueen purse from the floor and swings it over her arm. “I’ll be back,” she says softly, touching at Ren’s shoulder.

He seems to pay her no attention as she leaves, completely silent as he continues to eat his own breakfast. It hurts a bit, that he doesn’t get up and follow her, but she knows that it would look terrible if he had gotten up and followed her.

That just makes it hurt more.

She walks around the corner, finding a nook with a statue and leaning against the wall beside it. Her hand slips into her hair and she just holds it there, clenching her fingers in the dark strands as she nearly sinks to the floor.

It’s not a high traffic area, and she’s grateful for it as she does move down to sit against the wall, knees up and arms draped across them.

“Are you feeling well?”

God, she does not need this today. She doesn’t bother to look up at the Italian editor and just waves her hand in his general direction. “No, I’m fine, just leave me alone.”

“A bit harsh, isn’t he?”

“Tony, just fucking leave me alone,” she snarls, looking up at him and trying to glare at him with all she has.

He’s not smirking, like she’d imagined him while her head was down. He’s just staring down at her in his dark grey suit, white shirt and black tie, looking impeccable. “Does he treat you like that, normally?” the man asks. “You rush out of a room, looking upset, and he just stays?”

“You know damn well what it would’ve looked like if he had,” she growls. “Just go, Tony.”

“But shouldn’t he have cared more for you than appearances?”

“Tony.”

The voice isn’t hers. Her eyes snap to the dark figure coming around the corner, and she nearly sighs and slumps against the wall in relief when she recognizes her boss’s broad shoulders and wavy hair. He looks absolutely livid, and she’s kind of grateful for it as Tony stiffens immediately.

“Go back to brunch,” Ren demands.

“I was just checking on your assistant, since you refused to.”

“What the hell do you think I’m doing right now?” Ren asks, voice hard and unforgiving. He narrows his eyes, and Rey watches as he jerks his head back in the direction of the dining room. “Go. I know Renner wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m not-“

“Renaldi,” Ren snarls, and it’s the first time that Rey’s seen him lose his temper in front of someone with authority.

Him losing his temper at office workers and lower editors is one thing. Him losing his temper at another editor-in-chief is another entirely. She freezes, watching as Tony straightens and narrows his gaze.

“I hope you feel better, bella,” he mutters, nodding towards her before walking back towards the dining room. In a juvenile display of aggression, his shoulder knocks Ren’s as he walks past, though the hallway’s plenty big for them both. Ren doesn’t let himself be moved, standing firm as the Italian editor walks by him.

“Get up,” he orders gently, as soon as the click of Tony’s heels on the marble hallway disappear.

Rey scrambles up immediately, calves and ankles aching as she tries to push herself up in the stilettos. “Ren, I-“

“Come with me.”

She opens her mouth to protest, to say that she’s fine, that she can go back to brunch, she’s all right, but the glare he gives her leaves no room for argument. She feels like she should have a tail, and that it should be between her legs as he jerks his head, directing her around the corner.

She walks ahead of him, hearing the heavy clack of his dress shoes behind her as he takes her down to the end of the hallway, where there’s another statue just in front of a large window looking over the gardens of the manor house-turned-venue.

“Ren, I-“ she starts again, trying to find some sort of excuse, when his arm wraps around her and pulls her close. Surprised, she lets herself be guided against his chest, careful not to let her red lips brush against the white shirt beneath his blue suit.

“What did he say to you?” His 'Satan' act's dropped, his voice soft and gentle as he rubs at her back through the studded Versace jacket he'd chosen for her.

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” she admits, quietly.

“That doesn’t answer the question, Rey.”

“When I walked out, did you want to follow me?” she asks, not bothering to look up at him as she looks through the window, eyes skimming over the plants wilting from the colder temperatures.

“More than anything.”

“And you didn’t because ... ?”

“… because we need to keep up appearances,” he confesses.

“So that we can backtrack if I say I don’t want this.”

“Right.” There’s silence for a moment, and she hates herself when he asks, “Do you not want this?”

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know, and she can feel him stiffen beneath her cheek as he takes her silence for something else.

“I’ll arrange to release a statement this evening,” he mutters. “You don’t have to be in the room, I can ask the hotel for another set of sheets and blankets for the couch, you can have the bed, I-“

“Can you stop, for half a second?” she hisses, pulling back and glaring up at him. The poor man looks completely and utterly confused as she presses her hands to his chest and sighs, looking down at the red of her heels. “That’s not … that’s not what I’m saying, Kylo.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m not sure what I want,” she insists, looking back up to him. He still looks confused; perhaps a bit angry, too. “I’m saying that I want the man who tells me about his baby pictures. I want the man who accidentally takes my fruit jokes seriously, I want the man who eats me out just because.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m … I’m not sure I want the man who makes an entire table stiffen in fear, like a bomb’s going to explode if they say something to you.”

“Rey-“

“And I’m not saying I want you to stop that,” she insists, pressing closer to him. The words come out quickly as she shakes her head. “I know you can’t, I know that, all right? I know they come together, I know you still need to be Satan in public, and back in New York. I’m not telling you to stop that, all right? That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that … I just need some more time to decide if I want both.”

“I kissed you Monday,” he replies. “It’s Thursday. It's been a whirlwind of a week, Rey, I don't expect you to know for sure.”

Fuck, he’s right. She sighs, hands unclenching from his suit and head resting against the dark blue fabric. “I know.”

“I’m not asking you to make a decision now,” he insists. “But it is getting harder for us to be able to backtrack, with the photos and reports and all.”

“I know, I know,” she replies. “So, let’s … just do it, okay? I know I want this part of you, I just need to-“

“You need time.”

“… I need time.”

His kiss to the top of her head is gentle. “So, no statement?”

“No statement. No backtracking. Whatever happens happens, and we’ll deal with it.”

He hums softly, bending to kiss at her jaw. She lets him, nearly melting into him as he moves to just hug her. She lets her arms wrap around his neck and lets him hold her for a few moments, arms strong and protective.

“I’m sorry I had to wait to come out,” he mumbles.

“No, I understand,” she says.

“I would’ve knocked the chair over in my hurry to get to you, otherwise. I can see the headlines now - 'Destructive Editor In Chief Lays Waste To Chair In Pursuit Of Beautiful Assistant'.”

She snorts, closing her eyes and just letting herself be held. “I want you. This part of you. It’s just-“

“I know,” he mumbles.

“And I know that the whole 'Satan' thing’s a part of you, that's your image and you've spent a lot of time and effort building it up, I just-“

“I get it, Kenobi, just shut up, all ready.”

His tone’s far from harsh, more amused than anything, and it shocks her at how the simple change in tone sends relief flooding through her so quickly it nearly takes her breath away.

His grip tightens on her at the soft sound she makes, almost a sob.

“I get it,” he assures her once more.

She closes her eyes, leaning against him, and reveling in the warmth and security this part of him brings before they have to return to the rest of the world.

Chapter Text

She sits behind him for the show. A part of her’s kind of relieved, and she hates that part of her as she sits with her ankles crossed and her bag under her chair. She plays with her phone in her hands, never turning it on but flipping it over and over with her fingers, thumb stroking across the glass screen. It warms under her hands as the hours pass in the small room, and she can't help but feel a little claustrophobic as she watches the models take the runway.

Rey watches the back of Ren's head as he watches the show. She occasionally sees a few approving nods, and lets out a sigh of relief at the small, seemingly insignificant movements. He likes it. He likes the collection. She crosses her fingers under her phone. Hopefully there will be no dreams crushed or hearts broken today.

She watches as the models walk down the runway in the designer’s signature florals, and some of the patterns take her breath away in their beauty. So far she's seen and been dressed in few patterns, but these are absolutely gorgeous. She wonders if maybe she can coerce Ren into having a spread featuring some of the products, and then ask for them once they retired to the garment closet. Better to be worn than shoved aside, in her opinion.

He waits for her at the end of the aisle once the show’s over, the last walk complete. She stands and strides over, teetering a bit on her heels without his hand to guide her. As soon as she’s next to him his hand’s on the small of her back, and she allows herself a little smile at the comfort that it brings.

“I won’t need you for the rest of the afternoon,” he says, as they’re back down the main aisle. She glances up at him; his face is impassive, tone exactly how it had been the day she’d been convinced she’d been fired. It’s the hand on her back that assures her that he isn’t mad at her, isn’t pissed off at her. It assures her that she hasn't done anything wrong, and that this is to keep up appearances, mostly.

“Okay,” she says, frowning. “What’s this afternoon?”

“A meeting with the rest of the editors,” he explains. “Confidential regarding the future of the publication and the future of some of the editors.”

“You mean regarding Tony,” Rey replies, keeping her voice low. It wouldn’t have mattered even if she hadn’t; there are too many people squeezing by, too many people chittering and chattering about the collection. They’re paying the editor and his assistant no mind as they rush towards the after party.

He glances down towards her, eyes warmer than she would’ve expected considering the topic of discussion. “I mean regarding Tony,” he mutters, moving his gaze back to the crowd in front of them. “There’s a good chance that the work for the upcoming issues will be divided amongst the rest of the editors.”

“So that means-“

“I’ll be travelling to Italy a lot, if what they’re proposing ends up sticking,” he mutters. “And there will be a lot more late nights.”

“Oh, Kylo,” she breathes, and it sounds a lot more tender than she’d meant for it to.

His eyes find hers again. He straightens almost immediately, shoulders back and invisible horns back on his head. “What needs to happen will happen.”

“Still. Italy?” she asks as they exit the room. “He couldn’t have been the executive editor for Canada or something?”

She gets a snort of laughter in response, and the slightest shake of his head. His bangs fall in his eyes, and she watches as he jerks his head quickly to send them back to where they were. “If you’d like to join me for the after party, you’re welcome to.”

“… would you be offended if I wanted to walk around the city instead?” she asks as they duck away from the stream of people. He turns to stand in front of her, and she adjusts her bag’s shoulder strap to be more comfortable. She shifts on the balls of her feet, staring up at 'Satan'.

“Not at all. Here.”

She watches as he reaches for his wallet. “Ren-“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, pulling two slim cards from his wallet, one black and one gold. “One’s the company’s, one’s my personal. The black is mine, gold the company's. I’d prefer if you used my personal, but for emergencies use the company’s. I will handle the fallout.”

“Kylo, I have enough money for a crepe or something,” Rey mutters, shaking her head.

“And if you want to visit museums? If you see something in a store? If you want to buy a new Louis Vuitton bag?” he asks, raising a dark eyebrow at her.

Rey stares up at him, raising her eyebrow right back. “Ren. Do you really think I’m going to go buy a Louis Vuitton bag?”

“Just in case,” he says, offering her the cards again. “Take them. That’s an order, Kenobi.”

She sighs, but takes the cards and slips them into her wallet. “I swear, Kylo, the only thing I’m going to buy is a crepe and maybe a ticket for the Louvre, really.”

“The meeting starts at 4. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I promise you that I will buy you dessert if I can't make it back for dinner."

The little mundane promise makes her smile softly, and she reaches down to brush her fingers along his. She wants desperately to reach for his hand, squeeze his fingers in reassurance, but there are cameras about, she knows. “Call me when you get out?” she offers. “I can come to pick you up.”

He nods, and then bends. She freezes as he presses his lips to her cheek, in full view of everyone around them. While she doesn’t hear any cameras flashing, she has no doubt that people saw. Her eyes go wide as he lingers far longer than professional, even by French standards. She actually leans into him a bit, her hand finally grasping his. He squeezes her fingers back, smiling against her skin.

“What are you doing?” she hisses once he pulls back slightly. “Kylo, I-“

“You said no backtracking,” he mutters before swooping in to press another kiss to her other cheek. He slips his hand out of hers. “Go enjoy yourself. I’ll see you tonight.”

The affectionate gesture’s so sweet and tender that she’s rendered speechless, and she watches as he turns and makes his way towards where the rest of the crowd is. He doesn’t turn back to look at her, but his steps seem a bit easier, his shoulders looser.

She watches him until his broad back disappears, and then waits for half a heartbeat more before turning and making her way towards the door. She’s thankful there are only a handful of paparazzi there, and no one seems to pay her any mind as she walks down the stairs and out into the streets of Paris.

-

She learns, quite quickly, that heels and older cobblestone streets don’t mix particularly well. The last time she’d walked the streets, she’d been wearing boots. Now, her Louboutin’s aren’t exactly doing her any favors.

“Oh, for fuck’s-“ she hisses as her heel catches along a stone for what she’s sure is the tenth time in the past fifteen minutes. She huffs and bends down, undoing the straps of her heels and tugging them off. They dangle from her fingers as she walks down the street, gum and cigarette butts be damned.

She stops in front of a gold and brown storefront, spotting the flats displayed on a gold-mirrored box in a gold-mirrored display case. The effect is completely dizzying and disorienting, but she’s focused on the ballet flats that look much more friendly than the patent-leather spikes currently hanging from her fingertips.

Rey glances up towards the front of the store, and snorts in disbelief. “Louis Vuitton,” she mutters, reaching up with her free hand to pull the strap of her purse higher up on her shoulder. She frowns, glancing back towards the shoes.

On the one hand, the cheaper side of her knows that she can find flats somewhere else for a better price, as in hundreds of dollars cheaper better price. But on the other hand, she’s walking around barefoot in Paris.

“Fuck you, Ren,” she mumbles, completely and utterly sure that someone up somewhere prefers her boss’s style over hers. She tugs her heels back on to walk in the store, looking around at the gleaming displays and the bags on them.

A woman seemingly pops out of the woodwork, offering to help in French. Rey startles a bit at her sudden appearance. “Um, yeah, hi,” she starts. “I’d like to look at those flats in the window?”

-

Rey buys sneakers.

She buys sneakers because Ren can’t be too mad at her if they’re Louis Vuitton, right? They’re a lot more comfortable than her Louboutin’s at any rate, and her feet are a lot happier as she walks down the street with her sneakers on her shoes and her heels in the box.

She’s glancing down at her phone, trying to figure out where she is in relation to the Notre Dame cathedral when Ren’s number pops up on her screen, under the simple name of ‘Ren’. She quickly checks the street she needs to turn onto before swiping and raising the phone to her ear. “Do you need me?”

“So you did go to Louis Vuitton.”

“Yes, I bought sneakers, because Louboutins are hell on cobblestone streets.” She frowns. “How’d you know that?”

“I have my phone notify me every time a purchase has been made,” Ren explains. “At first I thought the card had been stolen because there’s no way you would’ve voluntarily walked into a Louis Vuitton boutique.”

“It wasn’t exactly voluntary,” she admits. “It was either Louis Vuitton, or continue walking barefoot until I found a cheaper alternative.”

“You were walking barefoot in the middle of Paris,” he deadpans.

“I was walking barefoot in the middle of Paris,” she repeats, looking at the street sign ahead and turning right. She looks both ways across the street before walking out. “They were that bad.”

“You’re absurd.”

“No, paying almost $1,000 for sneakers is absurd,” Rey retorts. “Where are you?”

“In the car on the way to the meeting,” he replies. “I have to have my phone turned off during it. They don’t want any of the information getting out. I’ll call you when it’s over.”

“Do you have any idea how long it will be? Should I get dinner without you?”

“Haven’t the slightest. If you’re hungry, eat."

“So much for dinner plans,” she mutters.

“Says the woman who didn’t want any plans anyway.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want plans, I said I didn’t want a multi-thousand dollar gourmet meal. Stop twisting my words, Kylo Ren.”

His chuckle’s low, a kind of sweet, sexy sound. “I’ll call you later.”

“See that you do,” she replies, hearing the smile in his voice and letting the corners of her mouth quirk up in turn. “See you tonight.”

“Take care, have fun.”

The call’s cut, and she smiles a bit.

Take care.

It’s the closest thing to an ‘I love you’ that she’s gotten from him. She slips the phone back into the pocket of her blazer as she turns again, grin broadening when she sees the cathedral in the distance.

-

It’s not until she’s wandering around the Louvre that she realizes she needs to speak to him about the kiss, and that he's already in his meeting at 4:20. She stops abruptly in front of one of the paintings, looking up at the three figures and frowning as curiosity gets the better of her. People had most likely seen, yes, but had anyone managed to capture the moment? Finn probably knows; Poe probably would, too, but she's reluctant to call them in the middle of a very quiet, very respectable environment. She pulls her phone out and moves towards one of the benches, settling down onto it and pulling up her browser.

Rey hasn’t dared search for her name, or Kylo’s, or anything at all, really, since this whole thing started. There’s an element of fear, she guesses, but there’s also the idea that ‘ignorance is bliss’. She’s about to shatter that bliss, she knows full well, but she’s more curious as to whetehr anyone caught the soft cheek kiss. She bites her lip as she connects to the museum’s Wifi and types in ‘Kylo Ren’.

Results come up almost immediately, and her teeth dig further into her lip at the headlines.

‘Kylo Ren and Assistant – Secret Love!’, ‘Who Is The Woman Kylo Ren Is With?’, ‘Love In The General Fashion Office!’

The titles make her feel sick to her stomach until she scrolls further down, attention catching on one with a picture attached to the headline.

It’s from that afternoon, after the Ted Baker show, away from the rest of the crowd. Someone in said crowd must’ve had their phone out, must’ve sneakily taken a picture of them, because he’s kissing her cheek and she’s staring at him with a deer-in-headlights kind of look, taken completely by surprise at his blatant affection.

‘Can Satan Be Sweet?’

She clicks the link, and it takes her to some celebrity gossip site. She doesn’t read any of the words; she’s not entirely sure she wants to. She does look at the pictures, though. Whoever wrote the article has done their research. She can see her senior picture from high school, back in Arizona, and the simple fact that they’d gotten a hold of it makes her feel a bit nauseated. She scrolls down, though, and looks for more pictures.

There’s one of them at the airport. There’s the one of him carrying her, several shots of them at shows and several shots of them exiting said shows. There are some where he’s leaning in, some where his hand’s on the small of her back, some where she’s smiling as he does both.

If Rey wasn’t looking at herself, she’d find it kind of sick, honestly, with how sweet it is.

He’s barely smiling in any of them, but he doesn’t look displeased either. If she hadn’t seen him smile, well and truly grin, then she’d guess this was his default ‘happy’ expression. His lips quirked up just the slightest bit as he leans towards her, his gaze fond as he looks down at her while her attention’s elsewhere.

Her grip on the phone tightens as she looks at one from the Chanel show the day before, as he’s helping her down the stairs.

His queen, he’d called her. She’d been sure that it’d been a joke, at the time, but now she’s not entirely certain. He looks so fucking proud as she makes her way down the stairs, holding her clutch and smiling as she tries not to fall. His hand’s on her back, and he’s sporting a small smile of his own.

Her heart feels like it’s much, much too big for her chest, and her throat feels much too tight as she recognizes the look he’s giving her.

She’s seen it on Han plenty of times, even in the short amount of time that she's spent with her boss's famous parents. For as much as the older couple bickers, every time Leia’s turned the former model looks at his wife like she’s his world.

And Ren’s looking at her much the same.

She honestly wants to laugh and cry at the same time, because what are the chances, really? The man they’d dubbed ‘Satan’, both in the press and the staff of the publication, falling in love with some nobody like her. Some nobody who wore sweaters from TJ Maxx and shoes from high school, some nobody who's suddenly plastered all over the tabloids and gossip sites like she's suddenly somebody.

She’s quiet as she scrolls through the pictures again, looking for the same loving, adoring look. It doesn’t really appear in any of the previous ones, though he’s not looking at her with disdain, either. It’s only the one from the day before in which he's looking at her like she's the sun. She doesn't really look at him like that, though she's smiling in most of the pictures. It makes her feel a bit bad, just for half a heartbeat, before she scrolls back up to the Chanel show picture and that feeling disappears.

She doesn't look at him like that yet.

She finds herself smiling, and glances up towards the paintings around her. Maybe she’s crazy, maybe she’s insane, but their colors seem a bit brighter.

Rey doesn’t know for sure. He hasn’t said it, after all, and there’s this little part of her heart that wonders if, when the time comes, she’ll be able to say it back. But the majority of her feels a bit lighter, a bit happier, after the disaster that was that morning. She pulls her purse up onto her shoulder and stands, walking into the next room and intending on taking a bit more time examining the Neo-classical paintings she’d loved so much in the art history course she took in college.

She’s almost entirely sure she’s smiling like an idiot and spending way, way too long in front of The Consecration of the Emperor Napoleon and the Coronation of Empress Joséphine.

-

She spends a good hour and a half in the Louvre before leaving. It’s 5:30 by the time she exits the museum, and she wanders around the streets for a bit. Using her phone as navigation, she finds her way to Laduree and emerges with three bags of boxes, said boxes containing several dozen macarons and some fancy chocolates for both herself and Ren, and her friends back home.

If Ren can spend thousands of dollars on her wardrobe, she can spend a bit on pastries. She smiles a bit, looking down at the boxes and wondering if maybe, just maybe, he’ll let her share some with him. After all, she did buy two of each flavor.

Rey walks up and down the streets, stopping occasionally to take pictures of the city. She wanders along the Seine, the handles of the bags cutting into her fingers just the slightest bit but not enough for her to stop her meandering and casual sight-seeing.

The sun starts to set at 7:37, and her feet are starting to ache as she leans on the wall of the bridge and watches as the sun dapples the water.

She’s been checking her phone almost obsessively, waiting for the meeting to get out. It’s been 3 and a half hours now, and while she knows that the situation is a bit dire with what Tony’s been accused of, can a meeting really take that long?

She leans against the stone wall, phone in her hands. She does as she’d done the last time, when they’d fought – turning it on, waiting until the screen goes dark, and then turning it on again.

But there are no calls, no texts, no nothing.

It’s a comfort, albeit a small one, thinking that if something went horribly, terribly wrong that someone would notify Hux, at least, and maybe he’d notify her. So far, she hasn’t heard from the Poe-dubbed ‘General Ginger’, so everything must be at least somewhat okay.

Rey picks up her bags and starts to walk back to the hotel. Everything’s cast in a golden glow as she walks along the streets, and she smiles at the softness of it. In the day, everything’s busy and, though pretty, it’s easier to see the dirt and imperfections of the city. At night, it’s almost overwhelming with all the lights and glamour. She much prefers this, the golden hour, where everything seems desaturated and just a bit warmer.

She nods to the concierge as she walks in, walking into the elevator and setting her bags down. Another check of her phone proves fruitless; he hasn’t called, or texted, or emailed.

She sighs a bit as she waits for the elevator to take her up, leaning against the wall and grateful she’d bought the sneakers. Her feet ache from walking, to be sure, but they would’ve been out of commission a lot sooner in her Louboutins.

Walking into the apartment, she’s half expecting him to be sitting on the bed editing the Book for the umpteenth time. But no, the lights are dimmed and the bed is made. She sets the bags down and clears a little spot off on the desk for her treasures, setting aside the boxes she’d bought for Finn and Poe so she isn’t tempted to eat them herself.

8. It’s 8, 4 hours after the meeting started. Her stomach growls a bit, and she kicks off her sneakers and settles on the bed with four of the macarons; one rose, one chocolate, one coffee, and one lemon. She cradles them in her left hand while holding her phone in her right, and scoots herself to lean against the headrest.

“Might as well call Finn,” she mutters, dialing his number for a video call.

It’s 3 there, she knows, so he’s probably at work, but it’s worth a shot. She waits for the call to go through, but it never does. It just rings and rings and rings until she decides to hang up with a sigh.

The macarons sate her, at least for a little bit. She savors every bite, the pastries living up to their hype in their delicate shell, chewy inside and flavorful filling. She regrets eating them almost immediately, because it means they’re gone now. Though she supposes she can always ask Kylo to get more, towards the end of their trip. It might make a good date.

She freezes, sucking the lemon filling from her fingers.

Date.

Is that what they’re doing? Is that what this is? Was the sandwich outing a date?

She frowns around her index finger, sliding down onto the bed just a bit and leaning against the pillows. Dating. That’s something she hasn’t done … well, in a while. Since high school, she guesses.

She pulls her finger out of her mouth with a ‘pop’, shaking her head at herself.

Of course that isn’t what this is. They’re not dating. Is that even a possibility, with the life that he lives? He’d said it himself; he’s only dated for a month, tops. No one’s been able to last longer.

Rey sits up to shed her blazer before she lies down, curling up on top of the covers and pulling the pillows towards her.

It’s better this way. The fucking and just feeling, she guesses. Less messy. Less of an aftermath.

She reaches for her phone, frowning at the 8:26 on her screen. No calls, no messages, no nothing.

She closes her eyes, her phone still clasped in her hand just in case.

-

The savory, salty smell of food wakes her first. And then the feeling of his lips against her temple wakes her a bit more, and she leans into the touch, humming in soft pleasure. His cologne comes next, and she smiles a bit. He's back.

“Sorry I’m so late,” he mutters against her skin as he bends, wrapping his arm around her. “It … was a complicated situation.”

She hums again, eyes still closed and reveling in the heavy warmth he gives as he pulls her closer to his chest. “I missed you.”

She can feel him smiling against her temple, his lips skirting down her cheekbone. “Did you? I was worried. You didn't answer your phone. I called twice, and texted five times. You didn't answer.

“Mhm,” she purrs, leaning into him. “Sorry, fell asleep waiting for you. What time is it?”

“9:43,” he mutters.

“So much for our dinner plans, then,” she mumbles, finally opening her eyes as he pulls back. He’s still dressed in the suit from earlier, but his hair’s mussed to within an inch of it’s life – no doubt from him running his fingers through it for the entire meeting. She can just barely see him in the low light, the lamps turned off and moonlight only just peeking through the curtains.

“Not quite,” he replies as she sits up, running her fingers through her own hair to test how her bedhead is. “I brought dinner.”

“Room service?” she asks, struggling to contain a yawn as he walks into the living area and comes back with three paper bags. Her eyes widen at the grease spots on them, and the sudden intensity of the smell of butter and cheese.

“Not quite,” he says, pulling a wrapped croque-monsieur from the bag. “Change into something else first, then sandwich.”

“You’re a god,” she breathes, standing up and turning so that her back's towards him. He unzips the jumpsuit for her and chuckles as she wiggles right out of it. She reaches around to unlatch the strapless bra, sighing as she’s relieved from the torturous garment.

“I’m not sure if I have any more shirts,” he says as she walks over to grab the folded First Order one from the desk. She shrugs it on over her panties and just grins at him.

“It’s not that dirty,” she replies, walking over and turning on the bedroom light. As soon as the golden light shines across his face, her grin falls flat.

There's the reason the lights are off, she thinks, as she takes in the dark bruise blossoming across her boss's cheekbone. It's darkening, the edges already yellowing. His eye's not rimmed in back, thank God, and his jaw looks all right, but the bruise on his cheek is a nasty thing that must hurt like a bitch.

“Oh, my God,” she breathes. She rushes forward, cupping his cheeks and running her thumb gently over the tender skin. “Kylo, who did this?”

“Who do you think?” he mutters. “Again, I’m incredibly grateful that you’re not one for gossip and media.”

“He hit you?” she demands, heart clenching. His hand moves up, warm fingers grasping hers.

“It’s fine,” he insists softly. “It’s fine, it’ll die down. I’m in the right, after all. He’s just pissed that he’s being replaced.”

“He hit you, Kylo!” she hisses. “That can’t be-“

“He’s already been released of the position,” Ren snaps. “Snoke did a conference call and put the act in motion immediately. As soon as he walked out of that room, he was no longer Editor-in-Chief of Italian General Fashion.”

“Is anything broken?” she demands, feeling along his nose, cheekbone, and jaw for any sort of hint of a broken or cracked bone.

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“Bullshit, Kylo, he punched you in the face!”

“I just need to ice it. I won't be using concealer, as while the media knows that he's been ejected from the position, this will help prove how unstable he is, and help our case."

“Kylo, he - why did you stop and get – oh, forget it, you’re impossible,” she mutters, rushing past him into the living area.

“Rey-“ he calls, trying to stop her. "Don't go after him, please, it's not worth it."

“I'm not going after him. I'm getting ice, asshole, since you haven't. Sit your ass down on the bed,” she orders, grabbing the metal ice bucket before walking back into the bedroom to find that he’d followed her instructions and sat himself on the bed. “… no, actually, change into pajamas first, and then sit your ass on the bed. I’m going to go get ice from the machine.”

“Rey, you’re not wearing pants,” he says, gently, as if she’s a child who needs to be told to put on pants before school.

“I don’t care!” Rey snaps. “I don’t care, I’m going to go get ice.”

The ice bucket hits the frame of the bedroom door as she spins on her heel, hitting the wood with a hard ‘clang’ as she grabs the key he’d put on the table by the door and walks out into the hallway in his t-shirt and her panties.

It’s risky, she knows. It’s dangerous to be looking like this, her makeup possibly smudged and wearing what is obviously not her shirt. But she can’t give a damn as she stalks down to the ice machine and fills it, tapping her foot against the tile floor of the ice room as she waits for the bucket to fill. As soon as it’s almost overflowing, she grabs it and stalks right back, wishing that her bare feet made a bit more sound on the plush carpet hallway, wanting the unforgiving sound of stilettos against marble to match the rage that’s building.

The door of the hotel room bangs against the wall as she walks in, and she stalks right into the bedroom. The ice bucket makes a satisfying ‘thwack’ on her bedside table as she slams it down, and she storms her way into the bathroom to grab a hand towel. When she comes out, she can see that he’d actually followed her orders, and is dressed in light grey pajama pants, thin and soft to the touch. She walks over and pushes at his bare shoulder. “Lean against the headboard and spread your legs.”

“That’s not suggestive,” he mutters sarcastically as he does as asked, scooting back and leaning back against the headboard. She settles between his spread legs and grabs some ice, putting it on the handtowel before wrapping it up and pressing it gently against his cheek.

His eyes could give the cutest puppy in the world a run for its money. She uses her other hand to cup his uninjured cheek, thumb stroking along his skin. “… are you going to have to fly to Italy more often?” she asks, holding the ice to his skin.

“Yes,” he admits, turning and kissing her palm. She follows his cheek with the ice, keeping it pressed to the bruise as he presses kisses against her skin, wet and warm. “It’s going to be difficult, for both of us.”

“When does it start?”

“They’re going to try to email me for the majority of it,” he explains. “I don’t know when they’re going to require me to travel. There’s a lot that’s up in the air.”

“5 hours, and things are still up in the air?”

“It would’ve been longer, if he hadn’t barged in,” Ren mutters. “He attacked me.”

“Well, obviously, he didn’t exactly kiss you,” Rey mumbles back, pulling the ice away and poking gently at his skin. He winces, and she reaches up to brush his bangs back as she reapplies the ice. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry he was in that position in the first place,” Ren replies. “If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t have had to deal with him.”

“A little champagne to the face, what’s the-“

“He called you my ‘little bitch’. Several times. At the meeting."

“It’s a name, Kylo,” she insists. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.” She pulls the ice away to pull a fry from one of the bags, and offers it to him. “Can you chew?”

“A little bit,” he admits. “That’s why I got the fries. Soft.”

She slips it between his lips, pulling the ice a bit away so that he can chew properly without the pressure on his cheek. As soon as she sees him swallow, the ice is back.

“I was planning on eating you out tonight, too,” he admits.

She stares at him, ice still pressed to his cheek. And then it falls from her hand, ice spilling onto the bedsheets, as she laughs so hard her head nearly bonks into his.

She laughs until she can’t breathe. She laughs until they’re not so much laughs anymore, and instead little hiccups. She laughs until her sides ache and her core stings, and she laughs until her cheeks hurt and her face feels like it’s about to split.

“You’re scaring me, Kenobi,” he says, sounding legitimately worried as she loses it in front of him. “It wasn’t that funny.”

She catches her breath long enough to lose it between his lips, kissing him as gently as she can with his bruised cheek. Her hand slips up into his hair, holding him to her as she smiles against his mouth.

“Sorry,” she breathes. “This is all just … ridiculous.”

“I don’t see why my getting punched in the face is either funny or ridiculous.”

She moves her mouth to press kisses to the darkening skin. “That’s not funny. The fact that I’m sitting between my boss’s legs and he’s telling me he wanted to eat me out before he got punched in the face is funny.”

“… I still don’t get it.”

“Forget it,” she insists, shaking her head and shoving her hair out of her face as she bends to scoop the ice back up into the towel. “I just … it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it makes you laugh so hard I debated calling an insane asylum,” Ren replies wryly. “What is it?”

She stills, the towel in her hands as she moves her gaze back up to his face.

He loves her.

It doesn’t fail to knock the wind right out of her while making her heart swell at the same time. He looks so confused, the puppy eyes right back in place as he looks down at her, looking just as bewildered as she feels.

“… it’s really nothing,” she says, because while it’s one thing to know it, it’s another to put it out in the open. “It’s nothing.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but she leans forward to kiss him, effectively silencing him as she presses the ice to his cheek again, the cold a comforting contrast to his hot mouth against hers.

He hums a moment later, pulling back just enough that his lips are still barely brushing hers. “… can I have another fry?”

It’s not quite enough to send her into hysterics again, but she grins as she grabs the greasy bag and puts it between them. “I feel like I need a nurse outfit.”
“Oh, God, no.”

“What, no dress-up kink?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him as she slips another fry between his full lips.

He chews as carefully as he can before he swallows. “Dress up kink, yes. Nurse kink? No. If you’re going to dress up, you’re going to dress up in a Swarovski covered ball gown I can duck under or push out of the way.”

“Good luck with that one,” she teases. “I’m never going to wear a ball gown. Too frilly.”

He hums. “We’ll see about that.”

“Only if you wear Crocs.”

“Fine, I won’t force you into a ball gown.”

His immediate response makes her grin, and she leans forward to press her lips to his bruised cheek again, his skin cool and her heart feeling warm in her chest.

Chapter Text

Morning comes much, much sooner than she’d like. She can hear her alarm blaring from the other side of the bed, and groans as she peels her cheek from his chest and crawls over to it, turning it off.

Shower. That’s right, she has to shower. That’s why she set it so early.

“Mornin’.”

It’s barely a slur, and she glances over to see her boss blinking at her with bleary eyes, trying to make sense of what she’s sure is her very blurred form without his glasses.

“Hey,” she whispers, crawling back over and kissing him gently. “Go back to sleep, I just need to take a shower.”

He hums and kisses her back, reaching a hand up to tangle in her bedhead and pull her closer. She smiles against his lips at his warmth, careful to cup his non-bruised cheek.

“How is it?” he asks, when they part.

She leans back, looking at the dark purple bruise blossoming across his pale skin. “Bad. I’ll get some more ice when I get out of the shower.” She runs the backs of her fingers against the mark, and her heart clenches when he winces at the slight touch. “You’re really not going to cover it? It’s pretty nasty. I’m sure I can call someone and get some stage makeup from one of the shows or something.”

He hums again, closing his eyes. “No. It’s proof he’s an ass.”

“You’re an ass, too.”

“I’m not an ass who hits people,” he mutters, leaning back against the plush pillows. “Breaks things? Yes. Hit people? Never.”

She hums and presses a softest kiss she can to the bruised skin before brushing her lips against his chastely. Rey has to crawl over him to get to the shower, and she grins as his hand finds her lace-covered ass and squeezes lightly. “Sleep,” she insists, looking towards him and finding him already curling back into the pillows, eyes closed. She smirks and shakes her head as she walks into the bathroom, shedding his old t-shirt as she goes. She closes the door so that it won't let the steam out, and so that the sound of the water against tile won't wake him.

She turns the shower almost as hot as it can go, just standing beneath the spray and letting it hit her bare back. She reaches back, letting the hot water hit her palms as she thinks.

It's Friday. They leave Monday night. Today they have two shows, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, with another dinner with the editors and the higher-ups of the publication company. She groans, wanting to bang her head against the tile wall. More people. More being on guard at every moment. More names to remember.

A rush of cold air infiltrates her hot shower, and she glances up to see him stepping through the bathroom door, pajama pants low on his hips and bedhead absolutely abysmal as he runs his hand down his face and yawns.

“I thought I told you to sleep more,” she protests over the roar of the water as she watches him strip through the droplet-covered-glass, pulling his pajama pants down and kicking them off before approaching the shower. She steps back into the spray as he pulls the door back, and shivers as the cold air touches her wet skin. He yanks the glass closed again, and in the stark light of the bathroom she’s startled by how dark his bruise looks. It had looked bad in the low light of the bedroom, and in the half-light of last night, but she can truly see how hard Tony had hit him. She bites her lip, wanting to reach up to examine it but knowing that that's probably a horrible idea.

“When a naked woman groans, a man’s curiosity gets the better of him,” he mutters, running a damp hand through his hair.

“I was groaning because we have so much to do today,” Rey protests, though she can’t help the smirk that comes to her lips. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

He just hums, reaching to pull her close. He’s still sleep-warm, and she grins as his hands move to the small of her back before sliding down to cup the water-slicked skin of her ass.

“I’m not going to fuck you in here,” she mutters as he presses kisses to her jaw. “Porn might make it look easy but it’s really not.”

“You’ve tried it?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“My roommate in college did. She yanked the shower curtain rod down.”

He snorts, pressing his lips to her neck. She can feel his tongue against her skin as he traces the warm droplets, catching them before they can dip between her breasts. “Fine,” he mutters. “I won’t fuck you in the shower.”

“Thank you. Hand me your shampoo.”

“Mine? Why mine?” he questions, frowning.

“Because your hair’s always fucking fantastic and I want to see what it does,” Rey insists, reaching up to run her hand through his hair. Some drops have hit it, but the majority of it is dry. Her fingers snag on some tangles from his tossing and turning, but for the most part it’s soft and silky. “Seriously, how?”

He snorts again, reaching for the bottle and pumping some into his hand. “Turn.”

“What?”

“Turn, I’ll do it.”

She obeys, dipping her head back to wet her hair thoroughly before turning her back to him. His fingers find her scalp and she groans again as he starts to rub, smoothing the shampoo into her hair and working it into a lather while massaging her head at the same time. “Fuck, you’re good at that.”

Ren bends to press his lips to the nape of her neck. “We have a press conference at 4.”

She frowns, closing her eyes against the suds and leaning back against his hands. “Do we have time for that?”

“We’ll be leaving the show early,” he explains. “It ends at 3:45, we’ll be leaving at 3:30.”

He rubs at her hair for what she’s sure is a lot longer than necessary, and she can feel his hands at her hips as he turns her around for her to rinse. She dips her head back into the water and opens her eyes once her forehead’s free of suds, watching him. “Is it about Tony?”

“It’s about a lot of things, but yes, for the most part it's about Tony since I'll be helping with Italy for now," he mutters. “The rest of the editors stepping in have their own as well. Switch.”

She moves into his arms for a moment before letting him step beneath the spray. She watches as he reaches up, big hands helping the water run through his hair. While his eyes are closed, she allows herself to watch the water run in rivulets down his body. She reaches out to put her hands on his hips, catching some of the water in the tiny valley between her thumb and his skin.

He takes a step forward and she takes a step back, hands still on him and eyes still focused on his pale torso before her head’s being tilted up and her lips captured by his. She closes her eyes, humming against his mouth as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer. His skin’s hot from the water running down it, and though she’s standing out in the cold he makes her feel warmer.

“I should’ve joined you earlier in the week,” he mutters.

“I would’ve kicked your ass,” she mumbles against his lips as she reaches down to squeeze said ass, grinning at the tightness of it and allowing herself a few languid strokes down his bare skin. “And you know it.”

“I do,” he admits as he moves his mouth down to press against her shoulder. She closes her eyes, hand moving up to his slightly hunched back as he bends over her, pressing kisses to her skin. “You’ve done it verbally several times, and well, too.”

She laughs, shaking her head as she strokes the hot, bare skin of his back. “If you think flattery’s going to get you a blowjob, you’re wrong. I’m not kneeling on tile to get water in my eyes and cum in my mouth.”

“Fair,” he mutters, letting her go and reaching for the shampoo. He steps out of the way so that she can get warm again beneath the spray as he lathers his hair. She takes the opportunity gratefully, stepping beneath the water and sighing in soft pleasure at the warmth.

She watches as he shampoos his hair, and steps out of the spray to let him rinse when it’s time for him to.

“Hand me the conditioner,” he orders as soon as the suds are gone.

She does so, and hears the sound of the cap as it’s popped open. She waits for him to step out of the spray so that he can coat his hair with it, but is surprised to feel his hands in her hair instead, combing it through her locks with his fingers. “Really?” she asks, trying to look over her shoulder at him.

“You said you liked my hair,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair where he isn’t putting the conditioner. “You get both.” He gives her hair one final run-through with his fingers. “And now we wait.”

“Is that the trick? To wait?” she asks, listening as he rinses his hand beneath the water before it moves to rest on her lower stomach.

“Yes,” he mutters, hand sliding down to her hip. “It lets it seep into the strands and gives it shine.”

She hums as she reaches her hand up to cover his. He takes this as a discouragement and moves his hand back up to her stomach. She turns to kiss his jaw.

“You can if you want to,” she mutters. “It’s kneeling on the tile or trying to contort ourselves so you can fuck me that I don’t want.”

“So I can touch you?” he asks lowly, moving his hand down again.

“As long as you catch me if my knees give out and I slip,” she warns.

“I think I can do that.”

His fingers are wet from the water as she spreads her legs slightly to allow his hand between them. She leans back against him, his other hand moving around to cup her breast and hold her to his chest as he skirts his fingertips along her folds. She closes her eyes and turns to rest her head on his shoulder as he touches her, moving from slow, teasing strokes to cupping the entirety of her with his hand. It’s lazier than she would’ve expected, honestly, but she likes it. She likes the warmth of his hand against her cunt, likes the way he strokes her languidly and grinds the heel of his palm against her clit. She hums, leaning more against him.

“This okay?” he mutters against her neck.

“Mhm,” she hums back.

They might be late, but she doesn’t care. They’ve already saved time by showering together. So she allows herself to relax into him, letting him touch her slowly. It’s far from the hot and frantic moments they’ve stolen the past few days, in the dressing room and in the hallway of the museum.

She can feel her orgasm building slowly with each roll of his palm against her clit, and lets out a slow breath through her nose. He takes this as encouragement and goes a bit faster, just a bit harder, moving his hand so that his fingers trail along her slit, barely dipping in as he grinds against her clit. He alternates between cupping her and using his fingers against her, all wet heat and gentle strokes that get her closer faster than she would've expected. The feeling of his bare chest and hard cock against her back isn't exactly bad, either. She grinds back against him before rolling her hips against his hand, toes trying to find purchase against the slick slate of the shower floor.

“Fuck,” she breathes, tipping her head back against his shoulder as he goes harder. It’s nearly painful, the way he’s pressing the hard edge of his palm against her, but he doesn’t stop. Her hand reaches back to grab at his hip, feeling the curve of his muscles beneath her thumb.

When she cums, she bucks almost violently, feeling the heat and curve of his cock back against her lower back as she jerks back into him. He bows with her, hunching over her and pressing his lips to her neck as she reaches down to hold his hand against her. Her soft moan echoes along the tile walls, and she bites her lip at the sound of it but doesn’t dare pull his hand from between her legs, holding it there instead. She closes her eyes, just feeling him as he cups her lazily. "Shit.."

He bites at the tender skin of her neck, gentle enough to avoid leaving a mark but hard enough that she feels it, humming softly. “You all right?”

She laughs, turning to kiss his cheek. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” She grinds back against him, feeling his hard cock against her back. “You want me to deal with that?”

“If you want,” he mutters.

“I want,” she croons, turning around and pressing flush against him. She tugs him down for a kiss, fingers tangling in his wet hair. He’s slick, cock slipping against the skin of her stomach as she reaches down between them. He’s heavy in her hand, and she can feel his hot breath against her mouth as he lets out a soft sigh when she wraps her hand around him. She gives him a few slow pumps, looking up to watch his face. His eyes are still open, and dark, staring down at her. His gaze flicks between her lips to her bare chest and then back up to her eyes.

She sweeps her thumb along the swollen, leaking head and watches as his eyelids flutter. She grins, leaning up to press another kiss to his lips. With one hand on his cock and the other in his hair, she goes as slow as he’d gone for her.

“Fuck, Rey,” he mumbles against her lips.

“Yes, sir?” she breathes, just because she can, and she laughs as she’s pushed up against the tile wall, loving the contrast between his hot skin and the cold ceramic against her back. She doesn’t let go of his cock, instead pumping faster and reaching down to cup his balls. Rey hears his soft moan and leans up to bite at his lower lip, tugging it between her teeth before letting it go and licking at his mouth. “You like that, huh? Like your cock in my hand and me calling you ‘sir’?”

“Yes.” It’s nearly growled against her mouth.

“I like it, too,” she admits, pulling him down for another searing kiss. She can feel him buck against her hand, and then the heat of his cum against her stomach as he goes over. She lets go of his cock and reaches around to his hip, pulling him flush against her so he can feel the heat of his cum against his stomach as well.

“Good thing we hadn’t actually washed ourselves yet,” he mutters, and she laughs again, feeling him smile into the kiss.

“I still have conditioner in my hair,” she replies.

“The longer the better,” he insists, reaching around her to grab it for himself. She watches as he squirts some out and combs it through his wet locks, setting the bottle down before reaching for her again. She goes willingly, pressing her lips to the underside of his jaw, feeling the short hairs that’ll be shaved off soon after exiting the shower.

“You should wear stubble more often,” Rey hums.

“I should?” he asks as she skirts her lips up to his cheek, just barely pressing a kiss to the bruised skin.

“Mhm. Kind of sexy, the unshaven and slightly unkempt look.”

“I’m Kylo Ren,” he insists. “If I look unkempt, I look unprofessional.”

“Well, there’s a difference between the two. I think a little stubble can still look professional while looking less like you have a gold stick up your ass,” she protests, pulling back to step beneath the spray and rinse the cum off of her stomach and conditioner from her hair. She closes her eyes against the water, leaning back and just knowing he’s watching her, eyes raking up and down her bare body. She smirks, opening her eyes and finding his gaze drawn to the apex of her thighs. His eyes snap to hers once he realizes she caught him. “I need to shave my legs. You might not want to stay in here for that. It’s not the sexiest thing ever, despite what the commercials show.”

“Can’t say I’ve seen one,” he admits.

The shower’s big enough, sure. She’s grateful for it. But she could also use the tub, and watch him through the glass door. She shrugs. “Makes no difference.”

“I need to shave anyway,” he mutters. “Kiss me, first?”

“I’m not kicking you out yet, idiot,” she says with a grin, reaching up to pull him down. “But if you insist.”

-

“More Ted Baker?” Rey asks, looking at the set he’d put out for her.

“It’s elegant,” Ren replies from the bathroom. She can hear the water running as he shaves. “It’s cooler today, you’re wearing a long wool coat with it.”

“What happened to ‘no white after Labor Day’?” she calls, rubbing her hair with the towel as she walks to the bed. The outfit laid out is pretty, in her opinion; a white short-sleeved cropped top and matching pencil skirt. Both have white floral embroidery on the edges, and she hums in approval.

“An old, outdated fashion rule that hasn’t been followed in years. Really, Kenobi, keep up.”

She rolls her eyes, but grins as she tosses the towel on the bed and reaches for the panties he’d laid out. She pulls them up her legs as he emerges from the bathroom, another white towel wrapped around her waist. She’s entirely unsurprised as he takes her by the hips and pulls her close, lips chasing a drop of water along her shoulder. “Kylo, I need to get dressed.”

“I know.” He lets her go to walk to his own wardrobe, pulling out a black suit and white dress shirt. She watches, unashamedly staring at his firm ass as he unwraps the towel from around his waist and drops it in favor of pulling his boxer-briefs up his legs.

“You’re staring at my ass,” he says, though he hasn’t turned around.

“And you stared at my tits in the shower when I had my eyes closed,” she retorts, grabbing the bra and securing it around her chest before pulling the straps up. She’s smirking as he turns around, raising an eyebrow at her. “C’mon, I know.”

He walks by her to get his cufflinks and drops a kiss to her cheek on the way. The bruise he’s sporting is darker, much darker than the one she’d given him, and she knows even if he did try to conceal it, the color would still show through. She watches him as she pulls the skirt up, zipping it in the front before spinning it back around to the back. He winces as he reaches up to touch it.

“Do you want ice?” she asks quietly as he pulls his shirt on.

“No,” he mutters. “But painkillers and coffee would be nice.”

She walks over to the phone and calls the order for coffee in quickly, hanging up before watching him as he pulls his pants up. “I thought it would take months before they got him out.”

“Originally, it would’ve,” he replies. “But Snoke was adamant in getting him out as soon as possible, calling him a ‘destructive liability’.” He points to his bruise. “This was the kicker.”

“So he’s, what, on a plane back to Italy or something?”

“No idea,” Ren admits as she tugs her shirt over her head. “I have earrings and a bracelet for you.”

“Oh, great,” she says, a bit off handedly. “Hair?”

“Down. Middle part. Waves. Plug the curling wand in.”

“Yes, sir.” She doesn’t mean to say it, doesn’t mean to throw it so casually, but by the time she returns from plugging the curling wand in he’s still sporting a blush on his non-bruised cheek. She grins, walking to wrap her arms around his waist as he pulls the jacket of his suit on. “Sorry.”

His hands find hers, and squeeze gently. “Don’t be. I like it.” There’s a pause, and then – “ … how on earth did you manage to ruin a gel manicure in, what, 5 days?”

She snorts, pulling her hands away. “I don’t know, you tell me?”

“You’re impossible,” he scoffs, but she smirks as she sits down on the bed, leaning back and waiting for him to finish getting dressed so that he can finish her. “Do your moisturizer, primer, and foundation. I’ll be there shortly for contour and eyes.”

“Red today?”

“Not for the day, no. You’ll wear that at dinner,” he mutters. “I have a Dolce and Gabbana dress being delivered for tonight. God, I hope it fits.”

“Was that a weight comment?” she asks, swinging her legs and smirking as he looks to her and frowns.

“No, of course not, it’s a runway piece from two years ago but one of my favorite dresses. Don’t be ridiculous, you’re beautiful.”

He says it so offhandedly, looking through his box for his onyx cufflinks. She watches him, legs stilling.

He loves her.

Sure, she’d had the revelation the day before, but it still makes her smile softly as she watches him run a hand through his hair before he slips the cufflinks through his shirt.

“Stop smiling, get up. What did I tell you to do?”

“Moisturizer, primer, foundation,” she says, standing and walking to where the bag is. “Yes, sir.”

His soft groan makes her grin.

-

“You look like shit.”

“Thank you, Ren.”

Hux’s voice is dripping with sarcasm as Rey settles down next to Ren. The executive editor’s on the other side of the editor-in-chief, and though he does look better than yesterday, he still looks worn out. Rey frowns, leaning over a bit to look at the redheaded man.

Everything should look fine. His hair looks impeccable, and even she has to admit that the navy blue suit he’s wearing does look good on him. But the concealer he used under his eyes doesn’t quite cover the puffiness, though they do cover the dark color. She frowns. He looks like he needs to eat something, and have a good nap. But he’s here, eyes scanning the crowd and back ram-rod straight as Kylo relaxes next to him, the editor-in-chief pulling out his phone.

She watches the executive editor as he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest before running a hand through his hair, effectively messing up the waxed, coiffed style he had. It looks good, ruffled like the way it is now, but it’s also entirely not-Hux. She sighs and bends down. “You packed my purse this morning, right?” she mutters to the man sitting next to her. He glances down at her as she grabs her studded pink Valentino bag, pulling it out from under her seat and grabbing her long, wool black coat from the back of it.

“Yes, why?” Ren asks, a bit rudely as he watches her stand up, teetering a bit on the nude platforms she’s wearing.

“Switch with me,” she mutters, nodding towards Hux.

“What? No,” Ren snaps back, looking to Hux who looks like he’s listening but avoiding eye contact entirely, gaze focused on the stage ahead. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, now switch before I put this heel in your foot,” Rey hisses.

He stands immediately, hand touching her hip briefly as he moves to her seat. She scoots into his, sitting down and looking towards the redhead who’s staring at her like she’s suddenly declared she’s becoming a nudist. “Hi,” she says, setting her coat over the back of her new seat and settling into it.

“Hello,” Hux says, a bit cautiously. He even sounds tired.

Rey meets his eyes, and finds no malice. Instead he just looks surprised – shocked, even – that she’s sitting next to him. Willingly, at that.

She puts her purse in her lap and rummages through the pockets. Wipes. Tissues. Lipstick. Lip balm. Lip gloss. Blister band-aids. God, the man did think of everything. She casts a glance towards the editor-in-chief, reminding herself to ask him about it later and to quiz him on whether he was a Boy Scout or something of the sort.

She opens one of the zippered pockets, and hums as she finds what she’s looking for. “Here,” she mutters as she grabs the chocolate bar Ren’d taken from the hotel. She pulls it out and offers it to the executive editor, gaining the pleasure of watching his eyes widen further as he looks between her and the candy in her hand. “You need it more than I do.”

Rey waits. She waits for him to scoff, for him to blow her off, for him to do something entirely obnoxious and entirely Hux-ish. But he doesn’t. She just watches as he reaches for the chocolate bar, taking it from her and looking down at it. It’s not the biggest bar in the world, but it’s sugar, at the very least.

“Thank you.”

It’s the softest she’s ever heard his voice, and he doesn’t meet her eyes as he tears the packaging. Well, perhaps not ‘tear’. She watches as he meticulously peels the paper of the wrapper back, sliding his nail underneath where the glue is. He folds the paper outer wrapper and slips it into his pocket before carefully unwrapping the foil. “I didn’t get a chance to grab breakfast,” he explains.

“Did you at least get a coffee?” she asks. She knows full well that the man likes his coffee, black with one creamer. She’s gotten it for him enough times to know that he lives off of the stuff.

“No,” he says quietly, breaking one of the squares off neatly. He turns to look at her before his gaze drops to her purse again. “… do you have a tablet?”

“Pain killer? Yeah, sure,” she replies, reaching into her bag and pulling out the M&Ms container she personally uses for over the counter pain medication. She hears his snort at the container, and glances towards him. “Hey, it holds a lot,” she replies, offering it to him. “There should be some Aleve and Tylenol and aspirin.”

“Thank you,” he mutters. “Again.”

“Sure.”

She casts glances at him through the show. He keeps the chocolate, eating a square occasionally and sipping from the water bottle that had been provided beneath their seats. Over the course of a half hour, he starts to look a little better, and she smiles to herself as she turns her gaze back to the models wearing Givenchy.

-

Lunch is easier. Lunch is private, just him and her in a small café with white tablecloths and a back table where she can watch the people walk by but they can’t see in quite as easily. She looks out the window at the passerby as he orders drinks and some sort of appetizer to share. She’d asked for soup, but left it up to him as to what to order otherwise. She has no idea how to pronounce any of it, much less what any of it means.

“Why did you sit next to Hux?”

“Hm?” she asks, eyes widening as she moves her gaze back to her boss. She moves her chin to the palm of her hand, elbow braced on the table. “What?”

He’s staring at her. “Why did you sit next to Hux? Willingly?”

Rey sighs a bit as she sits back, crossing her arms and leaning on the table though she knows manners strictly say not to do so. She leans forward, glancing around to check that no one else can hear what she’s saying. Satisfied, she hisses, “Because he recovered that tape for us. The least I can do is offer him a chocolate bar if his blood sugar’s low, and an ibuprofen if he has a headache. I know that wasn’t easy, and I feel like I need to make it up to him. That wasn’t his job, but he did it anyway.”

His hand twitches towards hers, and she leans back, moving her hands beneath the table. He looks hurt for half a second before realizing that they’re very much in public and can't very well hold hands on top of the table like any other couple. He taps his shoe against her ankle instead. “So you’re telling me I should send him a fruit basket or something.”

“I’m telling you that you shouldn’t tell him he looks like shit when something obviously bigger than that tape happened,” she insists, feeling a bit annoyed with him. “The tape’s over with, and he still looks like death.”

“I can ask him what’s wrong,” Ren mutters. “If you really care that much.”

“No, don’t do that, just … try to be a bit nicer to him, until he starts looking and acting more like Hux,” she mumbles, taking a sip of her sparkling water and glancing out the window at the streets again. “He thanked me. That was weird.”

“Yeah,” Ren says, and it’s so soft she almost misses it. Her gaze snaps from the window to his form.

She taps her toe against his shin. “Hey.”

He looks up at her, head lifting so suddenly she’s surprised his neck didn’t crack.

“We need to get through Armani, and then we have the press conference, right?” she asks.

“Right,” he replies, and his tone makes her sink in her seat a little bit. He’s done talking, and the fact that his gaze moves to the window is the final word.

She watches him, taking in the bruise on his cheek. Taking a chance, she reaches over and puts her hand on his. He looks back towards her as she squeezes his hand gently, frowning at him.

“Is it the press conference?” she asks, voice soft.

“If they ask about our relationship, what would you like me to say?”

It comes out quickly, a jumble of syllables she has to piece together like a puzzle. She blinks, hand still on his.

“… tell them ‘no comment’, or something,” she replies. “There’s … there’s really no sense in denying it, at this point. I mean, we don’t even know what we’re doing. When we figure that out I don’t mind telling them, as long as HR’s not going to fuck either of us over, but can we figure it out first?”

“Sure, of course.” It’s said just as quickly, and she smiles as he puts his other hand on top of hers, flipping the one beneath her hand over so that he can press her fingers between his palms. “No comment. Okay.”

“Okay.” Her smile turns into a grin and she slides her hand from between his to squeeze his fingers. “Okay. We can do this.” She pulls her hand away to take another sip of the sparkling water, watching as his lips turn up into the smallest hint of a smile before he looks back out the window.

“Ben!”

Rey snorts in surprise, spilling water over her hand and down her wrist as her eyes go wide. The bubbles burn her nose, and she laughs behind her hand as Han Solo and Leia Organa step into the café, Han grinning and giving a short, brief wave to her.

Ren turns and groans. “Oh, God, why?”

“Because fate’s a bitch, that’s why,” Rey mutters as she presses a napkin to her lips and nose, wiping sparkling water from her face before standing. “Bonjour.”

“Hello, sweetheart,” Leia says, smiling at her. She’s wearing glasses, something Rey hasn’t seen before but has to admit is a good look on the older woman. She looks radiant in white as well, and Rey smiles. All right, so maybe the whole white thing was a good way to go. “How are you?”

Rey’s gaze snaps to Han as he looks towards the waiter. “Nah, don’t bother for a new table, we’ll just sit with them. Pull another up.”

“Han,” Leia says warningly just as Ren snaps, “Dad!”

“It’s fine,” Rey insists, grinning at Han as the waiter lifts one of the other tables over and sets it next to theirs. “This’ll be fun, really.”

She looks towards Ren, who’s glaring at her. Her grin broadens as she moves to kiss Han’s cheek before slipping back into her chair.

“Traitor,” Ren mutters as Han and Leia sit down.

“Asshole,” Rey replies cheekily, still smiling as Han takes his place next to her.

“Oh my God, Ben!”

Rey’s gaze snaps to Leia, who’s cupping her son’s face and staring at him with wide eyes. She tilts him, looking at his unmarked cheek before turning back to the bruised one. “What happened?!”

“Tony,” Ren replies flatly.

“Did you make him bleed back?” Han asks, leaning back in the chair and draping his arm over the back of Rey’s. She glances towards his arm for a moment before looking back towards mother and son.

“No,” Ren replies just as flatly. “He was fired and blamed me because his sexual advances on Rey were the cause of it. Sexual harassment of her and several of his assistants as well as, apparently, plagiarizing from our past issues as well as ones from Britain and Greece.”

Han lets out a low whistle. “And assault?”

“And assault,” Ren replies, nodding and wincing as Leia strokes his cheek.

“The gala,” Leia recalls. “I remember at the gala.”

“Yes,” Rey says softly. “That … was apparently the starting point.”

“Oh, Ben,” Leia mumbles, turning to thank the waiter quickly for her and Han’s drinks and Ren and Rey’s soup before returning her attention to her injured son. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Ren says. “Please stop touching it.”

She removes her hands immediately, and Rey watches as he closes his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath. She touches her toe to his shin, watches as his eyes snap to her again before Leia asks about his opinion on the collection they’d just seen. She tunes out Ren’s low voice, looking towards Han instead. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know, following this one around,” Han says, nodding towards Leia. “At least for the week. And then she’s staying here and I’m off to LA.”

“You don’t live together?” Rey asks, frowning as she looks between Leia and her husband.

“Sometimes, yeah. But my agency’s in LA. Modeling, you know,” Han says, and her heart drops when he looks her up and down. “We could use you.”

“No.”

Rey looks towards Ren, who’s openly glaring at his father. She blinks, looking between father and son.

“She’s not joining Falcon.”

“She could. She has the look, Ben.”

“Kylo,” Ren hisses. “She’s not going to model.”

“That’s her decision, not yours, boy. She can do both.”

“She can’t assist me in L.A., not when I need her in New York.”

“Email. Or text. Or video chat.”

“It’s not the same, Dad.”

“Han,” Leia says, tone placating, and Rey looks towards her as the older woman reaches to take Han’s hand across the table. Rey wishes Ren could open his hand that easily, squeeze hers the way Han’s squeezing Leia’s fingers. “They’re together. Don’t make them live on opposite sides of the country.”

“What? Officially?” Han demands, looking towards his son.

Rey bites her lip. “Not officially,” she says quickly, sure that both Ren and his parents can see the flush on her cheeks. “We haven’t said anything to the press. So if you could-“

“We won’t,” Leia says. Rey’s almost certain it’s the trick of the light, or maybe a shadow going by from someone outside, but she can swear that she sees the older woman wink as she reaches for a bit of bread.

“Thank you,” Rey mutters, looking towards Ren.

It takes him a moment for him to look at her, but when he does, she smiles and is surprised to see him give her a little half-smile back.

“You sleep together yet?”

"Han. Stop."

Chapter Text

“Hey.”

Kylo glances towards the woman next to him, eyes darting to where she’s holding his hand before he moves his gaze to her face again. It’s the softest little word, almost whispered as they ride in the car on the way to the press conference. She squeezes his fingers with her much, much smaller ones, offering him a small smile in encouragement as her thumb strokes across the back of his hand. "You okay?" she asks.

“I’m fine,” he says, perhaps a bit too harshly as he rakes his free hand through his hair, sighing a bit. “It needs to be done. It’ll offer some closure with the company.”

“Who are the other editors? The ones who are helping to take over Italy?” Rey asks, moving to lace her fingers with his. He sighs again, tipping his head back and looking towards the cream-colored ceiling of the Bentley.

“Elliot,” he replies. “And Clint Renner, from Germany.”

“Enna?” she asks. He shakes his head.

“No, she has enough on her plate already,” he mutters as she squeezes his hand again.

“What, like you don’t?” Rey demands, and he looks back towards her to see her brow furrowed. She shifts, angling herself towards him on the leather seat. “Kylo, isn’t there anyone else who can take the job? Someone else in Europe so you won’t be flying across the Atlantic every time they need you?”

“No,” he mutters. “Snoke wants me for it.”

“Who even is he?” she asks.

“The CEO, and president,” he sighs, closing his eyes as he angles his head back towards the front of the car. He reaches up to run a hand through his hair. “The magazine’s run by one publisher throughout over 29 different countries. I’m just the editor-in-chief of the American branch.”

“I know who you are,” Rey insists. “… though I didn’t when I worked for Poe.”

He snorts, eyes still closed. Of course she didn't know who he was. He wouldn't expect her to, with a fashion sense like the one she had. “Why am I entirely not surprised?”

Her grip on his hand goes from soothing to painful in a second flat, and his eyes snap open to dart to their entwined hands. “Stop it, I don’t need any more injuries this trip,” he mumbles. She eases her grip, rolling her eyes and looking out towards the window, watching as the city moves by. He looks at her, reaching out to smooth a wayward strand of hair. She looks towards him again.

“I won’t need to travel there often,” he explains. “Once a month, maybe. Maybe less.”

“Once a month,” she repeats. “And how long will you stay? A week?”

“I don’t know.”

“So 12 times out of the year you’ll be flying across the ocean just to confirm that the yellow jacket works better than the green and the K’s the exact right distance from the O in Michael Kors,” she says, sounding bitter as she looks back out the window. She doesn’t meet his eyes as he squeezes her hand in kind, trying to be as reassuring as she was for him.

“You’ll be with me for however many of them you’d like.” He tugs on her hand, her gaze moving to him. “If you don’t want to come with me, I’ll be on call in case you need me. Day or night, fuck the time difference.”

She snorts in laughter, shaking her head. “No, I’ll go with you.”

He pulls her hand up and brushes his lips across her knuckles, watching as she gives him a small smile in return. “Better Italy than Greenland,” he mutters against her skin. “We’d have to stock you up in designer parkas.”

“Do those exist?”

“What do you think?”

She snorts again, shaking her head as she pulls her hand back to rest in her lap as they approach the hotel. She pulls out the lipstick he'd swiped across her lips, a dark nude color. He watches as she applies it, before grimacing at the smudge she'd made. She licks her thumb and corrects it, rubbing her fingers together to get rid of the color on them. “I think the industry is ridiculous, that’s what I think. Designer parkas? Really? The transparent plastic dresses are bad enough. Seriously, it's insane."

“Have to agree with you on that one.”

“Yet you’re living in it,” she observes, glancing towards him as she slips the lipstick back into her bag.

“Yes. For some strange reason,” he mutters, meeting her curious gaze, “I am."

-

He’s prepared for the amount of journalists and paparazzi outside of the hotel that the company had chosen. The news of Tony’s firing had been let out that morning, quickly followed by articles and Twitter statements from his previous assistants. He hopes to hell and back that his own assistant won’t have to make a statement, given the private nature of the gala, but he wouldn’t doubt it if something slipped from someone’s lips.

“I’ll get out first,” he tells Rey as Mitaka pulls the car up. The cameras immediately start to flash, and he opens the door without waiting for the driver to even unbuckle. “Merci,” Kylo says as he slips out.

He offers his hand back to her, and she takes it. He helps her out and watches as she bows her head, keeping her hand on the right side of her face as she turns her left towards him. He puts his hand on the small of her back, palm finding the bare skin of her back between her top and her skirt. “You can face them, if you want,” he whispers as he starts to lead her forward.

“After,” Rey mutters back. “Let’s deal with Tony now.”

After. After, she’ll face them. It’s better than what she’s said before, in regards to addressing the press, so he just nods and leads her into the hotel, keeping her close.

Hux is standing by the door to the conference room. He’s standing ram-rod straight, eyes scanning the two up and down before he nods at Kylo. “They’re ready whenever you are.”

Kylo nods back, taking note of the shoddy concealer job under the man’s eyes and the way his cheeks are slightly red. He must’ve had a drink, at some point between the show and here. Kylo wishes he'd done the same, honestly, but he knows that Rey wouldn't agree. Or maybe she would've joined him. He's unsure. “Do we have permission from Snoke for the go-ahead?”

“Yes. Is she going in with you?”

“Yes, are you coming, too?”

“Yes. Snoke’s orders.”

Brilliant. For once he’s actually grateful for the man’s company. In the meeting regarding the termination of Tony’s contract, Hux had been a surprisingly valuable ally, giving a detailed report of the gala incident. Kylo wonders how close the other man had been when it happened, how he’d managed to see Rey crowded against the door by the other man.

“Is it a podium mic or a clip?” Rey asks, looking towards Hux.

“Clip,” the other man replies.

“Where is it?”

“On the podium. I've checked the charge already, it's working.”

She nods, and turns towards Kylo, meeting the editor-in-chief’s eyes. “Ready?”

She’s scared. He can see it in the way she bites her lip, the way the soft smile that comes after doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Her hands are clasped in front of her, holding the handles to her purse and shifting on the leather. He ducks down quickly, brushing his lips against her cheek. He can feel her lean into him for a moment, and he lingers, wrapping his arm subtly around her to provide comfort.

“I’ll go in first,” Hux announces from somewhere to the left, and Kylo can hear the creak of the door as he slips inside. The muffled murmurs of the journalists and reporters get louder, and as soon as they’re somewhat dull again he’s wrapping his arms around her fully.

“What are you scared of?” he mumbles against her temple. "This is regarding Tony. This isn't regarding us, you know that."

“Nothing,” she admits. “I just … needed you, for a moment, that’s all.”

“You have me.” And that she does. She’s had him for a while. He wonders if he’ll ever truly have her.

She sighs again. "What if they ask about the gala?"

"I'll say 'no comment'. Either that, or tell the triumphant story of how you splashed him with champagne."

She snorts, and then Rey’s stepping away from him, offering him a smile that’s not quite confident but is a good imitation of one. “Let’s go.”

“You’re behind me,” he says, nodding.

“Yes, sir.”

He nods again before reaching for the conference room door handle, tugging it open. She’s immediately at his side, head high and gaze steady in front of her. He tries not to let himself smile as he walks towards the podium, strides long and heavy on the wooden floor, shoes making a loud ‘clap’ with every step. She has to take two steps for every one of his, and he can hear the clack of her nude Louboutins as she stays just behind him. He's glad for her presence, glad she'll be on the same stage as him. He can see Hux standing just to the right, on the opposite side from the chair Rey'll be sitting in.

He ascends the stage and walks towards the podium, impressed at the lack of muttering. He knows full well his injured cheek's in full view, and he does nothing to hide it from the press as he stands at the front. Part of him’s actually glad it darkened over night; it’ll show up more on camera, more proof of Tony’s questionable sanity.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rey as she sits in the offered chair to his right, crossing her ankles and folding her hands in her lap as she watches him and waits. She's biting her lip again, lipstick all but gone and revealing the reddened skin beneath it. Though her upper body's still, he can see that her foot's moving a bit, the young woman nervous enough to need constant movement. He nods towards her because it's the only thing he can do, at present, and notices that the right corner of her lips quirks up just slightly at his acknowledgement of her.

There’s no introduction for this one. He’s on his own as he looks towards Hux who’s standing just to his left, hands behind his back and eyes out towards the room. Kylo clips the mic to his suit jacket, tapping it to test the sound, and then waits until he has the redhead’s attention. The other man nods subtly, and that’s the cue Kylo takes to look out towards the room of press.

“As all of you know, Antonio Renaldi’s contract with General Fashion and Alderaan Publishing was terminated immediately as of a company-wide meeting yesterday. The reasons behind his termination include, but are not excluded to, sexual harassment, and plagiarism. On top of those reasons, we can add ‘assault’ to the list, as evidenced by this mark.” He turns his cheek, and is almost blinded by the cameras that go off as he turns his face for a clear view of the throbbing bruise that makes his cheek ache with every word. He looks towards Rey, and sees she’s biting her lip but holding her tongue. She offers him the smallest smile as he looks back towards the press.

“I’ve been told that his previous assistants have spoken up in regards to his treatment of them. However, seeing as none of them are here, I can only speak for myself and my own interactions with the man. I can’t say I know him well, but I knew him to be a shoddy editor and have questioned his abilities several times over the three years of his being in the position of editor-in-chief of Italian General Fashion.”

He looks towards Hux, nodding towards the redheaded man. “I know my opinions are shared with others in the company, in the American branch as well as others. My executive editor shares my views.”

Kylo moves his gaze back out towards the several dozen people with mics and notepads and cameras. “I support the company’s decision to terminate Mr. Renaldi’s contract immediately. Plagiarism from past and present General Fashion issues as well as other magazines is not only lazy, but it is dishonest and insincere. But above all, sexual harassment will not be tolerated by General Fashion, in any branch. It is a violation of contract and a serious offense that is punishable by termination of said contract. I refuse to support Mr. Renaldi, after his actions.”

His statement and position made on the subject, he nods towards the press. “Questions will now be answered.”

There’s a flurry of hands, and he looks to Hux to pick the first. The redheaded man points to a pale brunette woman in the front, holding a pad of paper and a recording device towards the podium.

“Who will be taking over Mr. Renaldi’s branch while General Fashion and Alderaan publishing searches for a new editor-in-chief?” she asks, her accent heavily French.

“I will be assisting in the publication of future issues for the time being. Elliot Renolds and Clint Renner of British General Fashion and German General Fashion respectively will be assisting me in the process. I will be making trips to Italy to finalize the most vital decisions.”

He looks towards Hux, the question answered. The blonde woman mutters a quick, “Merci,” as she scribbles on her pad.

Hux points towards a dark-skinned man in a fine bright blue suit towards the back. Kylo hums, nodding in approval of the man’s choice of clothing as he stands. He's young, and obviously nervous, but holds himself well as he delivers his question. “Will Mr. Renaldi be facing charges from those he harassed? Will you yourself pursue charges on account of the obvious assault?” he asks, dark eyes wide as he holds his notebook.

“I will not be pressing charges,” Kylo says, shaking his head. “As for those whom he harassed, I cannot and will not speak for them as they have their own voices.”

The young man nods, jotting down the editor’s answer.

“Ford?” Kylo asks.

He watches as the young man's eyes dart up from his notebook, wide and shocked. “Pardon, sir?”

“Ford. Is your suit Tom Ford?” Kylo asks, nodding towards him.

“Y-yes, sir,” the young man stutters, looking down at himself before looking back up towards Kylo.

Kylo nods, offering the slightest smile that has the cameras flashing in a heartbeat. He can’t remember the last time he willingly smiled for a camera outside of a photoshoot that required some sort of expression. “Excellent choice.”

“Thank you, sir.” It’s barely a sentence, more of a shocked whisper as the man practically bows before returning to his seat.

Hux points to a redheaded woman next, who stands immediately. The red dress combined with her red hair makes a fiery combination, and Kylo nods at her to start.

“Will this cause delay in the Italian spread for General Fashion?” she asks.

“No,” Kylo replies simply, knowing that Elliot and Clint had received what the Italian branch had been working on in the meeting. “There will be no delay.”

Satisfied, she sits back down.

The next man, a pale man with even paler hair and sharp grey eyes, asks, “Did Mr. Renaldi hit you before or after the gala incident where your assistant was harassed?"

What little murmuring there had been in the room ascends in volume immediately, and Kylo glances towards Rey to see her reaction as the cameras aim towards her and flash sporadically. Her eyes are wide, and she looks like a deer in headlights, staring out towards the press before she looks to him so quickly his neck hurts just from watching her.

He keeps his eyes on her as he replies curtly. “After. Next question.”

She relaxes slightly, gaze turning down towards her feet.

“Can we expect a statement from President Snoke regarding the matter? Or any of those Mr. Renaldi harassed?”

“I cannot speak for either of those parties,” he replies, looking away from Rey and back towards the press as he can feel his heartbeat thud behind his throat. So word had gotten out. “I’m unsure of President Snoke’s standing on a statement, but I was told that several of Mr. Renaldi’s assistants have made personal statements on various social media accounts of their experiences with him. I have not read any of them.”

“Are you in an intimate relationship with your own assistant, Miss Rey Kenobi?”

The question’s shouted before Hux can even raise his hand to pick another person. The journalist who'd shouted doesn’t stand, and Kylo’s left to scan the crowd as the murmurs get louder once again. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Rey straighten as the cameras flash towards her, and he grips the podium so hard he can feel the wood digging into his flesh as he looks out towards the crowd and the blinding lights.

He glances towards his assistant, feeling his heart skip a beat as he looks at her in her white outfit, looking every bit what he's not. Bright, and light, and pure, and perfect when he's so far from.

No comment.

Two words. Two simple words, three measly syllables. It’s easy to say, and yet he finds the words caught in his throat as he looks towards her. She's terrified, shocked still as she stares at him, back straight and hands folded so tightly that he can see the whites of her knuckles, can see how she's trying to hard to offer a respectable, small smile despite everything.

No comment.

He can’t say it. The words feel sour just behind his tongue, and he sighs softly, though he can’t entirely discern whether he’s frustrated with the press, or with himself for his inability to do as asked of him by her.

“… I will say this once,” he says, keeping his voice low and even as he watches her. He can feel his heart thudding in his chest, throat tight as he struggles to find the words to say. “... it’s not a question of whether I’m in a relationship with Miss Rey Kenobi, but a question of whether Miss Rey Kenobi would like to pursue a relationship with me. It is her choice to make, not mine, and she will make that choice on her own time and without my influence. As for intimacy, I will say ‘no comment’.”

There are black spots dancing in his vision as the cameras continue flashing out of the corner of his eye. He hasn’t lifted his gaze from her, watching as her mouth falls open just the slightest bit in shock, brown eyes wide. She’s going to hate him for it, he knows, but as far as he’s concerned their relationship’s a bit more than ‘no comment’.

No, it’s a hell of a lot more than ‘no comment’.

Kylo sighs, closing his eyes for half a second to take a steadying breath. He can still feel his heartbeat in his throat, can still feel it like a jackhammer, so hard he's surprised it's not visible. He opens his eyes and looks towards the press. “Any more questions about my assistant and a relationship between us will not be answered. Questions about Mr. Renaldi may continue.”

“Any word on the next issue’s content?”

“That’s a question for Mr. Renolds and Mr. Renner.”

“How often will you be traveling to Italy?”

“As of now, unknown.”

“Is Mr. Renaldi staying for the rest of Fashion Week, or is he returning to Italy?”

“Again, unknown,” Kylo replies, watching as Rey shifts out of the corner of his eye. He desperately wants to look towards her, wants to step towards her and apologize already, but he swallows his heart in hopes of sending it back down to his chest as he nods towards the press. “Thank you for your time and questions.”

More are shouted out as he looks towards Hux. The redheaded man nods as the cameras go off, and then he’s looking towards Rey.

She’s already up, but her purse is left by the chair, and she’s three steps in front of him, now two. He’s opening his mouth to ask what the hell she’s doing when he feels the heat of her hand on the back of his neck, and he’s being pulled down to her. He meets her eyes for half a second before their mouths slot together, and then he can barely hear the sounds of the cameras and the shouts of the press over his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

His hand finds the small of her back, her skin warm beneath his fingers, and he bows her into him as her hand tangles in his hair. Her mouth’s hot, and hard, and she sucks on his lower lip just slightly before pressing one more chaste kiss to his lips and pulling back to meet his gaze.

She looks just as determined as the first time he saw her, watching her as she slipped through the elevator doors and insisted he give her a chance. Only now she’s panting softly, and her hand is in his hair and his hand at her back. He can feel the warmth of her body pressed against his, her chest flush with his as he'd pulled her closer in front of the cameras.

“Wha-“ he starts.

“You offered me a choice,” she breathes, and he wonders if the mic still attached to his jacket will pick her words up. Judging by the furious scribbling he hears, he guesses it did. “I’m making it now.”

He moves his other hand up to cup her cheek, tilting her face up so that he can kiss her one more time, though it’s a bit difficult when he’s smiling against her lips. He can feel her smiling, too, and can see the cameras flashing so brightly that he sees spots.

“We should go,” she says against his mouth a moment later.

“We should,” he admits, arm sliding from where it had wrapped around her waist.

He turns and looks towards Hux. The man’s face is entirely unreadable, but the flush in his cheeks is completely gone as he watches the two. It’s with a nod that he gives his wordless statement, and Kylo nods back in thanks as Rey slips from his grip to grab her purse. She returns to his side a moment later, and he leads her down the steps of the small stage to the aisle. More questions are shouted at them, the flashes blinding as she walks beside him, his arm on the small of her back as he guides her through. This time, he notices, she doesn’t hide her face or her smile as they leave the room.

“Do you have to do everything in public?”

Kylo snorts as they leave the room, turning towards Hux as the man slips out as well, the door slamming shut behind him. “No.”

“I’m just grateful you didn’t drop to your knees and shove her skirt up again,” Hux deadpans as Kylo watches Rey grin out of the corner of his eye. “Congratulations.” The word comes out soft.

Kylo stares at the redhead man, catching the slightest flicker of a sad smile on the executive’s editor, so small he’s not certain it existed at all. “Thank you,” Rey says from beside him.

“Thank you,” Kylo repeats, a bit delayed but there all the same. He can feel Rey’s hand slip around his arm, squeezing herself closer now that there’s no need to stand apart.

Hux nods, and then he’s walking by them. Kylo turns to watch the man walk off, noticing the exact moment his head bows and his shoulders hunch as he walks down the hallway.

He waits, watching as Hux disappears around the corner before looking down towards his assistant, who’s watching the other man as well. “… do you know?” she asks, glancing up towards him.

“No,” he admits. “I have no clue.” He frowns. “Did you get confirmation from-“

“The hotel that your suit and the Dolce and Gabbana dress arrived? Yes, during the show. I checked my phone for it in the car. We’re good to go.”

“Let’s go, then.”

As they step out into the throng of people with cameras, he glances towards her and notices that she’s not hiding her face from the less distinguished paparazzi. Instead, she’s looking forward, head high and smile slight as they walk towards the car.

He moves to slip his hand into hers, and catches her eye as Mitaka pulls up.

“Thank you,” he says as she sits on the seat to slide to the other side. She looks up at him as he braces his arms on the car and leans forward, hiding her from view.

“Why are you thanking me?” she asks, frowning.

“For being willing to give this a try,” he replies as he follows after her, closing the door behind him.

He goes to turn back to her to find she’s already there and reaching for him, pulling him into a soft kiss that makes him breathe easier. “Are we dating?” she asks against his mouth, and when he opens his eyes hers are still closed.

“I’m shit at it,” he replies. “A date might be eating lunch in my office during your break sometimes, or it might be taking advantage of a free half hour every now and then when we get back to New York, or-“

“Don’t care.” Another chaste kiss is pressed to his lips.

“Then, yes, we’re dating,” he says.

“Can you take me to the Louvre before we leave? There were a few more rooms that I wanted to see.”

The Louvre. Simple. He can do that. “If you find a time in my schedule, it’s a date.”

“I think I can do that.”

He grins as they pull away from the cameras, leaning in to kiss her again.

-

Her soft, inquisitive hum from below draws his eyes to her, and he raises an eyebrow at her. She’s lying beside him in bed, her white Ted Baker outfit stripped to leave her in the pale pink Agent Provocateur set he absolutely loves on her. The color’s close enough to her skin tone that it almost looks like she’s wearing nothing at all, and he can see everything beneath the sheer mesh, but he’s eager for when he can take it off of her, that little bit of extra effort to get to her.

“What is it?” he asks, watching as she snorts and smirks at her phone.

“Apparently our kiss was a ‘brazen display of intimacy, confirming what the entire world already knew from the way he looks at her’.” She grins up at him, and he reaches down to run his fingers through her hair, spilled out on the plush white pillows. “You do look at me like I’m the sun.”

“I do,” he confirms. “Because you are.”

“Oh, shut up. If I’m the sun, you’re the dark side of the moon,” she says before perking up and pointing at him. “Wait, no, Pluto. Cold and distant and –“

“If you say ‘small’-“ he warns, and is rewarded with her laughter as she pushes herself up on her elbows. He watches her as she shifts towards him, and sets the Book aside so that she can crawl into his lap. She settles herself on his thighs, smile bright as she loops her arms around his neck. He moves his hands to her bare waist, thumbs stroking along her smooth skin as she grins down at him.

She looks gorgeous, hair a mess from the pillows and his hands and nearly naked on top of him, skin warm beneath his hands. He smiles a bit as she leans forward, brushing her mouth against his.

“No, you’re not small,” she mutters. “You’re fucking huge.”

He snorts, pecking her lips. “Am I really?”

“Yeah, you hurt my jaw when I blew you,” she says. “And you stretch me every time you slip your cock in my cunt.” Her little hip roll is unbearably sexy, and even though she’s not settled on his crotch, and he hums.

“We have to get ready soon,” he says, regretfully.

“I know.” She moves closer to him, and he wraps his arm around her waist as she shifts off of his lap to settle at his side. He pulls her closer, kissing her forehead as she rests her head on his shoulder. “… will this change, when we get back to New York?”

“Probably,” he mutters. “We won’t be living together.”

“But at least we know we can without ripping each other’s throats out,” she pipes, and he snorts, nodding in response.

“Debatable,” he replies. He hums as she curls closer to him. “We’ll figure it out when we get back. We still have Saturday, and Sunday.”

“We do,” she says. “And you’re taking me to the Louvre tomorrow.”

“Am I?”

“Mhm.” She kisses his jaw. “We have the last gala on Sunday, with the designers and the rest of the editors and models and everyone else. On Saturday you have another meeting with the editors in the afternoon and breakfast with Lagerfeld and Armani – am I coming with you to that?” she asks, sitting up just slightly and frowning.

“If you’d like to, but you can sleep if you’d like,” he replies. “That’s at 9, right?”

“Right. So afternoon meeting with editors, breakfast with designers. There wasn’t anything down for dinner.”

“Then I’m taking you out.”

She leans back, narrowing her eyes at him as he looks towards her. “Kylo-“

“I’m taking you out,” he repeats. “You get your Louvre, I get my dinner.”

“Fine,” she huffs, and he blinks at how easy it was to win her over. “We’ll go to the Louvre and then do dinner. But I swear, if this is going to be like a $5,000 dinner-“

“It won’t be,” he says, though he’s not entirely sure. He knows where he’s taking her already, humming softly. “It depends on the wine.”

Her head dips down and connects with his chest as she groans. “Oh, my God, Kylo, stop.”

“Never,” he mumbles. “We need to get you dressed soon.”

“How soon?”

“20 minutes.”

“I’ll take it,” she says, and he turns as she curls into him, eyes slipping closed.

He watches her and holds her closer, heart skipping a beat as she smiles a bit at how he angles her so that she can rest her head on his chest more comfortably.

Kylo’s close to drifting off as well when she asks, “Do I have to wear the corset tonight?”

He smirks, eyes still closed. “Not unless you want to.”

Her exaggerated sigh and following, “Thank God,” make him chuckle.

-

Her phone rings about ten minutes later, regretfully. He hates to see her shift on his chest in annoyance, though her pissed-off-face is cute. She reaches for the phone, swiping and running a hand through her hair as she lifts it to her ear. “Rey Kenobi.”

He watches as she sits up more, pulling her knees up and wrapping her free arm around them. She frowns. “Yes,” she replies to the speaker. “… It’s possible. Thank you very much, either he or I will be right down,” she says. “Yes, merci.”

“Who was it?” he asks, as she hangs up and runs her hand through her hair again before slipping off of the bed.

“Front desk. Delivery of something. I thought we got the dress already?” she asks, standing and turning towards him. Kylo thinks for a moment, before he remembers, and then he smiles as he slides off the bed.

“No, I know what it is. You stay here, I’m dressed. You're very much not."

“I can go if you need me to,” she insists, frowning at him as he bends to lace his shoes up. “Seriously, Kylo, I’m your assistant, I can pick up a damn package.”

“And if it’s a gift for you?” he questions, looking over his shoulder at her as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Kylo,“ she says warningly before she breaks and sighs. “I don’t need anything, I told you.”

“It’s for the dinner tonight,” he replies, finishing up his shoes and standing to cross to her. She goes into his arms willingly, and he hums as her arms wrap around his waist. “I’ll be right back.”

“You say that like I can’t stand being without you,” she teases, but she’s grinning.

“Well, I don’t think I could stand being without you,” he jokes right back, even though he knows there’s a significant amount of truth in his statement.
He’s not entirely sure when it became fact, but he does know that if she walked out of his life he wouldn’t be able to function. Not just because he loves her, but because she’s the most competent assistant he’s ever had and he’s selfish in wanting her to stay as both.

“I know for a fact you couldn’t,” she says. “Who would get your ties dry-cleaned and pick up scarves from Hermes and get your ridiculous coffee orders? How you don’t have cavities I don’t know. At how much sugar you’re drinking I should be scheduling dentist appointments every other week.”

He chuckles as she slips from his arms, watching as she runs a hand through her hair and walks to the black Dolce and Gabbana dress hanging on the back of the bathroom door. She pulls it from the hanger and sets it out on her side of the bed, walking to the closet to get the shoes they'd discussed for her, cherry red Louboutin's.

“Go. Do you need me to do anything while you’re gone?” she asks as she returns with the box. “Set anything out for you?"

“Black Tom Ford suit,” he calls as he grabs his room key and his wallet from the dresser by the door.

“… which one?” she calls back.

“The one with the peak lapels.”

“… you know what, I’m just going to wait until you get back.”

He chuckles again as he walks out the door, holding it as he goes so that it doesn’t slam behind him. He walks to the elevators, toying with the room key in his hand as he waits.

He hopes the set looks as nice as Elliot told him it did. Though he couldn’t be there in person, the small brunet had sent him pictures of the jewelry, and it was enough for him.

The elevator dings and he slips inside of it, the room key sliding between his fingers as he flips it over his hand.

She deserves the world, though he knows she won’t accept it – if she does, it would be reluctantly.

He, in turn, has no idea what he’s done to deserve her.

The man from Cartier is waiting at the front desk, bearing the black leather case that Kylo knows holds the red and gold boxes. The editor-in-chief nods to the concierge, a man he's never seen before. “Thank you.” He then turns to the ambassador for the Cartier store a few blocks over. “The set?”

“Yes, sir.” The man replies. “Would you like to see them?”

“Yes, please.” They’ve already been paid for, and so all he has to do is confirm that he wants them. He watches as the man opens the case and brings out the three boxes, opening the earrings first for the editor-in-chief.

They sparkle more in person. Kylo reaches forward to trail his fingers over the orchid flowers. They’re small studs, not the dangling jewels that he’d wanted originally, but perhaps they’re more elegant this way. He can see her slipping them in her ears, the orchids beneath the second piercing she wears just above the first, a small pair of studs constantly in the second hole. He’ll have to get her a nice pair of diamond ones to slip in them eventually, but for now these will do.

“Wonderful,” he mutters, closing the box and slipping it towards him. “And the necklace?”

The man brings out the broader box and opens it.

Kylo nods immediately at the collection of small orchids, matching the earrings. He knows the bracelet looks like a smaller version of the necklace, and nods towards the slimmer box. “Beautiful. Thank you very much. I’m sorry about the short notice. They're a surprise for my assistant, and she hasn't left my side since this morning." Let the world know how close they are, let word get around that he buys her jewels, he doesn't give a damn any more. He'd prefer it, actually.

“It’s no problem, sir. Thank you for your business,” the man nods before taking his black case back, leaving the three red boxes with Kylo as he turns and leaves.

Kylo stacks the earring box on top of the bracelet and then balances both on the necklace, stepping back into the elevator. He chances opening the bracelet on the elevator, humming in approval of the sparkling diamonds laid on the cream fabric. He can just see it on her slim wrist, can see him fastening the small clasp. Can see it slipping down her arm as she reaches into his hair, tugging slightly as their lips slot together. It's a pretty picture, and he smirks as the elevator reaches their floor. He lets the bracelet box close with a harsh 'snap' and steps out, walking to their suite and swiping the key.

He walks into the bedroom and smirks when he finds Rey sitting on the bed, still in the lingerie with her phone in her hand and the Tom Ford suit beside her. Impressed, he raises an eyebrow at her though she doesn't see it, eyes still focused on the screen.

“Okay, so I had to Google what ‘peak lapels’ were,” she mutters. “I thought there was only one kind of lapel, honestly, why do you need three?” She looks up at him and stops, her eyes darting to the red and gold boxes. He hears her sharp intake of breath, watches as her eyes go wide and her shoulders tense. “No, Kylo-“

“It’s for business,” he insists as she stands, throwing her phone back on the bed. She'd be much more intimidating if he couldn't see her dusky nipples through the sheer mesh of her bra, but she still looks pissed off as she stalks towards him.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” she hisses. “Three? Seriously? Kylo, how much were these?” Her eyes are focused on the three boxes in his hands, and he watches as she rakes a hand through her hair and sighs in exasperation with him.

“Not as much as your other one,” he replies. It's a lie. In total, they were more, but not too much more. But he won't tell her that, not when she's glaring at the boxes like they've done her all the wrong in the world.

“Oh, my God, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she whispers. “Kylo, I mean it, I don’t-“

“I bought them to go with the dress you’re wearing tonight, and the dress you’re wearing for the gala,” he clarifies.

He’d planned on opening them slowly, revealing the diamonds and white gold to her one at a time and watching her reaction to each beautiful piece, but she snatches the earring box from him and opens it, the lid cracking with a ‘snap’. He watches as her eyes widen. “Kylo, what the-“

“White gold and diamond orchid earrings,” he tells her.

“How much were these?”

“Almost 12,000.”

The coverlet makes a soft ‘whish’ noise as she falls back into it, still holding the earrings and staring at them with her mouth open as she sits. “Kylo, I can’t-“

“This is the matching necklace,” he tells her. “There’s a bracelet as well.”

“You can’t just do this!”

It’s hissed angrily, and he blinks at her as she glares at him. “What?”

“You can’t just – Kylo, you can’t just drop this kind of money, oh my God,” she groans, and the earring box is set aside as she buries her hands in her hair. “Kylo, you’ve given me enough money in jewelry to buy a fucking house, you know that right? Or pay for my college tuition twice over! Oh, my God.”

She looks like she’s hyperventilating, and he slides the necklace and bracelet onto the bedside table so that he can sit beside her. Her face is in her hands, and her shoulders are hunched. He reaches for her, touching her bare waist with his fingers. She doesn't flinch away, thankfully, and he watches as she pulls her hands down to rest in her lap.

“I can give them to the company once we’re finished with them,” he mutters. “If you’d like.”

“No, Kylo, I’d like for you to stop buying them!” she insists.

“Compared to other pieces of jewelry that I could’ve purchased, they’re relatively cheap.”

She looks at him, mouth open in shock. “That’s your argument? Really?" she demands before she rolls her eyes. "You’re fucking insane, you know that?”

He snorts, reaching for the bracelet. She watches him as he opens the box, leather creaking. He hears her breath catch, and shows the bracelet to her, watching as she goes to reach out just slightly before pulling her hand right back. “I liked the motif.”

“Yes, because that’s why you should buy, a what – 20,000? 30,000? – bracelet, because it’s pretty and shiny and you like flowers.”

“Exactly,” he replies. “That’s why you buy anything, because you like it.”

She's silent, and then she asks, in one of the softest voices he's ever heard, “Kylo, are you trying to buy me?”

His answer’s as immediate as the pang in his heart that her words bring, eyes darting to her in shock. “What? No, never.” He leans forward, and is relieved when she doesn’t pull away, instead letting him lean down and forward until he can feel her breath against his lips. “… I …” he starts, but trails off, trying to figure out a way to phrase what he’s about to say. “… you know my … love of pretty people in pretty things.”

“But clothes and lingerie are different,” she protests.

“How?” he demands. “How is it different, aside from a price point? You put them on, and I take them off. They accentuate the beauty of the wearer, compliment them. You wearing that damn lingerie makes me want to put my head between your thighs, and you wearing this necklace will make me want to put my mouth on your neck. How are they different? And don’t tell me the price.”

She’s quiet.

He chances brushing a kiss against her lips, and sighs as she kisses him back, slow and gentle. “… I’d like to see you wear it,” he mutters. “And if you want me to return it tomorrow, then I can. Or I can turn it over to the company and get the money back. But I haven’t had the opportunity to purchase anything for anyone in a long time.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t bought your mother anything?” she asks, and the light, teasing tone of her voice makes him feel a bit better. He presses his forehead to hers, smirking a bit.

“My mother doesn’t count, she’s my mother, I’m obligated to purchase her gifts on days that call for them,” he replies. “I mean someone like you.”

She’s quiet, once again, and he watches as her eyes close. A groan follows soon after. “I feel like you’re my sugar daddy or something, I swear.”

He chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. She leans into him, and he moves his lips up to her temple. “That’s not what this is,” he mutters. “I promise.”

“… let me get dressed, first, then we can see how it looks,” she replies. “If I don’t like it, I’m taking it off.”

“Of course.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?” she asks as she climbs into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist as she moves to wrap her arms around his neck. His arms circle her, and he smirks as he looks up at her. Her makeup's a bit smudged from her short doze, mascara underneath her eyes and hair losing some of its curl from earlier in the day. He'll have to fix that, but for now he'll savor it. He loves her like this, the slight smirk to match his own and her hands curling into his hair, nails dragging along his scalp as his own hands find her slight waist.

“Says the woman who thought wearing a marked down sweater from K-Mart with holes along the neckline was acceptable at a fashion magazine.”

“Hey, the grunge look’s coming back in style,” she protests, and he laughs, loving her so much.

She presses her face to his neck, her hands slipping from his hair to roam up and down his back. They’re small, but warm through the dress shirt he's wearing, and he closes his eyes as he drinks his fill of what he’s sure is the calm before the storm of press they’ll have waiting for them once they step into the world again.

Chapter Text

She is bright beside Ren.

He’s not entirely sure why he thought that would change after the events of the afternoon. The Editor-In-Chief has failed to dim her so far, and for some reason Hux thought that, maybe, once their relationship became public and even more open to ridicule, her light would fade ever so slightly. It hasn’t, not at all. If anything, she beams brighter, steps sure and smile brilliant. He half expects sunbeams to start bursting through the seams of her black Dolce and Gabbana dress, the tight fabric too flimsy to contain her and her light.

Hux sips his red wine and watches them as they enter to a slew of cameras and questions. They walk side by side, her hand on his arm for support as she walks in cherry red Louboutins. Ren’s little half smile is as close as the press is going to get to a grin. It’s the most Hux’s ever seen, at least. Rey’s grin’s wide enough to reveal the dimples in her cheeks, and he hates himself for knowing that she has them in the first place and recognizing them immediately. He watches as she leans into Ren. The Editor-in-Chief glances to her slightly, smile becoming just a tiny bit bigger as she moves closer.

Hux feels heartsick.

He takes a bigger gulp, wishing he’d opted for whiskey or bourbon or maybe even tequila, but settling for a mouthful of the wine instead. He sits in one of the black velvet winged chairs scattered around the room, hoping that he’ll go unseen for at least a little while. He’s not sure he has the patience or the energy to speak to anyone at this point. He’s tired, so fucking tired.

He’d known. He’d known for a while, honestly. It wasn’t quite as early as her stepping off the elevator and chasing after the Editor-in-Chief, more determined than anyone else he’d encountered to make a deal with the Devil, but it was soon after. Now, he watches them silently, heart aching ever so slightly Ren’s eyes slide towards her, warmer than Hux’s ever seen. The slight grimace he didn’t even know he was making falls quickly as he sighs, taking another sip of his wine.

Rey’s smiling. The young woman beside the Editor-in-Chief has obviously come into her own, grinning as she speaks to one of the heads of foreign publishing – Germany, he thinks, judging from the man’s bald spot. Ren’s hand is still on the small of her back, and Hux tastes bile in the back of his throat when she returns to his side immediately after finishing the conversation. Ren tucks her beside him, and she goes willingly. The gesture should make her smaller, subservient to her boss. But she holds her own beside him, looking every bit as powerful as her partner.

Hux shifts, pressing himself back into the chair a bit more in hopes of avoiding anyone’s gaze or curiosity. He’ll wallow in heartbreak by himself, thanks.

It was always going to be like this, wasn’t it? The thought’s a bitter tang behind his teeth. It’s how the story goes. The Devil and his queen. Hades and Persephone. The monster and his bride. There’s no ‘monster and his husband’. Hades didn’t have a male lover, at least not to his knowledge. Regardless of the Editor-in-Chief’s sexual orientation, he knew he wasn’t part of the equation.

He’s known for years, honestly. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less when Ren’s eyes move towards Rey, her attention on Elliot but the editor’s attention on her soft smile when the Brit cracks some kind of joke.

Hux downs the bit of wine left in the bottom of his glass, and stands, walking towards the bar. A hand catches on his elbow, and he looks towards the head photographer as she moves to look at him. Phasma towers over him in her heels, and he blinks at her, slightly dazed as her nude-painted lips downturn slightly in concern. Her’s hand is warm on his elbow through his dark blue suit. “Are you all right?” she asks, voice low.

“With enough drinks, I will be,” he says firmly, nodding towards the empty glass in his hand. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. Really.” He’s speaking more to himself, at this point, and barely registers the flicker of a frown on her pretty face.

She purses her lips, looks like she’s about to argue. But instead she slides a new glass of red wine into his hand, nods, and is off again. He watches her go before slinking back. His chair’s been taken by some leggy blonde by the time he starts towards it again, so he settles for one of the chaises by the stairs away from the rest of the crowd, sitting on it and sipping from the glass. This wine’s a bit sweeter, a bit headier. He likes it; it makes his head pound in a way that drowns out all else. He scans the crowd for Satan, finding him speaking with the Japanese editor. His queen’s nowhere in sight.

“Is this seat taken?”

Speak of the Devil. Or, rather, the Devil’s girlfriend. Lover. Whatever the fuck they’re calling themselves at this point, he doesn’t know. Hux looks up towards the woman in question. Rey’s holding a glass of champagne, her clutch in her other hand as she looks down at him. Her face is as open as a book, smile soft but a bit sad and concern obvious in her warm brown eyes as she looks down at him. The dress she’s wearing is from several seasons ago, an older Dolce and Gabbana, and he should rip Ren a new one for forcing his assistant to wear something out of season. But it looks gorgeous on her, as do the rocks around her neck. Hux narrows his eyes slightly at the chain of diamond orchids as she shifts on her heels, uncertain as he says nothing.

“No,” he replies, finally, and she settles beside him, crossing her ankles and looking out towards the dinner. It’s the cocktail hour. He has at least three more hours of this to go. He wonders if he can pass for sick, excuse himself back to his hotel room. He looks the part, he’s certain.

She leans into him slightly, chaise not very big. He can feel the warmth of her through his suit jacket, and he should tell her to go away, to mind her place and return to the Devil’s side, but he doesn’t really want to. He likes her with him, shockingly. Likes the warmth she brings.

“Were you ever going to tell him?”

The question’s asked suddenly after a few heartbeats of silence between them. Her voice is sure. She knows. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that she’s not looking at him, instead towards her lover/boyfriend/whatever they are. Hux similarly watches Ren across the room, noting for the seemingly millionth time the other man’s dark eyes and full, downturned lips as he listens to everything the Japanese Editor-in-Chief is saying.
“No.”

“No?”

“Never.”

Quiet follows. He can hear the clink of glasses, the soft ambient murmur of people mingling and talking with each other. His heartbeat’s loudest of all as he watches Ren and feels the man’s lover at his side, her arm warm against his and her skin smelling exactly like the Editor-in-Chief, like the cologne Hux knows and has known for over a decade now.

“Did he tell you?” Hux asks, gaze shifting from Ren to Rey. She’s watching the other man as well, lips painted a deep red. It suits her, he thinks. She shakes her head, hair brushing her shoulders in loose waves.

“No,” Rey replies. “I figured it out on the way over.”

“So I’m not too obvious?”

“No.” She looks towards him, smile soft and sadder than he would’ve expected. “I don’t think he knows.”

“Thank God. Let’s keep it that way, please,” Hux mutters, lifting his glass to his lips and taking another sip of the wine. His head feels as heavy as his heart.

“How long?”

“Eight years.”

“That long?” she asks, and he looks to her to find her frowning. “He’s only been editor-in-chief for six.”

“My father was the German editor in chief,” he explains. “You know Leia was of the American branch. We crossed paths several times. Events like this. Shows. Occasional meetings about who was to acquire the American magazine.”

“Eight years, and you never told him,” Rey replies. Her voice is flat, shock evident in the widening of her eyes and the raise of her dark brows. Hux snorts, shaking his head before he takes another sip of wine. He lets the tannin dry his tongue, lets himself wet his lips again before he speaks.

“You’ve seen the way we work together. It would be explosive. Destructive. With our positions, we’d take the magazine down with us. It’s better if he doesn’t know, and I don’t try.”

“That’s a shit outlook to have,” Rey mumbles, and he snorts again.

“It’s the most realistic one,” he replies, shaking his head as he looks towards Ren again.

“But you love him anyway.”

He hates the way she says it sweetly. He hates the softness of her voice, how she leans into him slightly as if trying to comfort him. He hates the way she isn’t throwing her champagne in his face, hates the way she’s so damn understanding about realizing what was going on, what has been going on for a while now.

“I do,” he says. He fully expects the words to taste like metal, or something similarly bitter and awful, but they taste like nothing. It’s not a confession. It’s just a fact.

“And you never planned on telling him. You know he likes men, too, right?”

Hux snorts. “I'm well aware. It's not his sexual orientation. It's ... " It's more. It's so much more. It's compatibility that they'll never achieve, and chemistry that they've never had, and affection that he'll never ever get, and patience that he'll never ever in a million years be able to keep with a man like Ren. It's so much more. It's so much more. And he wants it to be so simple as Ren not liking men, because then he can maybe, just maybe turn his heart off, but it's so much more than that and he can't no matter how much he wants to.

“I got it,” Rey replies simply. “He told me you said you’d fuck him.”

“Too much wine,” Hux says just as simply. “I didn’t know he remembered.”

“He did.”

“And yet he can’t put two and two together,” the executive editor mutters bitterly as he takes a sip of wine that’s just a bit too big to be proper. Rey’s quiet, for a moment, and he watches as Ren shakes the hand of the Japenese editor before moving to speak to Enna.

“I’m sorry.”

He looks towards her, finds that her entire attention is on him. Not on Ren, not on the man she’s in a relationship with, but towards him. She’s turned herself towards him, knees nearly knocking into his and focus on his face. He stares at her, trying to recall one time when Ren was looking at him like the way she is, and he comes up short. Not once has the man’s attention been entirely on him, never has Ren's attention been on him as a person instead of a partner in a professional relationship, and maybe that’s why his heart aches something awful as he stares at the woman he should loathe but can’t, no matter how hard he tries, not after everything. Not after seeing how she’s somehow changed the man he loves for the better in mere months when he hasn’t managed to change a damn thing in over 10 years, not after watching her go from little bargain bin scavenger to … whatever she is now. Something far greater, far more beautiful and powerful than he could’ve ever imagined from someone who started out wearing sweaters from 1977.

Not after she's accepted it so well. Not after she's offered him this, an apology and a truce and maybe some sort of friendship after all he'd done to her.

“Thank you.” His words are stiff though he doesn’t mean for them to be. To relieve the slight bit of tension, he adds, “This feels like utter shit.”

Her laugh’s short and her smile bright as she nods, shoulders dropping slightly as she nods to the wine in his hand. “Need something stronger?”

“I need a shot,” he mumbles, and her smile widens to the point that he can see her dimples.

“Sure that’s a good idea? This is technically a work function,” she replies.

“Have any other ideas?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Then shot it is.”

“Do I want to know why you’re discussing shots?”

His spine straightens instinctively, and he keeps his eyes firmly on Rey’s hands in her lap as he hears her reply, “You’ve driving us to drink.”

Hux suddenly finds himself standing, and then he’s eye to eye with the Editor-in-Chief. His heart still skips a damn beat like it does nearly every time he finds himself in close quarters with the other man, and he’s sure he stops breathing for a moment as Ren finally – finally – looks at him.

“Sit with your girlfriend,” Hux says, and he walks away.

Chapter Text

She watches the numbers climb higher and higher, her heels hooked on her fingertips after abandoning them in the privacy of the elevator. Her feet ache after being on them nearly all night, speaking to editors and fellow assistants and other higher-ups.

Her gaze darts to Ren’s reflection in the gold doors, his stoic face as they ride the elevator up to their suite. They’re both tired, exhausted after a long day – long week, really. Insanely long, by her standards.

“He’s in love with you.”

The words seem to echo in the metal elevator, and she winces, regretting the words immediately. He doesn’t look to her, still staring straight ahead as he replies, “I know.”

“You do?” she asks, surprised.

“Figured it out after you talked to him,” Ren mumbles as they arrive at their floor and the door opens. He steps out quickly, and she has to fast-walk to catch up to his long strides. “It’s so fucking obvious.” His words are accompanied by a snort, and her heart stutters in her chest at how cruel he sounds as he opens the door to their suite.

“Did you really just snort at the idea that another man’s been in love with you for the better part of a decade?” Rey demands as they step into the room.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Ren asks as he undoes his tie, raising a dark brow at her.

She opens her mouth to reply, but it closes with a ‘click’ when she realizes that she honestly has no idea. Love him back? No, that’s not possible, not when he’s with her. Apologize? No, that’s stupid. She stares at him for a moment before shaking her head, walking past him into the bedroom. “Something a little kinder than laughing at him, maybe?” she snaps as she walks to the closet and throws the shoes in, not caring to put them back properly in their box.

“I wasn’t laughing at him.”

“Yes, you were, don’t lie to me,” she snaps, reaching up to unzip the back of her dress. She can feel his hands on her back and steps away. “No.”

“No?” he asks, voice soft.

“No.” She does it herself, with some contorting and some extra effort. She steps out of the dress and goes to hang it up. As soon as it’s up, she turns, her arms crossed over her chest as she steps up to him, a foot away. God, he’s tall, she thinks as she glares up at him. “This man’s been in love with you for eight years and is convinced to hell and back that it would never work. You want to know what I think? I think he set us up.”

“That’s ass backwards logic and you know it,” Ren mutters, stepping away to shed his suit jacket. She watches him as he hangs it up in his wardrobe, untucking his shirt and unbuttoning it next.

“No, it’s not. He doesn’t think you two would work, so he set us up. He wants us to work, Kylo. Why else would he have gotten that footage for us?”

“Blackmail. I’m willing to bet that he has another copy for the press, just in case.”

His voice shakes. He’s lying. “No, he doesn’t, and you damn well know it. I think he made us stay in this one room. I think he did that on purpose, pushing us together so that-“

The shoe isn’t thrown at her. It’s thrown at the wall beside the wardrobe, and hits with a loud clap. Thank God it doesn’t break the dry wall from the force, she thinks, watching him. He doesn’t throw anything else, but she can see his fists clenched, the tension in his bare shoulders.

“Hey!” she snaps, ready to chastise him for throwing something across the room – again - when he speaks.

“I know.” It’s a growl, dejected and trailing at the edges. “I know, okay? But what the fuck do you want me to do? Call him and apologize? ‘Hi, Rey told me that you’re in love with me, and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I don’t feel the same way?’. Do you want me to send flowers with an apology card? A muffin basket? What the fuck do you want from me, Rey?”

By the end of his little speech, he sounds tired. She watches as he runs his hand through his hair. “Is this some jealousy thing? Are you jealous?”

The thought makes her blood run cold. “What? No,” she insists, frowning. “Why would you think that?”

“Because another man’s in love with me.”

“No, I’m not jealous. I feel like shit because I know he feels even worse. Can you imagine what he’s feeling? Knowing that we actually worked? God, that probably just stamped his hope – what little of it there was – into the ground. No wonder he’s been looking awful the past few days.”

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for the bastard.”

“Don’t tell me he’s a bastard,” Rey snaps back. “He set us up. He got that footage for us. He may not like us, but he’s done so much for us.”

“And why do you think that is?” Ren demands. “So that when we fall apart, he thinks I’ll go crying to him and then we’ll be together. It’s motive, Rey. He’s playing us.”

“He’s not –“ she starts, before deciding that it’s ridiculous to argue and instead throwing her hands up. “You know what? Never mind. Think whatever the fuck you want.” She walks past him into the bathroom, reaching for the face wash and makeup remover. At his suggestion, she’d worn a little more, a little darker today. She’s eager to get it off, brush her teeth and fall right into bed. Her feet and heart ache, and she runs the water as hot as it will go, cursing softly when that proves to be a bad idea as she puts her fingers beneath it.

Eight years.

God, she can’t imagine.

Rey sighs as she runs a washcloth under the water, rubbing at her face to get the makeup off. She can hear the creak of the hardwood, the sound of his bare feet on the tile as he walks in to join her.

“I’m sorry.”

She says nothing as she continues wiping at the right side of her face, running the washcloth under the water to get the makeup off of it before working on the left. “No, you’re not,” she mutters. “You’re cynical. You’re Satan. Everyone has to be either doing something for you, or else they’re in to screw you to get something for themselves. For once can you just see the positive?”

She doesn’t look at him, avoiding his reflection in the mirror as she wipes the rest of her makeup off.

“I saw the positive in you.”

“Okay, fine,” she replies, going over one more time to see if there’s anything she missed. “Now see the positive in your executive editor because you know he’s trying to get us to work. He set us up, he got that drive for us, he didn’t protest when we came out publicly. Do you think that’s easy for him, Kylo?” She turns, leaning back against the counter as she watches him brush his teeth. “Do you think it’s easy to see the man he’s in love with be with a girl he’s loathed since she stepped foot in his office?”

“He doesn’t loathe you,” Ren mumbles around his toothbrush head. He spits, looking back up at her. “If he did, he would’ve done everything in his power to get you fired.”

“Not giving me correct directions, not giving me directions at all, purposefully sabotaging my attempts to do my job. I’d call that trying to get me fired.” She watches him as he crosses to the other side of the room to wipe his mouth, watches as he leaves the bathroom and follows him into the bedroom. “Sure, he might be more amiable now, but imagine how much this hurts him. Did you ever come out publicly with any of your other relationships?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

She’s walking back to the bathroom to brush her teeth when she feels his arms wrap around her, keeping her from going anywhere. The skin of his forearms is warm against her abdomen, and she leans back into his bare chest, closing her eyes as he kisses her temple.

“I don’t like fighting with you,” he mumbles, and her heart jumps in her chest as she feels him kiss her again.

“Was that a fight?” she asks.

“I threw a shoe. It qualifies.”

“You’d better check the wall and make sure that didn’t leave a mark,” she warns, and hears him snort softly behind her as his hands move down to hold her hips. “I’m seriously, Kylo, we already have enough damage charges on this hotel room.”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s muffled against her shoulder. “Are you sorry for damaging the hotel room, or are you sorry for being an asshole about your executive editor being in love with you?”

“Both.” It’s muffled again.

She hesitates, before taking his hand from where it’s on her hip and lifting it to her lips, kissing his palm. She runs her thumb over his wrist, closing her eyes. She can hear his breath hitch, and smiles a bit against his skin.

“Apology accepted. Just try not to be such an ass around him, please? I wasn’t kidding. You’re driving him to drink. He’d had two glasses of wine and was contemplating shots when you walked up.”

“I heard,” he mutters. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” She continues leaning back against him, eyes still closed. “… let me go, babe, I need to brush my teeth.”

He lets her go immediately, and she misses the warmth of him as she walks to the bathroom and brushes her teeth, probably a little harsher and longer than necessary. She doesn’t hear anything from the other room, nothing else being thrown. She hates when he does that, though according to some of the other people in the department his tendency to throw things has diminished significantly since she started working for him. She has no base to know whether that’s true, having only seen him lose his temper while she was there, but still.

Rey finishes and walks out and finds him stripping his suit pants, his Rolex already on the desk. She sits on the edge of the bed, massaging the ball of her right foot as she hears him walk around the room, putting things away and taking things out and the like.

She feels the mattress dip, hears the rustle of sheets and then he’s behind her, mouth on her shoulder.

“I really am sorry.” God, does he sound wrecked.

Rey closes her eyes, stopping and turning towards him, lips finding his temple. “For?”

“Being an asshole.” His lips pull away from her and he lets out a long sigh. “I don’t … do I talk to him? How do you do this?”

“Don’t tell him I told you, I swore I wouldn’t,” she begs, turning towards him more. “He doesn’t want you to know.”

“That doesn’t help the fact that I do.”

“Just … be your normal self around him.”

“That’s going to be difficult.”

“Just try. Please.”

He hesitates, but eventually he turns his face enough that he can kiss her, and she can taste the ‘yes’ on his lips as she kisses him back, her eyes slipping closed as her hand slips up and into his hair.

“You have to get up tomorrow, don’t you,” she mutters, her neck turned at a strange angle as she mutters the words against his lips, but she doesn’t care as she kisses him again. She hums as he turns both of them, pressing her down onto the bed. His arms cage her in, and she runs her hand up his bare back to stroke at his shoulder as he presses his face into her neck.

“I do,” he replies, words muttered against her skin. “With Lagerfeld and Armani.”

She groans softly, and he snorts, nuzzling her neck.

“You don’t have to come,” he insists quietly. “You would be bored and overwhelmed. Stay here. How about I pick you up after and we can go to the Louvre? Like you wanted? I have reservations for dinner already. You can sleep late, I’ll pick you up.”

Sleep late. Sleeping late sounds good. “Sounds good.” She pushes at his shoulder so that she can lie beside him. He tips over and she curls into his chest. “What time do you think you’ll be done?”

“About 1 or so.”

She pulls back to raise an eyebrow at him. “… a breakfast is going to take 4 hours?”

“Potentially.”

“All right. Sure. 1’s good with me,” Rey curls back into him, closing her eyes.

His heartbeat’s steady in her ear, his hand warm on her back as she drifts off, barely feeling the press of his lips against the top of her head.

-

She wakes up alone.

She’d expected it, but she still misses the warmth of him next to her as she rolls over onto his side of the bed. Though his side’s long gone cold, it still smells like him, and she hums softly as she rolls over and reaches for her phone.

Morning, sweetheart.

The text is from two hours ago, 8:48. She smiles. He must’ve texted in the car or something. Rey scrolls through the rest of her notifications; making notifications and reminders get back to them.

They’ll skyrocket once they get back to New York, she knows. She loathes to return home. She groans, rolling back over onto her back and frowning as she catches sight of something silver out of the corner of her eye.

Sitting up on her elbows, she looks towards her right and finds a room service table by her side of the bed. A quick survey of the table reveals a covered silver dish, a glass bowl of fruit, a pot of tea and a small pitcher of honey. She sits up fully and moves to examine it, picking up the handwritten note on the tablecloth, on the hotel’s stationary.

Rey – I’ll pick you up at 1. Wear whatever you want. We’ll be coming back to change before dinner. I ordered breakfast and tea for you.

Short and curt, just like every single text, email and note he leaves for her ever. The only difference is the ‘x’ before ‘Kylo’. She smiles a bit, reaching for the tea and honey first as she texts him a quick thanks accompanied by a few red heart emojis.

-

Never mind. Think whatever the fuck you want.

The harsh words and even harsher tone of her voice reply in his mind over and over again, even as he stares down at her text with the five red heart emojis.
Kylo’s never heard her use that tone before. Sure, he’d heard her annoyed. He’d heard her irritated and tired and a few times genuinely pissed off. But he’s never heard her this livid, this frustrated with anyone, let alone him.

He deserved it, he knows that fully well. But that doesn’t change the sick rolling in his stomach that’s occurred since, through the night and all through breakfast, the feeling resulting in his words being short and quiet.

Be there soon.

He doesn’t sign it with any emojis. He’s never used the damn things, and he’ll be forever grateful that she doesn’t use many of them. He knows that Finn uses several in one message, often more emojis than characters; he’s caught glimpses of the icons in the texts she sends to him. But the use of her hearts does make the sick feeling abate slightly, and he smiles a bit as they pull up to the hotel. She’s walking out the door as they pull up, and she doesn’t even wait for the door to be opened for her. She just yanks it open, grinning as she crawls across the seat to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

Kylo blinks, surprised at the greeting as she closes the door and settles into her seat. “Hi, babe.” She’s breathless, smiling as she gets her seatbelt on.

“Hi,” he says, still surprised as he takes in her outfit. The suede and shearling jacket had been an impulse buy after she told him how soft it was, but damn if it doesn’t look good on her. She’s paired it with a black v-neck sweater, dark jeans and – if he isn’t mistaken – thigh high black leather Prada boots. He nods in approval, and notices her grin in response.

“You look casual for just meeting with Armani and Lagerfeld,” Rey says, grin turning into frown quickly.

He looks down at his own navy Prada t-shirt, Tom Ford black leather jacket and dark jeans. “I don’t need to impress them,” he mutters, looking towards her again. “There wasn’t a need for a three piece suit, especially if we’re going casually to the museum.”

She holds her hands up, shaking her head. “Wasn’t trying to be offensive,” she insists. “Was just pointing it out. I like seeing you in jeans.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” she says, pulling her purse up and rummaging through it. He watches as she pulls out a lip balm and applies it, wondering if she even bothered to put on much makeup. It doesn’t look like it. Concealer, some mascara maybe. She reminds him of the woman who followed him into the elevator and stomped her way into his office, and he smirks a bit, looking down at his knees pressed against the back of the seat.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Am I not allowed to smile while I’m sitting next to my beautiful girlfriend?” he asks, looking towards her again. “Are you all right? You’re questioning. A lot.”

For the first time, he notices her leg bouncing, and watches it as she sighs and slips the lip balm back into the baby pink Valentino purse. “Sorry, I just …” She bites at her lip. “This is a date.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t go on dates often.”

“You did just fine when we went to get sandwiches.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t planned. And I still have no idea what you’re doing tonight, and that worries the crap out of me.”

“I’m taking you out to dinner, I thought I told you that.”

“But where?” she demands, and he smirks a bit at her impatience.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“That’s not helpful, Kylo!”

He can’t help but laugh at her as he holds out his hand. She takes it immediately, and the sick feeling disappears a bit more as he runs his thumb over the back of her hand.

“You’re going to like it,” he says softly. “I promise.”

She’s quiet, but he smiles as her hand squeezes his tightly.

The sick feeling is almost gone. Almost.

-

“I wonder where her arms went.”

Kylo looks down at Rey, watching as she raises her phone higher to try to get a better picture of the famed statue, Venus de Milo. “There are several essays and articles and webpages on it.”

“Yeah, well,” Rey starts, frowning. She goes up on her toes, trying to look over tourists’ heads. “Damn, can’t get a good look.”

Kylo reaches down and takes the phone from her, ignoring her protest of, “Hey!” as he stands up a bit higher on his toes, raising the phone and taking a picture of the statue. He zooms in and crops it quickly before handing it back to his girlfriend. “Here.”

Her silence amuses him, and he smirks as he waits for her “Thank you.” But it never comes. Instead he gets a hard hip-check. “Hey!”

“Asshole,” she mutters, but she’s grinning. “Tall asshole. Still an asshole, though.”

He smirks as he puts his hand on the small of her back and starts leading her back towards the statue hall. “Have you seen the Mona Lisa?”

“Yeah, I saw that last time,” she replies, looking down at the photo that he’d taken. “It’s a lot smaller than I thought it would be.”

“That’s what she said.”

Her boots make a little squeak on the marble floor as she stops, staring at him. “Did you just-“

It’s incredibly hard to keep his face in check, but he manages well enough as he raises both eyebrows at her. “My mother,” he replies, deadpan. “When she took me for the first time.”

“Oh.” He watches as her cheeks burn, and smirks as he wraps an arm around her waist and starts to lead her towards the rest of the statues.

She leans into him, pulling the map out of her back pocket and looking down at it even as he steers her. For the most part, the crowds around them don’t recognize them, and for that he’s glad. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s wearing his glasses. Maybe it’s because they’re not dressed in a gown and tux. Maybe they’re just really, really lucky. He’s not entirely sure, but he enjoys the peace while it lasts, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as they exit into the Italian sculptures.

“It would take weeks to explore it all,” she breathes, and he looks down at her as she continues to examine the map.

“Then pick what you want to see this trip, and we can come back on another trip,” he says simply.

Rey looks up at him, blinking owlishly. “Oh,” she says. “Yeah. Right. You come here a lot.”

He snorts. “Yes, I come here a lot.”

“Sometimes I forget that you’re an actual important rich person and not just … you,” she admits, muttered under her breath. “And then I remember that you gave me a fucking diamond necklace just because you felt like it and it’s like a sucker punch back to reality.”

“A sucker punch?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her. “Is that what realizing I’m Kylo Ren feels like?”

“No, I just …” She folds the map again, slipping it back into her pocket. “I forget that you’re someone. I mean, you’re always someone to me, but a different someone, you know? And I guess I’m someone to you, but I’m no one to everyone else. You’re a someone no matter who you’re with. And that’s weird to think about.”

“I’m a no one in here,” he mutters. “No one’s asked for our picture yet, or taken any pictures, to my knowledge.”

“To your knowledge,” she repeats.

She’s right. He sighs as they walk through the relatively empty sculpture wing, a few tourists lingering around certain statues but most focused on the famous statue in the other room. But he has nothing else to add. She’s right, after all. He’s a someone. And before this, she was very much a no one.

“Wait, hang on!” Rey exclaims, excitement in her voice.

She’s gone in a heartbeat, and he watches as she rushes over to a statue, smiling up at it as she takes a picture. No one else is around it, and he walks over, his hands sliding into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Diana,” Rey explains as he comes to stand beside her. “She was my favorite in my mythology class.”

“You took a mythology class?”

“Elective,” she replies. “Goddess of the hunt. Forever a virgin. Strong, powerful, a leader.”

“Feminist.”

“Excuse me?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

He stares down at her, jerking his head towards the statue. “A strong feminist icon. No man needed – or wanted, even. She held her own, just as powerful as her twin brother. Not to mention she had her own band of badass huntresses.”

Rey snorts, looking back up towards the statue. “I thought you were going to say something insulting.”

“No,” he replies. “I know damn well that women run the world. Look at Phasma. Head of the photography department. Enna. Jacqueline. You.”

“Me?”

“You,” he says. “You work for Satan, and hold your own against him. Not to mention seduced him.” It’s a joke, and he looks down at her, smirking a bit. “You’re more powerful than you think you are. Now you just have the wardrobe to show it.”

“Ha, ha,” Rey says flatly, lifting her camera and zooming in to one part of the statue, taking a cropped photo of it. “You don’t need heels to be powerful, you know.”

“No,” he admits. “But they do make a hell of an entrance on a marble floor.”

Rey snorts, and looks towards him again, nodding her head forward. “Come on, lets see if there are any more statues of her in here.”

-

He loses her.

It’s not hard. The place is huge, and confusing as hell, even with a map. The map that she has in her back pocket.

He loses her in Italian Renaissance. He lets go of her for two seconds, completely misses her “Kylo, I’m going into this room,” and turns back around to see her gone, previously Rey-occupied space empty. He blinks, looking up and around the room to try to find black and light tan and chestnut brown. He finds a lot of those colors, but none of them make up her, and he frowns.

Not one to make a scene, Kylo squashes the immediate urge to call out for her, instead shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a lap around the room, pretending to look at the paintings he’s seen a handful of times before. He looks around every few seconds to see if she’d returned, but she never does.
Something akin to panic clenches his heart, and he walks into the next room to his right. It’s relatively empty, and he scans for her low bun and suede jacket. He doesn’t see either, and walks right back out.

“Rey?”

It’s muttered, a sort of hopeless sound as he scans the main room again and doesn’t see her. He quickens his steps into the next gallery. Not there, either.

Oh, God.

He turns right back around and walks out into the main room, standing still and scared as he watches for his assistant/girlfriend, looking back and forth. He spies a few pretty brunette girls dressed in black shirts and skinny jeans, but none of them are his pretty brunette girl.

Kylo walks back into one of the rooms, turns a corner, and ends up in another. His heart skips a beat in his chest when he sees her, standing in front of one of Raphael’s works. He stops and stares.

She’s standing with her arms crossed, looking up at the painting in front of her. He can’t see what it is, but he much prefers to look at her anyway. Even with no makeup and her hair done up in a messy bun, his heart still aches when he looks at her, noticing her small smile as she pulls out her phone and takes a picture of the painting, smile quickly turning into a brilliant, beautiful grin as she starts tapping on the screen.

He walks over, the sudden urge to say ‘I love you’ strong as ever, accompanied by, ‘I thought I lost you, never leave me again’. He opens his mouth, the words about to roll off of his tongue when she sees him. Her grin grows brighter and she points to the portrait in front of her.

“Poe’s a time traveler,” she quips, and Kylo looks towards the painting of Raphael with a friend.

She’s right. The man in front does look a bit like Poe, dark hair wild. There are a number of distinct differences, but he can see the general resemblance as she continues to text. Poe, he’s assuming.

Still reeling from losing her, he moves behind her, arms wrapping around her waist. The clicking sound of her keyboard stops as she leans back against him, and he presses his cheek to the top of her head, taking a deep breath and smelling his shampoo in her hair and whatever perfume she uses, something sweet and floral and a bit sharp.

“Don’t leave me in this damn museum alone,” he mutters. “I nearly had a heart attack when I turned around and you were gone.”

“I told you I was going into this room,” she retorts, and he can hear the grin in her voice. “I didn’t leave you for that long. It was maybe ten minutes.”

“I didn’t hear you. Speak louder.”

She snorts. “All right, fine, bossy pants.”

“Don’t leave me.”

The ‘again’ stops behind his teeth, and it comes out a lot softer than he’d meant for it to. He can feel her still against him, and then her weight as she leans more against him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s said just as softly, and he lets out a deep breath through his nose as he presses a kiss to the top of her head, the horrid feeling in his stomach from the night before finally disappearing entirely.

Chapter Text

He could be an asshole, he thinks. He could be an asshole and remind her that they’re on a date. He could tell her to put the book back in the bag, to hold his hand instead, to walk close to him.

But he doesn’t.

Because sure, her attention’s on the large book he purchased behind her back as a surprise gift in the gift shop, but Rey with her nose in a book is perhaps one of the cutest things he’s ever seen. So cute that he doesn’t mind being her guard, her protector through the streets, keeping her from running into -

“Pole,” he warns just as she’s about to clip yet another streetlamp with her shoulder. His hand grips her arm gently, tugging her out of the way, and though she doesn’t pull her gaze from the page, she does mumble a soft ‘thanks’.

He smiles a little as she leans into him, attention still focused on the section about Grande Odalisque, one of the paintings she lingered in front of the most.

“She’s a concubine,” she says, sounding surprised, and Kylo hums in agreement. She says nothing more – at least, nothing he can make out. She mutters a bit whenever she finds something of note, sometimes a soft wow or some sort of expletive. He shakes his head in amusement whenever she curses, but doesn’t dare look over, his attention focused on keeping her from running into anything.

He should’ve expected this. He knows full well she’s the kind of girl to dive headfirst into something, no looking back and no testing how deep the waters are. Her job is one flaming example, and he chuckles lowly as he remembers the day they met in the elevator.

“What’s funny?”

“Hm?” he asks, turning and looking down to find that her eyes have lifted from the book and are now focused on him. She’s looking at him curiously, one dark eyebrow raised in question.

"You laughed. What’s funny?" she repeats.

“You,” he replies, nodding to the book. “And your book, and the fact that you’ve nearly run into several pedestrians and a handful of street lamps.”

The flush on her cheeks is precious, and he smiles a bit as he watches her close the big book of artwork. He opens the bag for her to slip it back inside, but his heart warms when instead she just holds it in one arm and reaches for his hand instead. Her fingers are bare, chilled from the cool late afternoon air, and he squeezes them lightly.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, and he leans into her.

“Don’t apologize for enjoying the finer things in life,” he replies immediately.

Now it’s her turn to snort, and he looks down to see her smirking. “Yes, because paintings at the Louvre can be compared to a 90 dollar lipstick, and Jimmy Choo shoes,” she replies, and he smirks back.

“Different masterpieces have different admirers,” he says matter-of-factly as they step to the side, out of the way of a car. As she steps closer to him to get out of the street, he bends and brushes a soft kiss against her cheek.

She looks up at him, humming in question. “What was that for?”

He shrugs. “Just a man admiring a masterpiece,” he replies, grinning back and laughing softly as she hip-checks him.

“You’re awful,” she mutters, though her cheeks are flushed and she’s grinning, too.

“I know,” he mumbles back, and though he doesn’t mean for it to, his tone changes slightly. Something a little sadder, a little lower. It’s not much, but it’s enough for her to squeeze his hand and lean into him.

“Hey, what’s up?” Her voice is kind as she looks up at him.

What’s up?

He stares down at her. Her brown eyes look almost amber in the sunlight, and his heart skips at how openly she stares at him, unguarded and eager. He’ll tell her. Of course he’ll tell her, she’s part of what’s up, what's plaguing him, what's made him sick to his stomach since he got up this morning. She's just one thing amongst a million other things. But not now. Not when they have such a fine evening ahead of them.

Instead of replying verbally, he just bends and kisses the top of her head, pulling her close. “I’ll tell you later,” he says, words mumbled into her hair.

He can sense her hesitation, her hand loosening around his for a moment, but she just offers a simple, “All right,” before they continue on their way back to the hotel.

-

He wonders if he’ll ever get tired of this. Of watching her out of the corner of his eye from across the car, the lights of the city crossing her face and illuminating her in soft gold. There’s the occasional white light of the phone as she gets notifications from designers and department heads and everyone in between. But for the most part, he watches the sparkling lights shine onto her skin, her reflection faint in the dark window of the car as they head to the restaurant.

She’s too good for him.

It’s not exactly a new thought. He’s thought it for a good few months now. He’s thought it every time he handed her an impossible task and she managed to complete it despite all odds. He’s thought it every time she’s come into his office and wordlessly set a cup of coffee on his desk when he was close to destroying everything in the room. He’s thought it with every smile she flashed his way, every soft “Do you need something, Mr. Ren?” and every apology when she couldn’t get something completed despite all her hard work.

It hurt him every time she failed. Not because it made his day harder, but because every time it happened it was as though she’d dimmed.

“Where are we going for dinner?”

Her sudden question startles him, and he looks over to see her gaze focused in his direction. It suddenly drops down to the dress she’s wearing, champagne colored and the jewels embroidered on it sparkling in the low light.

For all of the dresses she’s worn so far, he thinks that this one is quite possibly his favorite. As stunning as she looks in black and red, there’s something about the combination of cream and champagne and gold that has her looking so much softer and sweeter.

It has her looking like herself, reminding him of that cream sweater she always wore back at the office with those horrible brown pants that did nothing for her ass. Despite his own preferences for attire, light colors suit her better than black ever will, and he offers her a slight smile as he reaches across to take her hand, feeling her small fingers in his palm.

“It’s a surprise,” he declares, and not for the first time that night he hears her groan softly. He chuckles, shaking his head.

She’d tried to get it out of him while getting dressed in an attempt to figure out what to wear. He’d declined her then, and he’d declined her again when she came up to wrap her arms around his bare torso. He could feel the press of her bare breasts against his back, and felt his cheeks flame wildly but had stayed strong.

The groan and grumbling that had followed was entirely worth it, too cute to ignore as he’d chuckled and continued dressing in his all-black suit and shirt, the contrast to her cream.

She turns her attention back to the window, and he watches her once more. He takes in the neutral makeup he’d put on her, the sleek French twist he’d teased her hair into. He likes her hair down more, he decides as he watches her. But he does like the way it’s pulled back from her pretty face. He can see the way her eyes alight with wonder as they pull closer to the steps, and then she’s turning to him curiously, frowning as the car stops.

“Photo op?” she asks as his door opens and he slips out into the cool autumn night air. Try though he might, he can’t keep the smirk off of his face as he walks around to her side and opens the door for her, offering his hand. She takes it, and he helps her out of the car, reaching around to unbunch the back of her dress for her before he puts his hand on the small of her back.

“If you’d like,” he says, smirk still in place as he glances towards the glittering tower before them. “Why, you want to take a selfie and put it on your Instagram? Show the world you’re going on a date with Kylo Ren?”

“If you mean show my 4 followers, than sure, I’ll bite,” she replies as he leads her towards the entrance. “But seriously, why are we at the Eiffel Tower?”

He offers her a small, almost shy smile as he pulls her close, relishing in the warmth of her against him. “Forgive me for being cliché,” he offers. “But I thought a full 12 course meal in a 5 star restaurant might be a bit overwhelming for your first foray into dating me.”

“So you’re taking me to dinner at the top of the Eiffel Tower instead? That’s your way of dialing it down?” Rey asks, incredulous.

When she puts it that way, it does seem ridiculous, and he can feel his cheeks and the tips of his ears flaming as he stops. She goes on for a step more, before she realizes that he’s hung back, and then she turns, frowning.

“If you’d like to go someplace else, I can arrange it,” he offers, voice low. “We don’t have to do this, if it might be overwhelming. I just thought…” He trails off, mouth watering with nervousness before he swallows, fighting to find the right words.

To take her to a gala is one thing. To take her to a dinner with the other editors is another. But to take her on a date? To take this woman somewhere and attempt to woo her? That is another thing entirely, and he suddenly feels as though he’s drowning, trying to breathe as he stares at her and her wide-eyed gaze.

And then she laughs, a bright, sharp sound that startles him in its loudness.

“You know, I looked at doing this, for lunch or something while you were in a meeting,” Rey admits, looking back towards the entrance of the Le Jules Verne. “And then went ‘hell no’ when I saw the amount of dollar signs next to it in the Google results.”

It’s his turn to snort, pulling her closer and helping her up the steps into the entrance, the thin heels of the gold Louboutins doing nothing to support her weight. “You don’t have to worry about price tonight, ma chère,” he mutters, the endearment perhaps a bit cheesy and a bit too soon, but if the soft laughter he hears from her is any indication, he didn’t mess up too badly.

“I have to warn you, you’re going to have to order for me,” she explains as he opens the door for her.

“You mean like I’ve been doing for the past week because you can’t pronounce or translate anything?” he snarks, earning a playful smack to his bicep as he grins, following the host who straightens as soon as he sees them.

“Monsieur Ren.”

“Good evening,” Kylo replies, feeling Rey lean away from him to shed the cream coat. He looks down at her, smiling a bit as she hangs onto every word the host says about the restaurant. For him, it’s in one ear and out the other, as he knows exactly what he'd asked for for this evening, but she’s fascinated, looking around at the luxury around her.

“May I take your coat, sir?”

“Yes, thank you,” he mutters, shedding his own coat and offering it to the man standing beside them. Rey hands hers over as well, and with that finished, he indulges in putting his hand on her waist. She stills for half a moment, a heartbeat before she’s leaning into him, taking advantage of the affection. Kylo fights a grin as the host leads them to the table near the window.

The restaurant isn’t empty. He didn’t ask for it to be. Why deprive people of their own experiences? Besides, he likes the idea of being … well, not normal per se, but he likes the idea of Rey not being entirely uncomfortable in a completely deserted restaurant. He pulls her chair out for her, and catches sight of the bright flush on her cheeks as he helps push her in.

“I’ve done that for you at least a dozen times,” he says, amused as he moves to his own side of the table. But his words go unheard as she turns to look across the city, the golden lights glittering. He can see that her lips are parted in soft awe, eyes bright.

He’s suddenly incredibly glad he sprung for cliché, because she’s so entranced that by the time the waiter comes around, she still hasn’t torn her eyes from the window. Kylo chuckles as champagne is poured and water brought, and he gently lifts his spoon to clink against his glass once the man leaves. The soft ring startles her, and she turns back to him, eyes still wide and cheeks still flushed.

He takes his glass and raises it, nodding to hers with a soft smile. “Shall we?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” she replies, scrambling to set her clutch aside from where she’d set it in her lap and reaching for her glass of champagne. “What to?”

“Hmm ... to surviving our first official date?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and smirking at her, daring her to argue.

“The night’s still young,” she teases, but she taps her glass against his and takes a sip, smiling around the rim of the glass before she’s looking back across the city.

“We could make it a tradition, if you like it this much.”

“Hm?” she asks, eyes darting towards him as she pulls the glass from her lips and sets it down once more.

He nods to the table. “This. Eating here. If you like the view, and the food, enough to come back.”

There’s silence for a moment, and he’s worried he misspoke as she turns to look back across the city, the Seine weaving through and the lights sparkling. The city of blinding lights, he thinks wryly as he watches her.

“I don’t need it every time,” she offers. “I liked sandwiches with you just the same.”

“That has nothing to do with what I asked, Rey,” he says gently.

“I just don’t want you overdoing it when I can have just as good of a time walking along the river with you and going to a museum. You don’t need to impress me, Kylo.” Her tone is soft as she pulls her gaze back from the view and looks towards him, smile shy. “I’m not some supermodel who’s seen the world and all it has to offer. I’d never had champagne before this trip. I’d never put on lipstick worth more than 10 bucks. You don’t need to take me to all this. I don’t care if a date means going to your apartment or penthouse or whatever you have and ordering pizza as long as it means I get to spend time with you.”

The instinct to reach across the table to take her hand is overwhelming. What’s perhaps even more overwhelming is the realization that he can, now that they are public, and so he can’t help the stupid grin that graces his face as he reaches over to hold her hand in his. Her grin is equally as sweet, and when she squeezes his fingers back he feels as though he could jump out the window and fly.

He thinks he may see a flash, hear the click of a camera, but he doesn’t give a damn. Instead, as her cheeks flush, Rey having heard the sound as well, he pulls her hand closer and brings it to his lips. He brushes a tender kiss across her knuckles and yes, he can definitely hear the distinct sound of someone’s cell phone camera going off.

But he doesn’t give a shit.

“Kylo, people are taking pictures.”

“If I cared, I would’ve called for the restaurant to be empty,” he mutters, kissing her knuckles once more, the words muffled against her skin. “Let them see that Kylo Ren is on a date with the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“Okay, now you’re crossing into dangerous territory,” Rey teases as she tries to pull her hand from his.

He smirks again and watches as her cheeks flush, and sets their hands down on the table again, looking down towards the menu. “Now, this is a tasting menu, much like what we had at the gala and formal dinner.”

“So I have no choice but to try all of it?” Rey asks. “Oh no, whatever shall I do, trying some of the best food I’ve ever had in my entire life?” Her tone is entirely sarcastic, and Kylo snorts as she gives him a cheeky grin in return, so big her nose crinkles.

“You are a brat,” he mutters, squeezing her hand before letting it go. He reaches for his champagne to take a sip, watching as her attention is entirely grabbed by trying to translate the menu. He could’ve had it in English, yes, but hearing her try to pronounce things is too cute to pass up.

The first course comes with wine as well, the sommelier letting them both taste it before pouring them a glass. He enjoys watching Rey try to copy his movements, the swirling and smelling and gentle tasting. She steals a bit off of his plate, sneaking a bite when she thinks he isn’t looking. He grins around the rim of his wine glass, watching her from the corner of his eye.

“I have no idea what this is, but it’s good,” she mumbles around a mouthful of fish.

He chuckles a bit, shaking his head at her as she steals another bite, obvious in her theft now.

There’s a wait in between, and Rey spends the time looking out the window at the glittering city below. He has to admit the view is spectacular, shamelessly name-dropping to get them the best table in the entire restaurant. It was worth it, he thinks, as he sees her awe, and when he reaches across the table to take her hand again, her gaze doesn’t lift from the view. She just squeezes his hand back, eyes never leaving the window.

It would be so easy to say, he thinks. The three little words. It would be so terribly easy, as easy as breathing, but he holds them behind his teeth as he watches her eyes dart from one glittering building to another. It’s too soon. It’s much, much, much too soon, he thinks, though he could say it and mean it entirely.

Or so he thinks he could.

She seems to realize he’s staring at her, and turns her eyes back to him, raising both brows in a wordless question.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, sincere and honest. And like clockwork, he watches her cheeks flush as the second course comes, accompanied by another glass of wine.

She steals some of his again, and he lets her. Let her enjoy the food. Let her indulge herself. In turn, he indulges himself in spoiling her, and it makes him smile a bit as she rewards him with a hand squeeze and a grin.

They’re just finished the fourth course when the words fall from his lips. Not the three, no, not yet, but the ones that he’s been reciting in his mind all day.

“I’m going to tell Hux that I know.”

It’s a blessing that she’d just set her glass down, otherwise he’s sure she would’ve choked. “What?” she hisses, leaning forward. “No, Kylo, don’t, I promised I wouldn’t tell him, I-“

“You didn’t tell me. I figured it out before you told me. Therefore, you’re not at fault,” he mutters as he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, his heart sinking slightly. “You were right.”

“I was right about what, him being in love with you? I thought you just said you figured it out on your own before I told you?”

“No,” he replies quietly, hating the mere memory. “In the room.”

How could he tell her that he loathes himself for the way he responded? That the shock fueled most of his anger, the sheer blind panic that occurred making it hard to breathe and even harder to think?

“I was an asshole,” Kylo admits.

“Yeah, you were,” she replies bluntly, and his adoration for her soars higher even though irritation prickles under his skin instinctively. Still, it’s the truth, and the fact that she thought it too makes him … respect her, he guesses. Respect that she’s not afraid to call him out, and hasn’t been since he met her in the elevator.

He looks down towards the plate that still bears a bit of beef broth, and runs his fork through the pool. “I apologize.”

“For what?”

It’s not a soft, curious question. It’s hard, demanding. She wants him to explain himself. She wants him to confess. He looks up at her, and her gaze is just as hard as her tone. Unforgiving, for now.

“I acted out in a way that I shouldn’t have,” he explains.

“By throwing a shoe.”

“Not at you. Never you, or anyone, I swear. I'd never do that. I would never hurt you, I want you to know that.”

He says it in a rush, words falling from his lips like bubbling water from a fountain, nearly gurgled and a mess. And he sees the flicker of surprise, sees the way her entire body stiffens and then relaxes. His breath is caught in his throat until she reaches out to take the hand that was nervously skitting the beef broth across the plate with his fork.

“I didn’t think you would.” Her voice is softer, now. “I just … don’t like it when you throw things because of property damage and liability, and also I’m usually the one either picking them back up or cleaning up the remains.”

And doesn’t that make him feel like shit? “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” she says in that same soft tone that tells him that everything is okay even though her words say otherwise. “But you’re working on it.”

“I am,” he admits, snorting. “Not intentionally. You calm me, most days. It’s just … occasionally now.”

“Then let’s keep it that way.” She squeezes his hand, and offers him a smile. “Now what about Hux?”

“I let my emotions and skepticism get the better of me. You have to understand, Rey, that a realization like that-“

“Eight years. He’s been in love with you for eight years.”

It feels like a sucker punch again, the same sinking feeling that leaves him feeling empty and no longer hungry for the next course. He squeezes her hand before looking back up at her from his plate. “… will you help me?” He’s earnest in his asking, looking across to her. “You had a conversation with him last night, you know more than I do.”

“But you’ve known him for longer, Kylo. You know him better,” Rey insists, lacing their fingers together as he watches. A man comes by and takes their empty plates, setting another fork and knife down and not paying any attention to their hands across the table. “I’ll help you figure out what to do, but it has to be more than just a fruit basket.”

Her smile is slight and a bit wry, and he snorts in response, bringing her hand up once more to kiss her knuckles as his heart feels a bit lighter. It’s not a plan, necessarily, but at least he’s not treading this trail alone. “Thank you,” he mutters against her skin. “I’ve always been the one to be let down, not the other way around.”

“Then you’ll know exactly what hurts and what not to do, then,” Rey offers, her tone lighter, and he gives a little half smile as the next course is set before them. Rey pulls her hand back, and he misses the feeling of her fingers between his, but he enjoys the look of delight when she sees the scallop on the plate. He snorts, shaking his head.

“A week ago you’d never had scallops,” he mutters, only to get a poke on his knuckles with her fork. He looks up to see her giving him a look before she smirks.

“A week ago I’d never slept with a celebrity either,” she teases, raising her eyebrows as she snags the first bite from his plate, slipping the small morsel between her lips with a look daring him to challenge her.

He doesn’t. He merely chuckles, shaking his head once more before reaching over to steal the first bite from hers.

“Hey!”

He’s sure his laughter can be heard by a few other tables, and swears he’ll see a picture of him laughing with her pouting in the tabloids tomorrow, but he doesn’t give a damn.

-

Rey is a lightweight, he discovers.

She’s not drunk, no, he knows full well she knows how to restrain herself. But between the wine and the champagne, by the time they’ve finished dessert, she’s more than a little giddy. He smirks as she reaches over to scoop the last bit of chocolate liqueur sauce from his plate, her nose crinkling and smile lines prominent as she grins at him.

He’s not complaining. Her laugh is bright, and her smile blinding. And a slightly inebriated Rey is something he’s never seen before, ever. She limits herself at the work functions, and that’s really the only time he’s seen her with a glass in her hand. And even then it’s only if someone hands one to her.

“Do you have anything else over the top and ridiculously expensive planned?” she asks, and he chuckles as he stands and crosses to her, pulling out her chair and grabbing her clutch. She’s wobbly on her heels sober, but it’s damn near impossible for her to walk when he bets her world is a little lopsided. So he wraps an arm around her waist, and presses a kiss to the top of her head as she leans into him, not caring about the flash he sees to his left.

“Not at the moment, no,” he mutters, leading her towards the door where a man is waiting with their coats. "But I can try to arrange something else?"

Her world must not be as lopsided as he previously thought, because she seems fine as she steps away to get her coat, not putting it on quite yet. But her cheeks are flushed, eyes wide as they head towards the elevator.

“You’re going to be cold,” he warns as they step inside.

She shakes her head, smile softening as she watches the illuminated floor number drop down to 1. “I’ll be fine, I need some fresh air. That last glass of champagne got to me.”

“I think it was more like the last three,” Kylo says with a chuckle as they step out into the small lobby. The air’s gotten colder, and Rey shivers as he opens the door for her, but she still doesn’t pull on her coat. He’s still holding her clutch in his hand as he helps her down the steps with the other, smiling as she leans into him a bit more than probably necessary. “Do you want to go back to the hotel, or walk around a bit?”

“Walk around a bit,” she replies immediately as she puts a hand to her head. “World’s not exactly straight right now.”

He snorts a bit at her blunt answer. “Of course, sweetheart.” The endearment falls from his lips before he can stop it. Perhaps he had a bit too much to drink, as well. But she just hums as they walk along the path beneath the tower, her eyes shifting upwards as it glitters.

“All right, that’s better, now.”

It comes after a few moments of walking, and he notices her steps are a little more sure, now. He raises both eyebrows at her. “You really can’t hold your alcohol.”

She doesn’t protest, or argue. She just shrugs as they walk along, crossing the street quickly with his hand at the small of her back and his body between hers and the cars instinctively. If she notices, she says nothing as they cross to walk along the river like they’d done a few nights before.

The golden lights glitter on the water, and Kylo smiles just a bit as her small fingers trail along the stone barrier between her and the water.

“You know, I never thought I’d leave the country,” Rey admits a few moments into walking, and Kylo looks to her to see that she’s stopped, looking at the reflection of the tower in the river.

“Financial reasons?” he questions. It’s not exactly a secret. He doesn’t think she was trying to keep it one. He watches as she shrugs and then nods. And then he’s stepping up to her, kissing the bare skin of her shoulder. Her skin’s warm, nearly hot in comparison to the cool air around them, and she shivers as he holds her waist gently.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want.” It’s a whispered promise. He really will take her anywhere she wants to go. He can just imagine taking her to Amsterdam, to Munich. To Milan and Venice and London and Vienna and Moscow and Dubai and New Delhi and Tokyo and Shanghai and Beijing and anywhere else she wants to go. Hell, he’d even endure the hellish flight to Australia or New Zealand if she even so much hinted that she wanted to go.

There’s an annoyed huff from her. “I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again. I don’t need you to buy my affection, Kylo. I don’t need fancy jewels or flights across the world.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” It comes out a bit gruffer than he’d expected for it to. “I’m saying that I want to take you to Amsterdam and watch your eyes widen as you see the tulip market, and I want to buy you one of every single color. I want to take you to Belgium and hear you moan as you buy a street waffle. I want to take you to Tokyo and watch you get lost in the lights and sounds and the sheer amount of information overload that’s everywhere. I want to take you wherever you want to go and to places you didn’t know existed just because I can, and because I want to be with you.”

She snorts, at that, and he’s surprised at her reaction. Her, laughing? When he’d just told her he wanted to take her everywhere and just be with her and share the world with her? His heart sinks as he holds her, wishing he could see her face and hoping to hell and back he didn’t just say something completely and utterly stupid.

“Let’s go, then. Fly me around the world, Mr. Ren.”

It’s so sudden, a burst of enthusiasm as she turns in his arms, startling him as she grins up at him. Her smile is brighter than he’s ever seen it before she’s slipping from him, her dress flaring out as she turns around. He smirks, shaking his head as she waits for him to catch up to her.

“I will,” he promises, and she laughs again she grabs onto the nearest street lamp, hanging from it and spinning slowly around it, looking up at the lights surrounding them as she continues to speak.

“I never expected to leave the country, I never expected to work at a fashion magazine, I never expected to be fucking the magazine’s editor in chief,” she continues, voice teasing and mouth quirked up in a soft smirk as she raises her eyebrows at him, daring him to quip something back.

He walks up to her and catches her on her second spin, hand slipping around the small of her back as she falls into him. He slots his mouth against hers, her lips warm and hand warmer as she slips it up his chest to cup the back of his neck. He feels her shiver against him as he pulls her flush against him, his hand not holding her clutch coming up to cup her cheek gently, thumb brushing across her freckled skin.

“You are drunk,” he mumbles. “Spinning around lampposts and twirling in your sparkly dress.”

“I’m not drunk,” Rey protests. “I just haven’t worn a dress that spins out like this since I was a kid. It’s fun, you should try it sometime.” Her tone is obviously teasing, and he can feel her smirk again against his mouth.

“Nope, you are definitely drunk,” he mutters back as she laughs again.

“I didn’t have that much, Kylo,” she insists. “Besides, the cold’s sobering me.”

“If you say so,” the editor-in-chief replies, smirking as she laces her cool fingers with his and they start to walk again.

He has no idea what time it is. He hasn’t glanced at his Rolex in hours. It could be 9, or it could be 12, or it could be 3 in the morning for all he cares. The sky is dark, stars barely visible from the light pollution but the city lighting up the night as they walk along, cool water lapping at the stone walls.

“Can we walk like this in New York?”

“There’s no river like this in New York, Rey.”

He totally deserves the hip-check he gets, and he smirks as he hears the soft, muttered, “Ass.”

“Hudson,” she offers after a moment.

“You want to walk along that garbage dump of a river?”

There’s silence, and then he chuckles, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, her hair smelling of the hairspray he’d spritzed on it to keep the twist in place. “Sure. We can walk like this in New York.”

“Can we dance like this in New York?”

“What.”

He’s given barely a moment before she’s turning under his arm, lifting his hand so that she can twirl beneath it, and now he’s seriously wondering how much she had to drink without him looking before she’s pressing close and swaying to an inaudible tune, some sort of ¾ time thing. And then he catches her smirk, and realizes she’s more sober than he thought she was.

“I’m not dancing with you in the middle of the sidewalk,” he says simply. “If you want to dance, then we can dance back at the hotel. Where there’s music and no cameras to worry about.”

“And I thought Mr. Kylo Ren was secretly a hopeless romantic, what with the dinner on top of the Eiffel tower, the champagne, the sweeping his lover off of her feet…” she teases, still trying to get him to sway with her. It’s difficult, with one of her arms still holding her coat and one of his hands still holding her clutch. But he indulges her anyway, looking around to see that there are no cars nearby before he spins her. She’s right, the dress does flare out, and he hears her happy, somewhat shocked laughter as he steps away a bit, taking her coat from her. He sets the coat and clutch on the stone barrier, careful that neither is in danger of slipping off before he grabs her hand and pulls her closer once more.

She’s going to freeze her ass off, he thinks, but she doesn’t seem to give a damn as her hand slips to his shoulder. They need to head back soon, but he’ll indulge her.

She’s indulged him, after all. She’s indulged him so much. Wearing the clothes he bought her, letting him put makeup on her, letting him tease her hair. Dealing with his shit, accepting his apologies for being a complete asshole. She’s let him treat her, spoil her and buy her pretty things. She let him dress her up and take her out to an absurdly expensive dinner, and didn’t complain when he went over the top.

If she wants to sway a bit in the middle of the sidewalk, then he can give her that.

He turns her, letting her slip beneath his arm before he spins her out a little. She turns in and he wraps his arms around her, kissing her neck as she relaxes into his hold. He catches a glimpse of her smile, and can’t resist the urge to smile as well, just holding her and swaying.

“Thank you.”

It’s so soft he barely hears it, for a moment thinking maybe he didn’t hear it at all. But the tightening of her hands on his arms assures him that he did hear it after all, and he kisses her jaw gently, a wordless you’re welcome as he lets her go to turn her around again. She immediately presses to him, his hand holding hers and his other on her waist as she rests her head on his chest.

He swears she can hear his heartbeat, rapid and nervous in his chest as he looks down at her, this spectacular girl – no, this spectacular young woman – who’s managed to bring him so far so suddenly.

“If we go back to the hotel, we can dance with actual music,” he says again, and then she snorts, pulling back. He thinks she might be about to argue again, to say they don’t need it and can he not just enjoy something simple for once, but she just yawns instead. He doesn’t blame her. They’ve done a lot of walking today, and it’s probably late.

“Hotel sounds good,” she admits, and he reaches over to grab her coat and clutch. This time she allows him to help her into the cream cashmere, and she takes the purse from him as he wraps his arm around her.

He calls the car at the next street, smiling as she rests her head against his shoulder, half asleep by the time the driver’s closing the door. The ride to the hotel is short. They could’ve walked it, he supposes, but that would’ve lead to sore feet and an unhappy Rey. And he very much likes the soft, sweet Rey he has fast asleep against him, breathing slow and even. She wakes up a little as they pull up and he moves, but her steps are sluggish and slow as they walk up the steps.

“Do you want me to carry you, love?” he offers as they walk to the elevators. She’d taken her stilettos off in the car, and now she holds her clutch in one hand and her shoes in the other.

If she hears the last word, she says nothing. She only nods, and he chuckles a little as she leans into him. In the empty elevator, he sweeps his arm beneath her knees, lifting her as he had before they were officially together, back before they’d actually fucked. Back before he loved her.

She’s dozing in his arms by the time he reaches the door, and leans heavily against him as he uses the key. And then he’s picking her up again, carrying her into the bedroom.

“I’m going to get the makeup wipes, okay? Sleeping in makeup is a horrible idea, it ages you,” he explains as he sets her down on the bed and eases the coat from her shoulders. She’ll have to stand up for the dress, he thinks as he puts the coat on a hanger and sets it in the closet. By the time he turns back around, she’s already rubbed her eye sleepily, champagne-colored eyeshadow and dark mascara smeared across her lid and temple. The sloppiness really shouldn’t be as adorable as it is.

“Sorry,” she mutters as he snorts and walks over to the desk to get the makeup wipes he’d bought for cleaning up mistakes.

“For what?” Kylo asks as he sits beside her, the wipe cool against her cheek as she closes her eyes and lets him gently rub the makeup off.

“Too tired to blow you.”

He stops mid-stroke, and stares at her as she opens her eyes, and that’s when he realizes that she’s genuinely apologizing for being too tired for sex.

The thought chills him to the bone and he leans over to kiss her, her lipstick smeared from the wipe and her mouth tasting like soap as he cups her cheek.

“I didn’t expect to get anything in return,” he insists. “Rey, please don’t think you have to return the favor with sex.”

“Not what I meant,” she mutters against his mouth. “I really did want to suck your cock.” He pulls back to see her smirking. “You look really, really good in all black, sir.”

At that, he snorts despite the flare of heat at the word ‘sir’. “Then you can wake me up with it, if you want,” he offers, and continues to wipe at her face before he has her stand up to unzip the dress. “Go brush your teeth.”

“Yes, sir.” She sounds a little more awake now as he guides the fabric off of her body, revealing the white lace bra and panty set she’d picked herself. He shakes his head as he watches her go, standing to hang the dress up for cleaning. He can hear the water running, the soft clicks of the bobby pins holding her twist hitting the marble counter. He pulls his jacket off and undoes his shirt, shedding it and standing in his black slacks as he undoes his Rolex and sets it in the black leather box he keeps it in.

He was expecting to hear the gentle sound of sheets shifting and pillows being collapsed onto, not feel the sensation of warm arms around his waist. Kylo stills, looking down to see her hands resting on his abdomen.

“I think you should invite Hux back here for a drink.”

“You think that’s a good idea?” he asks, shocked as his stomach feels like it just dropped 3 floors. “Tonight?”

“Tomorrow night,” she replies, and he can feel her lips against his back, words muffled a little. “And you can tell him that you know, and then figure it out from there.”

“So you’re telling me I should just go into this freefalling.”

“I’m telling you that having half of a plan that’s decent is better than having a full plan that’s absolutely shit for both of you,” Rey explains, and he turns to see that she’s stripped entirely. Panties and bra both gone as she stands before him, bare in the low light of the room.

She’s too tired, he knows, and slightly inebriated besides, but damn if the sight of her doesn’t make his mouth go dry.

Her smile is soft and sleepy as she tugs at his hand. “Come to bed?” she asks. “Do you have to work on the Book?”

“Not tonight, no. I’m yours tonight.”

“That’s-“ she yawns, and he snorts. “-great. I’m dead on my feet the one night you don’t have to work on that damn Book.”

“There’s no shame in being tired,” he eases as he watches her walk towards the bed, slipping beneath the covers. He undoes his belt as she curls up, the blankets pulled up to her waist but her breasts still bare. He shucks the slacks, toes off his shoes and watches as she stretches a bit.

“Just know that if you do fuck me and I fall asleep in the middle of it, it’s entirely my fault and in no way yours,” she says, yawning again, and this time he laughs a bit more as he pushes his boxer-briefs down his legs to be as bare as she is. Her eyes are half-closed by the time he walks over to her and slips into bed as well.

She shuffles over to him and curls against his chest immediately, and he chuckles as she closes her eyes and tangles her legs with his, arm slung across his waist. “You laugh, but I’m serious, I’m that tired,” Rey insists, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head as he holds her close. She still smells of hairspray and Chanel perfume, and his conditioner underneath it all. He wonders what she smelled like before. Cheap drugstore hair products, maybe. Perhaps some old perfume sample Finn got her for a Christmas present or something. Green tea. Old sweaters. Generic lotion. He has no clue at all, and part of him wants to know, but he knows that that Rey, that girl who hid a vixen beneath too-big sweaters and too-long slacks is gone.

A part of him’s a little disappointed, honestly.

But the girl he’s holding now is just as sweet and sultry, just as confident and just as smart and kind and witty as she ever was.

“Kylo?”

“Hm?” he asks.

“I was asking you what we have tomorrow, I can’t remember.”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Aren’t you my assistant? You’re supposed to remember that shit.”

He chuckles softly at the gentle, teasing slap to his chest, kissing her temple in return. “We’ll get up early enough to figure it out,” he assures her, but she’s already drifting off, her hand going slack against his pec. He stares down at her, wondering briefly whether the lights of New York will illuminate her the way the lights of Paris do.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Chapter Text

She wakes up alone.

Ren’s side of the bed is cool when she reaches over for him, and she blinks in the dim morning light as she tries to listen for the shower. She can hear the sounds of the city bustling below, can hear people going on with their daily lives on the Parisian streets, but she can’t hear Ren going about his. No shower, no rustling of clothes in the closet, nothing.

Sitting up proves to be a disaster, the sheets tangled around her bare legs and her head throbbing in protest to the sudden movement. “Ugh…” Her hair’s plastered to her cheek, and she wonders just how deeply she slept as she pulls a few strands from her mouth with a grimace.

There’s the click of a latch, the sound of a door swinging open in the next room, and she blinks as she hears something like … multiple footsteps?

“Just on the table, there, merci," a muffled male voice says, just on the edge of familiar.

“I hope to God they fit.”

Rey frowns at the voice of her boss, a little strained and gruff. She looks to the door into the other room, running her hand through her hair to try to get the tangles out as she stands.

“There’s nothing a little Crisco and fishing line can’t fix,” a familiar male voice with a British accent pipes, and she stares at the white carved door in blatant confusion before she’s slipping out of bed and reaching for one of the hotel’s robes. The white fabric is soft and cool against her sleep-warmed skin, and she runs her hand through her hair again to try to tame it into something somewhat presentable before she pokes her head around the door. Immediately she freezes, feeling like a kid who just got caught sneaking on Christmas.

“Ah, just the woman we need!”

Elliot is way too chipper for this hour, and Rey blinks as Ren turns, already dressed in black slacks and a navy blue button up. He has his arms crossed over his chest, and his furrowed brow smooths upon seeing her. The frown he’d been wearing shifts into something softer, far from a smile but more neutral. She’ll take it over angry or frustrated, that’s for damn sure.

“Good morning?” Rey asks, voice a little rough from sleep as she’s approached by Elliot, both of her cheeks kissed chastely. She frowns at the multitude of boxes on the coffee table, a few scattered on chairs, and the black garment bags hung up on a rack with a few more draped over the back of the sofa. “What’s all this?”

“Your gala gowns and accouterments,” Elliot explains as he moves from her to allow Ren to brush a much sweeter, softer kiss against her cheek. She closes her eyes, leaning into him as his hand slips around her waist. She didn’t realize how much she missed him until she woke up alone, and she sighs as he pulls her close in a hug.

“Good morning,” he mutters, voice low as she turns to kiss his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d be up for another hour or so. I would’ve had some breakfast ready.”

“What can I say? I know when I’m being talked about,” she admits, half a joke as she looks at the bags and boxes around the room. “I’m not hungry, yet, but thanks. I have to wonder, though. All of this?”

“We don’t have much time for adjustments, so whatever fits is going to have to work,” Ren explains just as there’s a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Elliot exclaims, walking around shoeboxes as he goes to open it.

Rey leans into her boss, letting him rub at her lower back with his knuckles, soothing and sweet. She hums, watching Elliot yank open the hotel room door. “Is he always this cheerful in the morning?” she asks, voice low to keep the brunet from hearing her as he greets whomever it is with a brilliant grin.

“You haven’t had professional meetings with him at 8 in the morning. This is him without his coffee, or his tea,” Ren replies flatly, and Rey smiles as she watches Enna walk in, carrying a white rectangular bag without a label on the side, the thick plastic sides contoured by the contents. Elliot kisses her cheeks as he had with Rey’s, his grin bright.

“You could learn a thing or two from him, Grumpy,” Rey teases as she observes the woman who already looks impeccable at 7 in the morning in a sleek dark grey dress and a pair of black Manolo Blahniks. Rey wonders when the woman got up, her blonde hair pulled back into a perfect twist and her makeup flawless.

She also wonders why the hell they need three of the most influential General Fashion editors to pick out a simple dress. “Good morning?”

“Good morning, mon amie,” Enna greets, and Rey watches as she sets the white bag down on one of the few empty surfaces in the hotel room. Silver rings probably worth more than three of Rey’s paychecks glitter on her elegant fingers, and Rey feels entirely underdressed as she stands in this room of gorgeous people.

“All of this for a gala?” the brunette asks, frowning towards her boss as he steps away from her to open one of the white jewelry boxes. Rey watches, eyes wide, as he observes an emerald necklace, hums in displeasure, and snaps the box shut again.

“With our relationship splashed on every damn tabloid, there is an expectation we have to meet,” Ren explains. There’s frustration in his tone, and Rey bites her lip as she watches Enna walk around to the garment bags, checking the tags on them before setting some aside.

“He means you two have to look absolutely immaculate,” Elliot clarifies as he walks around the room. Rey takes in his pale grey blazer with cream piping, the coffee brown bow tie at his throat. She smiles as Enna walks across to the one surface not decorated in white boxes, and pours herself a cup of coffee from the room service cart.

“Tea?” Enna asks, turning to her and gesturing to the pot.

“Yes, God, please,” Rey breathes as she walks over, still hyperaware of the fact that she’s just wrapped in a robe. A thick, plush robe, sure, but still only a robe. “Does this have to start this early?”

“Yes,” Ren says simply as he continues opening boxes. Rey sees him hum at one of Tiffany blue, handing it to Elliot. “Maybe.”

“I liked the sapphire one,” Elliot protests.

“I didn’t.”

Rey thanks Enna as she’s handed a cup of green tea, smiling behind the lip of the cup as she watches Ren and Elliot argue about jewelry. She has to admit she missed the powerhouse of Ren, the subtle edge in his few words. As asshole-ish as he can be, there’s something ridiculously attractive about the way he commands – as long as it’s not cruel.

“Rubies?”

“No. We’re steering away from red, I told you that.”

“But she looks gorgeous in it, Ren.”

“No,” Ren says, his voice firm, and he turns around to unzip one of the garment bags. Behind his back, Elliot looks at Rey and dramatically rolls his eyes before throwing his hands up in mock exasperation – or perhaps it’s genuine. Rey snickers into her mug, watching as Ren turns around and raises a single dark brow at her. Elliot has since recovered, pretending to be very interested in a pair of Cartier diamond studs.

“Do they work together a lot?” Rey asks the blonde who stands next to her, nursing her own mug, filled with coffee so saturated with cream it’s nearly white.

“No,” Enna replies, and Rey can hear laughter in her accented voice. “This is why.”

“I told you, no rubies.”

“They’re the size of my fucking pinky nail, Ren.”

“No.”

“They’re not even red, they’re more pink.”

“Renolds.”

Rey snickers into her green tea, and out of the corner of her eye she can see Enna smirking as well. “It’s like watching a Corgi try to make friends with a Rottweiler,” the brunette mutters against the white porcelain as she watches Ren open a red Cartier box before handing it to Elliot, seemingly satisfied with the gems inside. “Please tell me that none of these have been purchased.”

“No, no, they’re loaned,” Enna insists. “As are the gowns and shoes. They’ll be cleaned and returned by the time you’re on the plane back to New York.”

Plane. New York. That’s right, they’re leaving. This is their last night in Paris, and the sucker punch feeling in her stomach makes her feel ill. She lowers her tea from her lips, biting on her lower lip as she watches the two men walk around the room.

This is their last night.

She can hope that everything stays the same, sure, but the reality is, it probably won’t. While this is a work trip, sure, she hasn’t truly been working like she does in New York. What happens when she wears designer clothes to the office? Will they still go on dates? Will they sleep together, still? Her apartment’s the size of his closet, probably, but it’s still hers. She can’t imagine moving in with him this soon, but she likes waking up in his arms.

Rey’s startled out of her little inner crisis by Elliot thrusting a garment bag at her. “This one first, mademoiselle.”

She blinks, the cup of tea gently taken from her by Enna. “Um, yeah, sure?” she asks.

“No, no, I said no red,” Ren says, taking the bag right back out of her hands. She’s a bit grateful, honestly. The gown inside the bag felt bulky, and as used as she is to being dressed up at this point, she hasn’t had her tea yet. That, and she’d like to put underwear on, first. And maybe brush her teeth and hair.

“It’s a beautiful color, Ren, and it’s not red, it’s cranberry,” Elliot insists. Rey watches, amused, as Enna presses her cup of tea back into her hands. “It will look wonderful with her hair.”

“It's a variation of red, Renolds. Yes, but not her eyes.”

“I thought you said that whatever fit without too many alterations would be the dress,” Enna says simply, and Rey watches as she raises two perfectly manicured eyebrows while making to take a sip of her coffee. “Not the one that looks good with her eyes.”

Rey tries not to smirk too much as the boys fall silent, and then the garment bag is in her arms and her tea is taken from her once again. “Fine, try it on, see if it fits,” Ren mutters, obviously put out.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose,” Rey teases as she grins, looking towards the platinum blonde woman.

“I didn’t lose.”

“She’s trying on the dress, so you didn’t win, either,” Enna replies simply. “Go try on the dress, and then you can have your tea back.”

Rey offers the woman a grateful smile before she’s walking into the bedroom. She hears the door shut behind her, and is just laying the dress out on the bed when there’s a heavy hand on her shoulder spinning her around. She barely catches a flash of dark brown hair before she’s being kissed deeply, one of Ren’s hands hot on her waist and the other finding her jaw.

Her head reeling, she melts into his touch as the kiss softens slightly. He tastes strongly of coffee and sugar, and she desperately needs to brush her teeth, but he doesn’t seem to care as he continues to kiss her. His thumb brushes across her cheek before he’s pulling back with a soft smack, and she catches her breath as he lingers, his lips just barely brushing hers.

“Didn’t want to give them a show,” Ren explains, his voice low, and Rey smiles as she reaches up to cup the back of his neck. Dark waves tickle her fingers, and she leans in to press a much softer, chaste kiss to his plush lips.

“Thank you for that,” she whispers before she lets him go. “You couldn’t have warned me?”

“I did. I woke you up briefly, told you they’d be coming over in an hour. You just muttered something about champagne and rolled over,” Ren explains.

“I don’t remember that at all,” Rey confesses, frowning as she wracks her brain for something like that in her memory. She comes up blank, but it seems plausible, at any rate.

“I do. It was adorable,” Ren teases with a kiss to her cheek, and she smiles at the sweetness of it before he’s walking to the closet and pulling out a pale nude strapless, entirely lace and sheer with a matching lace thong. “Some of what we brought is form-fitting.”

“And let me guess, I can’t nix those right away,” Rey mutters as she takes the underwear from him and reaches for the belt on the robe. His eyes rove over her bare form as soon as the robe is slipping from her shoulders, and she smiles at the awe in his gaze. “Oh, come on, you’ve seen it all before.”

“It?” he asks, raising a dark eyebrow. “You insult yourself by calling your beautiful body an ‘it’. The human form is not just an ‘it’. It’s a vehicle for artistic expression, as well as a masterpiece in its own right.”

“Mhm, sure,” Rey mutters as she pulls the thong up and grimaces as she wriggles and tries to get it in some place where it’s comfortable. “And what self-righteous asshole made that up?”

“I’m sure there are other variations, but that one was my own,” Ren replies. “So, me.”

“Sounds about right,” she teases as she secures the bra around her chest and tugs it up to the proper place. “All right, dress me.”

“I don’t like this one, I’m going to say that out right,” he mutters as he unzips the black garment bag to reveal a cranberry gown with lace and some sort of ruffled texture, tulle it looks like. It’s a beautiful color, but she can tell it won’t work. It’s too much. Ren much prefers simple, and it’s not simple. The silhouette, yes, the fabric, no.

“Me either,” she admits as he pulls it out. “But it’s worth a shot?”

“Mm,” he hums, obviously disagreeing, but she’s already stepping into it. His fingers are warm at her back, and she remembers when they did this before, when they weren’t together and when she shivered at the slightest touch. Now, she leans into it, and smiles brightly as he presses a kiss to her bare shoulder.

It’s too tight, not quite zipping up all the way. And by not quite, they get it about half way before Ren gives up. The color’s not fantastic, either. Perhaps it would work with someone of a tanner complexion, but the structure’s off, too. Her hips and chest are too small to pull it off, and she has to hold it up.

“Ren, don’t make me regret letting you in there with her!”

“She’s dressed, Renolds,” Ren calls back, and Rey snorts. “It doesn’t fit. Too many alterations.”

“Damn.” The British man’s disappointment practically drips from his voice, and Rey feels Ren guiding the zipper down. “I liked that one.”

“We have plenty of others,” Ren insists as he helps her step from the lace. Rey watches as he slips it back inside the garment bag, hanging it carefully and zipping it back up. He’s half a step from the door when there’s a knock upon it, and Rey watches as the knob turns before Enna slips in, holding another garment bag.

“I don’t trust you,” the French editor says teasingly, smirking at Ren. “Out. You will hand me dresses, I will get her into them.”

“Enna-“ Ren says, voice holding a warning.

“Out,” she replies firmly, pointing to the door with a perfectly manicured, merlot-colored nail. Rey grins as a soft kiss is pressed to her cheek by her grumbling boss, and she watches as he goes. Enna and Elliot are right, though. With his fingers against her back, lips against her shoulder and neck, and breath hot on her skin, she’s not sure they’d get very far into trying on before they’d start taking off.

“I thought he said no red,” Rey protests when she turns and sees the gown Enna’s hung up, the zipper pulled down just enough to reveal the dress inside.

“He also said he’d be the one dressing you,” the woman replies, glancing over her shoulder at Rey. “That’s a lovely set. Agent Provocateur?”

“Huh?” Rey asks, blinking before she looks down at the strapless bra and thong. “Oh, yeah.”

“I haven’t looked at their new collection, yet.” Enna stands, holding a slim red gown in her hands. Rey can see the ruffle across the shoulder, the cut-out on the side. “Step in, please.”

It’s better fitting than the teal one, but she’s not sure about it. The cut-out feels too high up, and when she looks in the mirror, it doesn’t look ‘immaculate’, as Elliot had said. It looks … a little plain, if she’s honest. But who is she to judge? She’s learning, sure, but she’d still rather refer to those who know best.

Enna opens the door for her, and immediately she can tell Ren doesn’t like it. She knows this look from countless shows and previews, knows when he’s displeased with it. His face is passive, his elbow braced on the arm of the couch and his hand to his chin as he observes her. Elliot is looking at her critically as well, and there’s a deep, twisting sort of feeling in her stomach as her hands come around to her front. She grabs at her fingers, pulling gently in nervousness as she’s stared at by two of the most powerful people in the fashion industry.

“No,” Elliot says finally, frowning. “It’s very pretty, but it’s not it.”

“Not even a maybe?” Enna asks from somewhere behind Rey to her left. “It fits her beautifully.”

“No,” Ren says, and his voice is firm. “No.”

Despite the heaviness of their gaze, there’s something in his tone that warms her. It’s not frustration, no, it’s something else. But she can hear that it’s not her. It’s the dress that’s not right, and Enna’s hand guides her back as the blonde takes another dress from Elliot.

Enna’s fingers are deft, getting her in and out of dresses with ease, even the ones with multiple straps and strange layers and odd cut-outs. Despite the several dresses she tries on, nothing is quite right. The closest they’ve gotten is a champagne-colored shift dress, with Ren and Elliot arguing over the idea of putting jewelry with it.

“We’re not draping her in diamonds. There is an element of class to be retained.”

“I’m not saying she should be dripping in them, Ren, I’m saying that with the right amount-“

“Your right amount and mine are very different, Renolds.”

To watch the two banter back and forth keeps Rey sane throughout the process, in and out of silk and brocade, chiffon slipping on and off of her frame. Some of her favorite comments have been, “Why does that exist?” from Elliot, said in a horrified tone with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, and something Ren muttered under his breath about a Renaissance painting and mock-questioning Elliot’s position as editor-in-chief.

“What about this one?” Enna asks, crossing over to a white garment bag and pulling it from the rack. Rey catches a flash of ivory as she unzips it, and takes another sip of her second cup of tea, settled on the couch for a brief moment in the plush robe.

“Which one?” Ren questions, his back to the racks. Rey watches as Enna walks over, carefully cradling the garment bag before showing him the label. “Too plain.”

“With a large necklace, perhaps a crawling earring?” Enna asks, raising a brow at him.

Rey watches as his hand comes to his mouth, fingers resting against his full lower lip. His brow furrows, and then he sighs, reaching up to run the same hand through his hair. “What the hell, it’s worth a shot,” he mutters. “Nothing else has been perfect so far.”

“It’s not you,” Elliot is quick to correct, looking at Rey.

“I’m starting to think it might be,” Rey admits quietly as she stands. She’s tired, a combination of waking up too soon and trying on multiple dresses taking a toll on her. Paired with the scrutiny of three people who look at beautiful, perfect models every day, she’s about ready to just go with the champagne one, even though it’s not the most comfortable she’s ever worn.

“It’s not, you’re stunning. Pieces of fabric don’t dictate how beautiful you are,” Ren replies immediately, his tone almost condescending, but she knows he didn’t mean for it to come off that way. He’s frustrated, just like she is.

“He’s right.” Enna’s voice is soft as she guides her into the bedroom again, and Rey sighs as she sheds the robe and tosses it on the bed. She can hear the sound of the garment bag zipper, the clinking of the hanger against the hook they’ve been hanging the bags on.

“It’s a little disheartening when nothing fucking fits, though,” Rey mumbles as she turns back to see the blonde holding a length of ivory silk.

“It is,” Enna agrees, unzipping the back and setting it on the ground, holding the sleeves to let Rey step into it. “I think you’re going to have to leave the bra.”

Rey reaches behind herself to unlatch the bra, sighing as Enna guides the dress up her body. “Sorry, I just-“

“You think it is your fault," Enna explains, and Rey nods. "Clothes are beautiful things,” the blonde says as she helps Rey get her arms through the thin straps. “But whether or not a gown fits perfectly is not your … it is not your issue.” The French woman struggles to find the words, and Rey turns to let her zip the dress up. The zipper comes lower than she’d expected, sitting on her lower back, and she can feel the cool air on her shoulder blades. “You were made before the dress was. If it doesn’t fit you, then it is not you. It is the dress. Clothes are made to fit as many bodies as it can, but that may mean twenty, or it may mean one hundred, or it may mean two. Your body may not be one of those bodies. But that doesn’t mean that there’s fault in either. Turn.”

Rey lifts her hands, guiding her hair out from where it became stuck under the thin straps of the dress. The silk is cool against her skin, the bottom flowing around her ankles as she holds her arms out. She can’t see it, aside from looking down, but it feels like it fits. It feels like it fits like a glove, actually. “Fits well.”

The blonde says nothing for a few seconds, her pointer finger pressed to her wine-colored lips. Rey waits, her heartbeat quickening every silent second, and then the French editor is grinning.

“So?” Rey asks.

“Let us see what the boys say,” Enna insists, but there’s something in her voice that wasn’t there before, something almost giddy as she opens the door. Rey takes the skirt in her hands, a bit too long with bare feet but with heels it will be fine. She walks through looking at her feet, trying not to step on the beautiful ivory silk, and then she looks up to meet the gazes of the two men sitting on the couch.

“Well?” she asks, waiting for their response.

She doesn’t get one for a few seconds, but she can tell Ren likes it. She can tell Ren likes it a lot, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide. He still holds the same position, his fingers resting against his lower lip and his elbow braced on the arm of the couch, but there’s something like awe in his expression.

Elliot’s far more obvious, slack-jawed before he’s grinning. “Ren, I-“

“Yes,” Ren says simply. The way he says ‘yes’ to the final Book, the way he says ‘yes’ to the cover outfit, the way he says ‘yes’ to anything important, Rey thinks.
So she’s something important, now, is that it?

“Yes?” Rey asks, looking down at herself. She’s feeling the smooth silk between her fingers when there’s a hand on her jaw, guiding her face up for a gentle kiss.

“Yes,” she hears Elliot say, his laugh evident in his voice as Ren kisses her, his hand sliding around to the silk just above her lower back and the other remaining on her jaw as she’s bowed into him.

There are still shoes to pick out, she knows, and jewelry, and makeup, and a handbag, and her hair, but she might be able to deal with those if it means getting kissed every time they hit the mark. She pulls back, humming as his hand roams up to where the silk doesn’t cover, long fingers spread across her shoulder blades. “Do you like it because it’s white?”

“It’s not white. It’s ivory,” is the only response she gets, a bit snappish as he corrects her as he always does, but she can see the flush on his cheeks, and she grins as she pulls him in for another chaste kiss.

-

He’s been waiting for half an hour. The brasserie is a cozy little modern place tucked into the side of an old building, the light low and warm as he sips at his red wine. It’s not a fantastic bottle, no, but he’s not planning on being here long.

Or at least he hopes he won’t be here long. He has an assistant to see in all her curled hair, makeup-ed glory.

“I’d appreciate it if you told me what you asked me here for,” a voice huffs, and Kylo hums as he takes another sip of his wine, seeing a flash of stormy grey wool out of the corner of his eye.

“You say that like I can’t have lunch with my executive editor,” Kylo mutters as Hux comes into the brasserie, settling down into one of the sleek, modern chairs. His sleek hair and pressed Armani suit do nothing to hide his paleness, the dark circles under his eyes that are fairly well covered in concealer but not absolutely perfectly.

“I had a lunch planned with Miranda,” Hux insists, glaring daggers at the editor in chief even as he reaches for the glass of wine in front of him. “I hope you’re happy.”

“Not really,” Kylo admits, watching as a waiter comes over and sets a steaming cup of lobster bisque in front of the redhead. A basket of bread follows, and Hux stares down at the creamy soup as Kylo reaches for a slice of bread. “It’s your favorite, I know.”

There’s a moment of quiet as Kylo watches the redhead, hearing the chatter around them and the clinking of silverware but nothing from the other man’s mouth as he looks down at the soup. “I’m guessing you know, then,” Hux says bitterly as he reaches for his napkin. “She told you?”

“Did the soup tell you that?” Kylo snarks before he shakes his head. “No. I figured it out.”

“Took you long enough,” Hux snaps, reaching for the spoon before he stops, and sighs, his hand slipping up into his impeccably styled hair. Kylo watches as he leans his elbow on the table, green eyes slipping up to stare at the editor in chief. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would. I thought there would be more broken glass and bent cutlery,” he mutters darkly before he’s taking up a bit of bread, tearing a chunk off and dipping it in the still-steaming soup.

“I didn’t take it well at first. I threw a shoe, something that I deeply regret. Rey was there.”

“Not at her, I hope?” There’s a hardness in the man’s voice that betrays anger and worry. "God, Ren, don't tell me-"

“No," Kylo says immediately, shaking his head. "You know me better than that. The wall.”

There’s a snort, a roll of green eyes, and then the executive editor takes a bite of his soup, humming. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” Hux asks, once he’s swallowed. He reaches for the glass of wine, taking a small sip. “Is that it? That you know I’ve been in love with you for eight fucking years?”

“Not exactly. There’s something else.”

“Am I going to be fired?”

“What?” Kylo asks, the sound coming out almost like a quack as he stares at the other man. “No, why the fuck would you think that?”

“Everything’s going to change now,” Hux says bitterly, narrowing his eyes.

Kylo stares at the executive editor. This prick of a man who purposefully seems to rub him the wrong way, tries to push all his buttons. He’s not pushing any now, eating his bread and his soup and sipping slowly on the mediocre red wine Kylo asked for.

“You’re the best executive editor at General Fashion, in any branch,” Kylo explains carefully.

“You’re too kind, Ren,” Hux says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Tell me, Hux, is it possible for you not be an asshole for five seconds?” Kylo hisses, narrowing his eyes at the redhead. “I know, all right? I know why you’ve been hiring beautiful girls for my assistants for the past few months, pretending to flirt with them and making eyes at them. You did a damn good job of playing the part of a straight, sexist ass. You convinced me. Is that what you want to hear? That I didn’t figure it out until two days ago?”

Hux is silent, setting his spoon down on his plate as he waits for Kylo to continue.

“The more I thought about it, the more obvious it became. Rey said you told her it was better if I didn’t know, and if you didn’t try anything. I call that bullshit.”

“It wasn’t worth the effort for something that would eventually fail.”

“You say that like you know it would have.”

“Look at us, Kylo,” Hux says, and the editor in chief has never seen the man look so defeated. Not in Milan when someone stole his briefcase from right between his legs with the Book inside of it, and after 24 hours of panicking, the redhead finally conceded there was no way to get it back. Not back in New York when they received one of the harshest critiques they’ve ever received, all because of one article that was posted to their website by a junior writer with a closed mind. Not when they had to postpone May’s issue back in 2012 because of an issue with the publisher too close to the deadline.

He’s never seen the man look so worn down.

“We fight all the time. We yell and scream and snap at each other. We lose patience with each other. We rarely agree on anything that doesn’t have to do with Armani suits or resin bracelets or what have you. Don’t tell me it would’ve worked. Don’t tell me you would have wanted it to work,” Hux mumbles, reaching for another sip of wine. “We don’t fight like an old married couple, Kylo. We fight like … like two Greek gods, or something. It’s disastrous to the mortals.”

“Mortals?” Kylo asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Those below us.”

“For fuck’s sake, Hux-“

“And here we go again,” the redhead snaps, slamming his glass down, the wine nearly sloshing over the edge.

Kylo stops, watching as Hux glares at him before taking another sip of his soup. The man’s right. They do fight too often. As well as they work together, they’re shit at being friends. What damage would they do as lovers?

“Do you like working at General?”

He watches as Hux’s eyes lift from the bottle of wine to his face, the man swallowing another bite of bread. “… what?”

“Do you like working at General Fashion?”

“What kind of fucking question is that?”

Kylo has to smirk at that. “Just making sure,” he admits before he’s reaching under the table to the folder he has resting against his leg. A sleek black thing with his own monogram, from his personal stationary, he pulls it up and then tugs Hux’s soup to the side so that he can set it in front of the redhead.

Hux stares down at it, skeptical. “Is this my notice of termination?” he asks, tone sharp and glare sharper. “You said-“

“Just open the damn thing.”

Kylo watches as the man does as ordered, for once, opening the folder and looking down at the drafted letter inside. Green eyes flick back and forth across lines of small, perfect handwriting, and he can hear the sharp intake of Hux’s breath. In a heartbeat, those green eyes are shooting up to meet his, and Kylo allows himself a little smile as the redhead demands, “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Kylo, I … you’re serious?”

“There’s no one else better for the job. I told you you’re one of the best executive editors out there. Your record speaks for itself. If you look through, there are letters from Enna, Elliot, Clint, and Wes as well. And one from Leia.”

It’s like watching ice melt, someone so cold and hard and harsh suddenly warming with flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Hux slumps in his chair, his hand slipping into his hair again as he stares, wide-eyed, at the folder of letters of recommendations on the table. Kylo’s is the only one hand written, but it goes on for pages and pages, written while Rey was dead to the world that morning. The executive editor flips through all of them, seeing headers from each General Fashion editor in chief at the top. Kylo’s never seen the man well and truly speechless, but as he watches, he can see tears start to pool in the other man’s eyes.

Oh, fuck.

He could say something smart. He could be an ass, and say something about Hux crying, say something about him ruining the ink, but he just smiles, and says, “You deserve it.”

Despite everything, despite the horrible assistants and his blatant sabotage of Rey in her early days, he does deserve it. He deserves it for being there constantly, for being a phone call away day or night. For being one step ahead and taking care of things Kylo hadn’t thought of yet, and for contributing some of the best ideas in the company. Sure, he’s been an ass, but he’s a hardworking ass.

And he’s the ass who conveniently forgot to get Rey her own room.

“I don’t … “ Hux starts, trying and failing to speak before he’s laughing, a short bark of a thing. He grins, looking like a fool as he raises his eyes to meet Kylo’s. The editor-in-chief wonders if he's ever seen the man smile like that. He doesn't think he has. “I’ll need to brush up on my Italian.”

“Good luck with that,” Kylo says with a soft chuckle before he stands. “And thank you.”

“For?”

“For forgetting to reserve a room for Rey.”

The man’s grin shifts into a knowing smirk, pale and slender hands closing the folder before sliding it away and bringing his soup closer. “Who said I forgot to reserve it?”

Kylo stares at him for a moment before smirking back, slipping two 100 euro notes onto the table to cover the soup, the wine, and whatever else the redhead might want for lunch, before he walks away.

-

The makeup artist’s hand is lighter than Ren’s. With Ren, she could feel the heat of his hand near her cheek, was hyperaware of his broad frame leaning over hers so that he could get the flick of her eyeliner just right. There’s no heaviness, this time. There’s no heat. There’s only the softness of the brush bristles against her eyelids, sweeping champagne-colored shadow across to apparently bring out the golden flecks in her eyes.

Or so she was told.

“I’ve never had this before,” she mutters once the artist’s hand leaves her face to pick up another color on another brush.

“Never had your makeup done?” Enna’s voice asks from somewhere to her left.

“Not with another girl. With Kylo, yeah,” Rey explains.

She’s glad for it. She’s glad Enna swept her away from the hotel room, glad she has a distraction from the unease that’s settling just behind her ribs. With the smell of perfumed hairspray and nail polish, she can forget Kylo’s cologne for a bit. Forget that she might not smell it on her pillow anymore. Forget that she can’t use his conditioner anymore, or wear his shirts, or curl into his arms in the morning, or-

“Kylo did your makeup?” Enna asks, and there’s laughter in the French editor-in-chief’s voice. Not mocking laughter, Rey thinks, but just amused as she looks over to see the woman getting her platinum blonde hair slicked back, pin-straight and sleek as silk. Her own gala dress hangs behind her, a deep navy chiffon creation that will show off her long, beautiful legs. Rey’s gaze has slipped to it and the Cartier earrings and bracelets in their red boxes several times, her own Tiffany necklace safely in its blue box. She has yet to see it, Ren insisting she see it last.

“Some days. He taught me,” she explains before she’s instructed to close her eyes again, another color swept expertly across her lids and blended out. “Or tried to.”

“It takes years of practice,” Enna assures her, her accent heavy as she closes her own eyes against the spritz of hairspray. Rey can smell the delicate perfume of vanilla, covering the slight scent of the chemicals that will hold the blonde’s perfectly sleek style in place. “You will learn.”

“Or I’ll just drive over to his penthouse or mansion or whatever he has before work,” Rey mutters, only half teasing.

“Townhouse.”

“What?”

“He has a townhouse,” Enna explains, and Rey opens her eyes to watch the blonde be combed and spritzed again.

“Have you been to his house?” she asks, not surprised, not really. They did have a one night stand. She wonders if he made her breakfast, or if he took her out. If she took a shower there. If she used his conditioner, and then wore one of his shirts.

“Once. For dinner, with some of the other editors. He cooks very well,” the French woman replies, as if she’s speaking about the weather outside. Rey stares before she’s told to shut her eyes again, her lids closing before she can realize she’s obeying.

“Kylo cooks?” she demands, trying and failing to keep the shock from her voice as she hears the blonde laugh.

“Yes,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “He makes an excellent roast duck, and the best chocolate cupcakes. Four years and he still refuses to give me the recipe.”

Roast duck. Chocolate cupcakes. She tries not to imagine him over a stove, his sleeves rolled up and a spoon in his large hand for taste-testing. She tries not to let her heart burst at the thought, but she fails at hiding her smile at how … domestic it is. Kylo cooking. Kylo coming home and cooking after a long day at work. Unwinding to some music and the sound of something boiling on the stove, heavenly smells of roasts and some sort of pastry in the oven.

She tries not to imagine her with him, leaning against some counter as she watches the master at work.

“That sounds nice,” she offers, because she realized Enna was probably waiting for her to say something.

“You’ll have to ask him to cook for you sometime.” There’s a hint of something in the other woman’s voice, and Rey looks over to see her smirking. “Maybe breakfast?”

“He didn’t cook you breakfast?” Rey asks before she can stop herself, and blinks when the other woman’s response is to snicker.

“He bought me Starbucks, if that counts,” Enna replies, looking over to the brunette. She hasn’t had her makeup done yet, but Rey’s comforted by the red mark on her cheek, the blemish still beneath the skin. There’s a scar by her right eye, more along her jaw from past breakouts. Her lips are pale, her eyelashes just as pale as her hair even though Rey’s sure she bleaches it to that platinum color. She must be a natural light blonde, then.

As pretty as she is, she isn’t perfect. She isn’t some airbrushed supermodel, she isn’t stunning every single moment of the day. Rey smiles at her.

“He ordered me room service. I don’t think that counts either,” she says just as her phone goes off, ‘Ren’ at the top of the notification bubble. “Huh. Speak of the Devil, and the Devil shall text.”

She can hear the blonde’s laughter as she reaches for her phone, and she grins as she looks down at the message. It’s a simple one, three words, but they make her heart warm. Not even four hours, and he’s already texting her ‘I miss you’.

The heavy feeling in her chest abates ever so slightly as she texts a kiss emoji, only to receive another text half a second later asking ‘Emojis? Really?’ She can hear his tone perfectly, can see him rolling his dark brown eyes. She doesn’t get a chance to reply with something equally as smart-ass before another message is coming through with his own kiss mark.

‘Can’t wait to see how beautiful you look.’

Chapter Text

“Drinking more champagne won’t make her come any faster. I understand you’re impatient, but you have a liver to consider.”

Hux’s voice carries over the dull chatter that surrounds him. Kylo can count on one hand the number of times he’s been relieved to hear the redhead’s voice, but he supposes now he can count another. A glance to his left shows the executive editor dressed entirely in black with a bow tie and cream-colored dress shirt. Of course, Kylo would expect nothing less. The man’s all classic style, unlike Elliot who’s marching around in an emerald jewel-toned suit, a black bow tie at his throat and black glasses perched on his nose.

“Like you take yours into consideration?” Kylo asks, turning to fully look at Hux, and stopping once he sees the stylishly disheveled hair on the other man. For years, he’s seen the man style it impeccably. He’s seen him in the bathroom setting stray baby hairs back into place, has seen him in his office checking to make sure it’s still holding it’s old-fashioned and sleek shape. To see it so casual, soft and almost touchable-looking…

“… you look good,” he mutters, unsure of what else to say as he takes in the executive editor. Everything else is perfectly in place, cufflinks both at the same angle and bow tie crisp and neat.

“Didn’t feel like fussing with it,” Hux replies simply, but Kylo smirks. The man loves to fuss, and he can see even now that Hux’s hands ache to touch it, to fix it back into place, back to the way he normally wears it at such formal occasions.

“You look happy.”

Hux’s eyes had been roaming around the room, steadily avoiding his ever since they started speaking, but now the executive editor looks right at him, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “Do I?” he asks, his tone almost sharp, as if Kylo just accused him of treason. Which, Kylo supposes, looking happy could count as a betrayal to his true self in the eyes of the other man. The editor in chief smirks, nodding.

“Mhm,” Kylo says, reaching for another glass of champagne as a waiter passes, only to have it plucked from his fingers almost immediately after. “Hux-“

“You may be built like a fucking horse, but even you have a limit, and you’re very close to reaching it,” the redheaded man tells him snappishly, but there’s some mirth in his tone as he sips the champagne Kylo is still thinking of as his. “She’ll be here.”

“She’s late.”

“Have you ever heard of the term fashionably late, Ren?”

“That’s not a thing,” Kylo mutters, but there’s a flash of brightness near the entrance, and his gaze immediately finds a woman in white. Blonde. Not Rey, then. “Fuck.”

“Kylo?”

Not many people dare to call him by his first name. It’s typically reserved for either close friends, of which he has few, or the higher-ups of General, like Enna or Elliot. So to hear his name coming through the throngs of people he doesn’t particularly care about makes his brow furrow in confusion. He sees a flash of gold as he turns around, and then he stops, a soft smile quirking his lips as he reaches towards the beautiful dark-skinned woman holding a glass of red wine.

“Liya,” he offers, leaning in to brush a kiss against her cheek, seeing the golden highlighter brushed against her high cheekbones.

“I haven’t seen you since the wedding,” the woman teases in her strong South African accent, kissing his cheek as well and pulling back to grin at him. “You look well.”

“And you look stunning,” the editor in chief mutters, looking at her Herve Leger gold mermaid dress. It clings to her slim body, the seams accentuating her slight hips and the sweetheart neckline drawing attention to the gold highlighting powder brushed across her collarbones. She looks like a goddess, her cropped curls dusted in gold as well, letting her dark skin and natural hair be the center of attention. Kylo offers her a genuine smile, even though it’s small. “The last time I saw you, you were in ivory. Does Enna know you’re here?”

“No, I wanted to surprise her. We wrapped up the shoot early,” Liya says, and Kylo raises her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. He can see the small gold bands on her ring finger, symbolizing her marriage to the blonde without screaming it to the world. He always thought the matching gold bands tasteful, the diamonds encircling it catching the light without drawing too much attention.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you,” he mumbles, looking to Hux as he greets the model as well. Knowing he won’t be missed too horribly from the conversation, he steps away, snagging another glass of champagne now that Hux’s attention is elsewhere.

He’s just walking towards the front doors when his phone starts to buzz, and he frowns as he pulls it out of his tuxedo pants pocket, seeing Enna’s name and a simple, ‘Pulling up. Be here.’

There are still people coming in, but they part for the editor in chief as he makes his way to the front doors and down the red-carpeted stairs. The first sleek black car he sees holds an older couple, a model from the 60s he recognizes but can’t recall the name of at the moment, his nerves getting the better of him.

Why are you nervous? It’s like every other event.

Except it isn’t, he reminds himself as he tries to keep his steps even as he walks down the stairs. This is their last night. This is it.

Their last night in Paris. Not their last night at all. Or so he hopes.

He can hear the clicks of the cameras, the shouts of the paparazzi as the bulbs flash around him. No doubt he’s drawing some attention by walking down instead of up, but he knows any reasonable person who’s been keeping up with the press knows exactly why he’s walking down the stairs.
He can see a white Bentley pull up, and his breath hitches in his throat as he sees a swirl of navy blue chiffon. Not Rey, no, but damn close. Enna’s helped out by one of the attendants standing nearby. As experienced as he is in terms of working the camera at these sort of events, she smiles to the cameras as she steps out of the car. The slit in her dress allows for a tanned leg to be showcased, and Kylo smirks a bit as she indulges in playing it up a bit, her hand finding her hip as the other holds her silver clutch.

“Always one to draw attention,” he teases as he walks down to greet her. He kisses both of her cheeks gently, seeing the diamond cuffs on her ears and recognizing them as ones he almost gave Rey to wear. “You’re late.”

“No, you’re simply early,” Enna replies, her pale pink painted lips quirking up into a matching smirk. “She looks lovely, but she’s terrified. Go help her.”

It's an order, her tone clipped but smirk kind as she gathers her dress in her hands and starts to walk up the stairs in her black heels. Kylo watches her for half a heartbeat before he’s walking down the steps to the sidewalk, stepping directly in front of the attendant and blocking the cameras from getting a shot of his assistant as she steps out of the car.

“Sorry we’re late,” Rey says, and he can see the nervousness in her smile, her lips painted a dark nude pink perhaps a shade darker than her natural color. The Tiffany necklace sparkles against her skin, the warm rose gold of the collar beautiful against her pale complexion. He’s glad he went with the rose gold instead of the platinum collar dripping in diamonds. It would have overwhelmed her completely. And besides, the bow holds meaning, should she ask about it.

The makeup artist Enna hired did a wonderful job on her makeup, gold and rose gold playing off of the flecks in her light brown eyes, and he offers her a soft smile as she stares up at him like a deer in headlights.

“You look beautiful,” he says under his breath, just so she can hear, and he watches her cheeks flush pink as she takes his offered hand.

“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” she replies, her voice just as low as his had been as she slips her hand to his elbow, letting him guide her from the car and towards the stairs. “And I have the feeling I’m going to trip and embarrass myself at some point tonight.”

“You won’t,” Kylo says matter-of-factly.

“Are you telling me that as an order from my boss, or as my date trying to be reassuring?” Rey asks as he sees flash upon flash from the cameras, his vision flickering with the bright lights. She turns away, into him, trying in vain to hide her face. Of course she wouldn't play it up for the cameras like Enna had, of course she would still be uncomfortable. He didn't even think about it, and he kicks himself for it now. She's not one for attention, he knows.

“Who said I was your date?” he asks, and he can see the short look of fear in her eyes before he smirks, and she playfully glares at him.

“You’re an ass,” she mutters as she takes her dress in her hand, walking up the stairs with his help. He stops halfway up, watching as she takes another step, her hand slipping from his elbow to trail down to his hand. She turns back, her brow furrowed in confusion as he looks up at her, holding her hand. “What? Did I drop something?”

Feeling like a heartsick romantic, he stares at her for a moment before lifting her hand to his lips. He can hear the cameras go wild, catching Rey standing on the steps as he bends and kisses her fingers. It will be a wonderful photo, he knows, and the vain part of him is smirking in satisfaction, but for the moment he just enjoys holding her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles before he pulls back and looks back up at her.

He’s rewarded with a look of absolute shock, and further pinked cheeks, and he allows himself a little smirk as he walks back up to her and slips his hand along her lower back, feeling warm skin where back of her dress dips low.

“Let me guess, that was the perfect photo opportunity?” she asks as he guides her up the stairs.

“Just wanted to,” he replies simply, and she looks up at him as they reach the top. He can see another flicker of uncertainty, and he wonders if she feels it too – the looming dread of leaving the city of lights and returning to the reality that is their lives in New York.

“I liked it,” she says, after a moment of them just looking at each other. He wonders if that’s a good shot, too; them standing at the top of the stairs, just staring into each other’s eyes like some kind of romantic movie.

“I’m glad. Want some champagne?”

“God, yes,” his assistant breathes, and he chuckles as he guides her inside the opera house.

-

“Kylo?”

“Hm?”

“Who’s the woman standing close to Enna?”

“Her wife.”

“Enna’s married?”

He can hear the surprise in Rey’s voice as he takes a flute of champagne from a passing tray, slipping it into her hand. He looks down at her, and sees her gaze is fastened on the couple, the tall blonde clinging to the arm of her wife and leaning in to kiss her cheek occasionally. “She is. I guess I didn't mention it."

"Yes, don't mention that the gorgeous woman you had a one night stand with and who has been teasing me about your 'love-making abilities' has a wife," Rey mutters, but he can tell she's trying not to laugh.

"Don't tell me you've been jealous," Kylo scoffs. "Liya’s been in Thailand for the past two months, she just got back today, or so she told me."

“Not jealous, just wondering whether there was still some lingering sparks," she insists. "And wondering why it didn't work out, but I guess we know, now." He looks down to see her smiling a bit. "Thailand?” Rey asks as he starts to guide her to where Hux is speaking with Elliot, Enna, and Liya. “Have you been?”

“Once,” Kylo replies as he stops just on the fringes of the conversation.

“There’s no one better for the job, truly,” Liya’s saying.

“I know,” Hux replies matter-of-factly, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Rey rolling her eyes at the man’s lack of modesty and humbleness.

“We’ll have to get dinner more often,” Enna says, looking to the redhead. “Now that you’re a short flight away.”

“That would be lovely.”

“It will be strange not seeing you strut around the office,” Rey says, and Kylo can practically see the vein pop out on the man’s forehead. Oh, this should be fun.

“I don’t strut,” Hux insists.

“You strut,” Kylo says as he snags a glass of red wine from a waiter. “Thank you.”

“I do not strut.”

“You act like the world is your runway,” Enna croons, getting a laugh from her wife. Kylo can see Rey watching them and smiling. Enna’s set of rings matches her wife’s, a simple collection of diamonds inset into gold bands. He can see where Rey would think they’re just a set of rings, and not an engagement ring and wedding band, especially when paired with the other rings on Enna’s hands. He can see a golden rose twining up her middle finger, thorns dotted with emeralds and the three pieces connected by golden chains.

“It’s true,” Elliot confirms, jumping into the conversation again. Kylo can see he’s double-fisting a champagne glass and a glass of rosé.

“There’s nothing wrong with putting effort into my appearance,” Hux huffs. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to speak to Raphael about the position.”

“Marco?” Rey asks as the executive editor snags a glass of red wine and walks away.

“The executive editor of the Italian magazine,” Elliot explains as a male model Kylo recognizes from Armani walks up, looking impeccable in a black and white tux and smiling down at Elliot. “Excuse us, please?” he asks, passing the champagne to the model before walking away, his hand on the much taller man’s arm.

“Is that a new one?” Liya asks, laughter in her voice.

“The man changes men like he changes suits,” Enna says, before her gaze finds Rey. “Ah, Rey. May I introduce my wife? Liya Reneux.”

“You took her name,” Rey says immediately, and Kylo watches as Liya smiles kindly.

“It is an old family, with much history. I felt honored that she would offer it to me,” the model says, leaning against her wife.

Enna smiles down at the slightly shorter woman, and Kylo can feel Rey’s hand slip into the crook of his elbow. He looks down to see her pale pink nails against the dark black of his tux, and he feels her press closer. Whether it’s because she feels uncomfortable, or she’s feeling cold, or something else entirely, he can’t tell. But he enjoys the closeness anyway, and chances pressing a kiss to her temple. Her hair, curled in gentle waves and parted down the middle, tickles his nose. He can smell hairspray and other products, but it still feels soft against his cheek before he’s pulling back and seeing Enna smirking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” the blonde says, looking to her wife and smiling sweetly. “Liya, is Frank here?”

“I thought I saw him,” Liya says, of the famous photographer. She frowns towards her wife. “Why do you ask?”

“Why don’t you go and introduce Rey to him? I’m sure he’d love to meet her.”

“Wonderful idea,” Liya croons as she offers her hand to Rey, her smile bright. “He’s very charming.”

Rey looks up at him, and Kylo looks to Enna, seeing her raised brows and her knowing look. “Go on, have fun,” he mutters. “And tell him I want him for the December issue, I'll be in touch."

“Yes, sir,” Rey replies, throwing a grin at him before she walks off with the model, the dark-skinned woman immediately leaning close to her and whispering something as they walk towards the dance floor.

“You’re in love,” Enna says, the French phrase dripping with amusement. “It’s nice to see.”

“I’m not in love,” he replies firmly, knowing damn well it's a lie but not wanting to look like a sap. “I like being with her. She's a change from the others. And I enjoy her company, is that so hard to understand?”

“No. I was just going to say I'm happy for you. You look younger when you're with her. You glow. You smile. I've missed it."

"I don't glow."

She offers him a little smirk, her champagne glass resting against her lower lip. "You know,” she says, taking a sip of her drink, a hum leaving her lips. “She looked so meek and scared at first. I was afraid she was like all the rest of your assistants.

“She’s not,” he protests.

“She’s very not,” she replies, and he watches her smile. “I knew the moment you said no one has a claim on her that you liked her. Watching you defend her against Tony was both entertaining and … how do you say it – heartwarming? I’ve never seen you defend your assistants before.”

“She’s more than my assistant.”

“She is now. She wasn’t then. But you still defended her. You liked her even then." Her smirk falls a little, and she looks out at the crowds of people surrounding them, having their own conversations. "She has fire. Be careful it isn’t blown out.”

“What are you suggesting?” Kylo snaps, and Enna raises a brow at him.

“I’m not talking about you,” she promises. “You know as well as I do that people are assholes. You may be one of them, yes, but others are even meaner. I would hate to see them come after her just for being with you. Some already have.”

“What have you heard?” he demands, keeping his voice low as fire burns in his chest, the prickling feeling of fear crawling up his spine.

“That she’s using you to get ahead. That she’s sucking your cock to get a promotion. Ugly things.” The blonde takes another, bigger sip of her drink, and sighs, looking down at the bubbles rising in the glass.

People are assholes who say mean things. Kylo saw the hate when she got married, their beautiful photos plastered alongside slurs and insults.

“She’s stronger than you think she is,” he mumbles.

“Is she?” Enna retorts immediately, before Elliot comes bouncing up, arm candy abandoned somewhere in the crowd. “Where’s your beau?”

“Jared?” Elliot asks, eyes wide behind his glasses as he nurses his glass of rosé. “No idea, I just borrowed him to make the bartender jealous."

Enna’s knowing look and eye roll make him snort, but the disquiet in his chest doesn’t ease as he finds Rey next to Liya in the crowd, speaking to the short bald photographer who’s gesturing animatedly. He watches as she turns, looking towards him. She’s far away, but he can just see a flicker of a smile before she’s turning her attention back to the man in front of her, nodding understandingly even though Kylo’s sure she has no idea what the photographer is talking about.

She's stronger than you think she is.

Is she?

He takes a sip of the champagne, wondering if he got a bad bottle or if it’s his nerves making it taste bitter.

-

She feels like she’s going to throw up. She genuinely feels like she’s going to throw up, and she’s not sure if her third glass of champagne is helping or hurting her cause as she lingers by the edge of the dance floor, watching Enna and Liya dance together to some slow instrumental song. Enna’s dress flares out beautifully, and she knows that was entirely planned, the blonde fully knowing all eyes would be on her and her gorgeous wife.

“Enjoying the show?”

Ren’s voice is low, and she looks to her left to see he’s holding two glasses of champagne. “Ah, you already have one.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she replies quietly, watching as he passes it off to some man, speaking Japanese quickly before nodding and turning back to her. “What did you say?”

“I asked him if he wanted a drink,” Ren replies matter-of-factly, and she stares up at him. He looks impeccable, as always, in his tux. She’d only seen men wear it at prom, and in the movies. Before this trip, she never acknowledged the simplicity and classic allure of the tuxedo. But damn, does she acknowledge it now, taking in how his waist looks slimmer and his shoulders broader as he stands next to her.

“Do you want to dance?”

His questions startles her out of staring at his chest, and she blinks, eyes sliding up to his as he raises a brow at her, and offers her his hand as the song ends.

“Maybe later,” she admits, looking back to where Enna and Liya are closer, Enna taking the lead as she spins her wife around. “They’re too pretty.”

Ren chuckles beside her, and she feels his hand slip to her lower back, his fore and middle finger touching her bare skin while the others rest on the silk of her dress. “You’re prettier than both of them, to me.”

Rey snorts, the sound louder than she’d expected and gathering some attention from those around them. Embarrassed, she flushes bright red and takes a sip of the champagne, her gaze shooting towards the floor as she feels Ren’s hand slip around her waist. “Thanks, but I have to disagree,” she mutters.

His thumb starts to rub her lower back, and she feels the warmth of his body as he steps closer. “You’re beautiful.”

It’s said so simply, so easily, without hesitation. Her fingers tighten on the champagne glass. He says it like he tells her that she needs to go pick up jackets from Calvin Klein, like he tells her that the next issue will focus on metallics, like he tells her something mundane. Like it’s a fact.

Instead of arguing with him, she reaches for the necklace around her throat, the rose gold warm as she brushes the diamonds of the bow. “I’m surprised you went with this one,” she admits. “I would have thought you to pick something more dramatic.”

“This one has meaning,” he tells her.

“Oh?”

“It’s a bow.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So,” Ren says, looking down at her with a soft smirk. “So, what do bows do?”

“They make things look pretty?” Rey guesses, taking another sip of her champagne. “I don’t get it, does it make me look prettier?”

“No. Bows hold things together.”

Hold things together. Together. Her heart skips a beat as she looks up at him, seeing the warmth in his brown eyes, the mirth in his smirk. “Like … we’re together?” she asks, and it comes out so quietly she wonders if he heard it at all.

The smirk melts away in half of a second, his eyes widening ever so slightly. And then he hums, one shoulder shrugging a bit. “I was thinking more along the lines of you help me keep my shit together, but that works, too.”

She snorts again, careful to keep it quieter this time, leaning into him as the music starts up again. This time, the piano is heavily featured, and she smiles as she listens to the soft melody.

“You’re smiling.”

“Grandpa used to play the piano. He tried teaching me, but I only got so far as Chopsticks and some song from Sound of Music,” Rey explains, something warm blossoming in her chest at the memory of his work-worn hands stroking the smooth ivory keys. The way her feet could just reach the pedals, the way the furniture polish smelled on the old wood. She doesn’t know where the piano is now. She doesn’t know where the sheet music ended up, either. Probably the piano sold to pay for his medical bills, the sheet music tossed in the trash. The warm feeling turns solid, heavy and sad as she downs the last of the champagne and sets it aside on a nearby table.

This time, when his hand is offered, she takes it. His fingers curl around hers, warm. These fingers that have edited so many articles, flipped through so many pages, sorted through so many photos. These fingers that have made her beautiful through pulled zippers and eyeshadow brushes and lipstick tubes. These fingers that have brought her so much pleasure…

“What are you thinking about?”

“Hm?” she asks, looking up at the man who was her asshole of a boss a week ago, and is now holding her like she’s porcelain, her hand in his and his palm pressed against the bare skin of her lower back. He’s wearing that damn smirk, one eyebrow quirked. It takes her a moment to remember what he asked. “You.”

“Me?” he asks, her answer obviously not the one he was expecting.

“I don’t want to leave.”

It’s a quiet little confession, and she feels his hand tighten on hers. He pulls her closer as the piano starts to swell a bit, taking a step to the right and guiding her with him. She has no idea what they’re doing, but she follows his lead as best as she can. Looking around at the other couples on the dance floor, they seem to be doing the same thing – moving in a small area, holding each other close. One, two, three, step, one, two, three, step.

“Neither do I.”

She looks back up at Ren, sighing. “I’ve always hated Mondays.”

His chuckle is low and rumbling, and she indulges in leaning forward a bit, closing her eyes and feeling the music warm her chest. Whoever is playing is incredibly talented, she thinks, the piano given the spotlight for at least this piece. She wonders if, with some talent and some time, if Ben could have learned it and played for her.

“What are we doing?”

“Dancing,” Ren replies smartly.

“No, not … you know what I mean,” Rey says, realizing the moment he quirks his brow at her that he’s just fucking with her. “What are we doing when we get back to New York? Are … are we going to go on dates? Am I going to hop on the subway and go to your place afterward and you’ll make me roast duck? Are you going to come to my closet-sized apartment and I’ll order Chinese food, I don’t … what is this?”

“Enna told you about that, didn’t she? My making dinner for her?” is all he says, and she desperately wants to smack him across his stupidly handsome face. And then she feels him squeeze her hand a little tighter, pull her a little closer as the music starts to swell even further. Their steps get wider and more dramatic, and she’s left breathless as he spins her out before pulling her back in, her dress swirling around her rose-gold Louboutins before he’s pulling her flush against his chest and staring down at her.

“I’d like to make you dinner,” he replies. “I’d like you to come with me after work. I’d like to drink wine with you, maybe let you read over some of the articles and make suggestions. That’s what you want to do, right? Be an editor?”

“I want to write my own articles,” she insists, breathless.

“Well, in that case, then I’ll read yours. Over roast duck and red wine and chocolate cake.”

The editor in chief of General Fashion, reading her articles over dinner. She can see it. Some warm, rich, dark wood-filled house. Some large, gourmet kitchen. Her article on the granite countertops, a spoon in his hand as he reads a paragraph and tells her what edits to make. Her heels abandoned by the door, his suit jacket on the back of the barstool she’s sitting on, a pen in her hand as she follows his suggestions.

It’s stupidly domestic, and she hates how much she loves it, and how easy it is to imagine with him.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I want that,” she insists, and the concrete lump in her stomach dissipates slightly with the reassurance that he wants this. That he wants her. “I was worried, you know, that when we get back, you might not… want me.”

“I’m not that much of an asshole,” Ren insists, sounding offended.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she protests.

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I mean that New York isn’t Paris. New York isn’t parties and shows and a lavish hotel room. New York is nine to five and sometimes longer, and your house and my shitty apartment and an office filled with people who already hate me who are probably going to hate me more when I get back, and people who are going to judge you for picking some nobody from Arizona to take to bed.” She’s breathless by the end, staring up at him as they stop dancing and just sway to the piano that’s getting louder and louder, still. “New York is reality.”

“Then what is this?” Ren demands.

“A dream, a fucking romantic movie, I don’t … I don’t know, some adventure of a lifetime that I’ll never get to experience again?” Rey sighs, reaching up to run her hand through her hair but then thinking better of it, remembering the products in it. Huffing, she puts her hand back on his shoulder perhaps a bit harder than strictly necessary.

“You think this is all some elaborate dream?”

“I.. I don’t know what to think.”

It’s barely above a whisper. She thinks back to the Seine, eating fries and sandwiches in the cold autumn air. She thinks of Jules le Verne, looking out at the city while indulging in some of the best food she’s ever had. Every show, sitting next to him. Every night, falling asleep next to him and every morning, waking up curled on his chest. It certainly seems like a dream, no matter how many opportunities she’s had to wake up.

She’s startled by the pair of plush lips against hers. He tastes like red wine, and she melts against him, letting him hold her as the song reaches its climax, the trill of the piano almost deafening as they stop swaying and just stand still. It’s chaste, by their standards, and she feels the silky locks of his hair between her fingers as she goes to cup the back of his neck and pull him closer. No doubt they’re causing a scene with such PDA, but she doesn’t give a damn as she tries not to visibly shake.

A slight pinch of pain against her lower lip has her gasping, and her fingers fly to the tender skin as Ren pulls back. “Kylo-“

“It seemed like a better option than pinching,” he tells her, and she allows herself a smirk as she tugs his hair ever so slightly.

“You ass,” she mutters before she pulls him down into another soft kiss, the piano fading off into the last few bars of the song before it ends and polite applause erupts around them.

“You two are too fuckin’ cute,” Elliot says as he brushes by, another male model guiding him out to the dance floor. Rey sees Ren’s raised brows and wonders just how many men Elliot has been seen with tonight. Still, she grins as she leans into the editor in chief, and curls in as he wraps his arm around her. She watches the British editor in chief go past, and watches him as he immediately wraps his arms around the neck of the model.

“What number is that?”

“Four,” Ren supplies. “Elliot likes his boys.”

“To each their own?” Rey offers, and she hears a snicker from her boss as he guides her off of the dance floor, something a bit jazzier starting to play.

“To each their own,” Ren repeats, and she grins as he starts to lead her towards the pure white linen covered tables laden with small morsels. “I saw bacon wrapped figs.”

“Oh, fuck, yes!” It’s said under her breath, but apparently, it was loud enough for him to hear, because she hears his soft chuckle half a moment later, and looks up to see him absolutely grinning.

There’s something about his smile, about his laugh, about the warmth in his eyes that makes her feel both impossibly hot and impossibly sick at the same time, and her heart does a little flip in her chest as she squeezes his hand and smiles back.

Love, some voice supplies in the back of her mind as he goes ahead and fills a gold-rimmed plate with as many bacon-wrapped figs as is socially appropriate. You love him.

Well, she knew that she loved the sweet side of him.

As she watches him examine the table, obviously looking for things she may like. He looks at her, asking if she likes shrimp, and she has no idea what she responds with because she's too busy staring at his hands, at his broad shoulders, at the soft hair she loves to run her fingers through, at the lips that kiss her and call her beautiful and give her orders but have also given her words of encouragement, of reassurance.

For once, she looks at him, and she doesn't see Ren. She doesn't see the editor in chief of General Fashion, the legendary asshole, the Satan of the fashion editorial empire.

She sees the man she wakes up next to, the man she's shared a shower with, the man who gave her his t-shirt after throwing out hers. The man who bridal carried her and let her indulge herself this trip. The man who ordered her breakfast and told her he couldn't wait to see how beautiful she looked.

She doesn't see Ren.

She sees Kylo.

She tries to think about the last time she saw the asshole side of him. He was snarky this morning, but he wasn't an asshole. The day before, on their dates, he was a perfect gentleman. He apologized for his behavior, spoke to Hux, even offered him the Italian position and made sure that Hux had the references and recommendations to secure the spot. Sure, he's been an ass a handful of times in the past week, and she can recall every single one of those instances. But in recently, he's tried to make up for it, tried to fix his mistakes and tried to apologize. And it counts, at least to her. He's been-

"Rey?"

"Hm?"

"Are you all right?"

She blinks, looking up at him as he walks over to her holding a plate loaded with small bites in one hand and a glass of water for her in the other. "Yeah," she replies, after realizing he's expecting her to answer. "Yeah, I'm ... I'm perfect."

"Damn right you are."

She grins at the kiss to her temple, not caring who hears her laughter, who snaps a picture of her with her nose crinkled up and her dimples showing and her eyes squinted as she leans into him, his hand on her waist as he pulls her close. She doesn't give a damn who sees her in love with Kylo Ren.

Chapter Text

“How many galas do I have to go to in New York?”

“A few.”

“How many are immediately after we get back?”

“None?”

“Good.” It’s a groan as she sinks further into the hot water of the tub, hearing the rain hammer against the frosted window facing the street. Kylo’s footsteps come closer, his long gait easily recognizable now by sound alone, and she opens her eyes to see him peeking into the bathroom.

Even though he looked damn good in a tuxedo, she prefers him like this. Slightly mussed, more relaxed, his smile slight but soft. His tuxedo jacket has been abandoned, but the vest remains. His bow tie’s gone, and instead, the top few buttons of his dress shirt are undone. She smiles at him as he walks in, perching himself on the edge of the tub she’s spent the last ten minutes in.

“How’re your feet?” he asks, voice low and dulcet.

“Better. Everything else still hurts. Ass, thighs, calves, knees...” she confesses, closing her eyes and leaning against the rolled up towel she’s using as a pillow. “I guess it takes more than a week to get used to wearing heels.”

“You were on your feet for most of the night, too,” Kylo says, and she can hear the amusement in his voice. She hums in response and sighs as she feels his fingers against her cheek. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the piece having escaped from the messy bun she pulled it up into.

“You know, this tub is big enough for two,” she mumbles, opening her eyes to see that he’s much closer than she thought he would be – he must have been leaning in to kiss her. “You’re more than welcome to join me.”

Kylo pulls back a little, and she smiles at his dark eyes and full lips. Damn, he’s pretty, and he’s even prettier as he grins and steps back. God, she loves it when he grins, when she can see the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, can feel the warmth of his smile. She sits up a little, grinning too as she braces her elbow on the side of the tub and rests her chin on the back of her wrist.

“What?” he asks, going to unbutton the black vest.

“Just enjoying the show,” she teases, watching as his long, thick fingers push the tiny buttons through the little holes. He snorts, shaking his head as he sheds the vest. “Come on, make it interesting. Please?”

“No,” he says simply, and she shrugs as she continues to watch him. The vest is set on a chaise lounge nearby – why someone would need a couch in a bathroom, she has no idea, but at least he doesn’t have to go to into the other room to set out his tux because knowing him he definitely would. She watches as he starts to unbutton his dress shirt, his back to her.

“Nuh uh, turn around,” she sing-songs, and she gets a somewhat annoyed look thrown at her over a broad shoulder. She grins in retaliation, and her boss sighs as he turns back around and lets her see him unbutton the last three.

She’s seen his body plenty of times over the past week, but it still makes her mouth water every damn time. He’s big and broad, and smooth as hell. She thinks back to her high school crushes, how they were lithe and gangly. Thin, but toned. Kylo is far from thin, and she wonders when her tastes changed. Or maybe it’s just because it’s him.

“Gorgeous,” she says, and despite the scoff she receives in response, she can see his pale cheeks turning pink as he sheds the shirt slowly, giving her a show despite his protest. He turns to fold it and set it aside, and she can see the muscles of his back. Neither of them speak, and in the silence, the clinking of his belt buckle seems almost painfully loud. She shifts, the water sloshing around her as she moves to make room behind her so that he can get in. He turns and lets her see him pulling the pants off, revealing black Calvin Klein briefs. Not boxer-briefs, but legitimate briefs. She raises an eyebrow at the cut of them but doesn’t complain – fuck, it makes him look so much bigger.

Not that he’s particularly small…

“You’re no Magic Mike, you know that?” she teases as she watches him fold the pants and set them on the chaise lounge.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he says, but she smiles as he walks back to her and stands near the side of the tub. “Figured you might want to do the honors.”

“God, yes, please,” she breathes, shifting to go up to her knees. The tub is bigger than any other she’s been in, ever, and she’s grateful she can actually shift easily without banging anything on the porcelain. When she rises to her knees and settles comfortably, she finds she has a face full of Kylo Ren, and she grins as she tucks her fingers into the black waistband.

He braces his hand on her shoulder for stability, or maybe just so he can run his thumb along the bubbles lingering on her skin, she doesn’t know. She has a task at hand, and like every task he gives her, she’s going to complete it to the best of her ability.
First, though…

She leans in and kisses him through the fabric. It’s a chaste thing, soft and almost sweet. She can smell the musk of him through the cotton, and feel the warmth of his cock against her lips.

Immediately, there’s a hand in her hair, cupping the back of her neck. His thumb presses into the muscle at the base of her skull, massaging ever so gently, and she sighs as she nuzzles him a little.

I’m going to miss this.

It’s a flicker of a thought, but it sends a wave of nausea through her. So little time, and yet she’s already so addicted to his touch, to his taste, to his hands on her. She’s fucked, she knows, but he’s just too damn good.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

It’s an order, she knows. And so she looks up at him instead, forcing a smile as he continues to rub at the base of her skull, pressure perfect and fingertips warm against her skin. “Sorry,” she apologizes, pulling the waistband down so that he can get in the bath and she can stop kneeling on the hard porcelain.
Even soft, he’s big, and fucking gorgeous. She chances leaning in to brush her lips against the dark hair trailing down to his groin, his skin hot and muscle hard beneath her mouth. It’s not long before she’s being pulled away gently, his hand tugging her hair before letting go. She watches him as he steps into the tub, hears the sloshing of the water behind her as she repositions herself, and then there are hands on her hips to guide her against him.

“Not a bad way to spend our last night,” she sighs, relaxing back against his chest, looking at the silky bubbles surrounding them. For a few heartbeats, she just leans back, indulging in the warmth of his chest at her back and listening to the sounds of the rain. Thunder rumbles close by, and she closes her eyes at the calm of it all.

The pop of a champagne bottle startles her into sitting back up, and she turns around to see him holding a bottle of Dom Perignon and smirking like the asshole he is. She stares at him as he pulls two champagne glasses up from the floor, missed by her in her eagerness to relieve some soreness. The bottle, though, she can’t imagine missing.

“Where on Earth …?” she questions in awe. Kylo jerks his head to a pile of towels nearby that had been arranged in a pyramid before, but are now slightly lopsided in their arrangement. No doubt the bottle had been hidden in it, and she stares as the champagne continues to bubble over the black foil at the top of the bottle.

“You planned this,” she realizes, the bubbles leaking down his skin. She can see where it spilled over, and wonders how many dollars are now on the bathroom floor. How many cheap street bagels that could get her, maybe even lunch in the food court…

“You did say you wanted to take as many baths as possible before you returned to your tiny New York apartment,” he mutters, and she watches as he pours two glasses, passing one to her before setting the bottle down on the side of the tub for now. “I thought I would make your last one a bit more memorable.”
She holds the slim flute in her fingers, feeling the strength of his thighs as she leans back against him, her other hand finding the skin just above his knee and stroking gently. She looks down at his legs, sees the dark hair covering them between the holes in the pure white bubbles.

When’s the next time they could do this? Does his house have a bath? How close is it to their work? Would it be possible to spend the night and somehow get to work separately? But people already know, would it even matter? Should she care this m-

“Shh..”

There’s a hand on her hip, and lips on her shoulder, and she closes her eyes, tipping her head back against his shoulder as his fingers dip to cup her inner thigh. Immediately there’s a kiss to her temple, and she sighs again, settling down against him so that she can curl into the cradle of his arms.

“Stop thinking, and relax,” he mutters, his hand curling around hers around the flute. It’s a suggestion to drink, she knows, and she nods before moving the flute to her lips. She takes a few sips, savoring the taste before she sets the glass on the lip of the tub, watching the bubbles rise in perfect lines inside the golden wine.

“I don’t want to go,” she whispers, her voice breaking, much to her embarrassment. His hand slides up to her knee, and then back to the juncture of her thigh and groin. Soothing. Comforting.

“There’s less press in New York."

“True,” she admits. She’ll give him that one. She won’t miss the flashing of the bulbs, won’t miss having them shouting at her to answer their questions. She’s tired of the personal questions, tired of trying to redirect them or avoid them entirely.

“Finn, Poe, and BB are in New York,” he adds.

That’s right. She gets to hug Finn again, she gets to see Poe. She gets to have lunch with BB, and she gets to spill her stories of the city of lights to them. “Also true.”

“And then there’s New York pizza.”

“The great and powerful Kylo Ren enjoys New York pizza?” Rey asks, emphasizing the shock in her voice as she turns around to look at him.

He stares at her before raising one brow, and for some reason it makes a laugh bubble up in her throat, and she’s cracking up before she can stop it. Maybe it’s the few cocktails and glasses of champagne she had at the gala. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of it all winding down. Maybe… maybe it’s her way of distracting herself from the inevitable.

“Why is the fact that I like pizza so funny?” Kylo asks, genuinely sounding confused.

“I don’t know,” she insists, breathless as she reaches for the champagne again, taking a sip before another bout of laughter takes her. Champagne dribbles down her chin and she cups her hand beneath her lips to catch it, still laughing as Kylo stares at her like she’s gone insane.

“I took you to one of the most prestigious galas during French Fashion Week, and not two hours later you’re spilling Dom Perignon down your chin,” Kylo says, voice flat as he stares at her.

She recovers herself, wiping her chin before licking her lips as she sets the glass down on the edge of the tub. Her chest hurts from trying to drink and laugh at the same time, but there’s an ache she can’t deny as she looks at the champagne again. “… you know when you’re watching a horror movie, and you laugh to take your mind off of the fact that you’re scared?” she confesses quietly, barely above a whisper. “I think it’s like that.”

For a moment, she can only hear the rumbling thunder and the rain on the windows, and she waits for him to say something comforting, for his lips to find her shoulder or neck, maybe. She’s expecting something sweet, something soft, dulcet words in her ear and lips against her skin.

She doesn’t expect his hands to come to her sides, doesn’t expect the soft touch of his fingers against her ribs. And she most certainly doesn’t expect those fingers to curl and squeeze at her, tickling her as she gasps and nearly launches out of the tub.

“KYLO!”

Laughter overtakes her again, and she hears his own throaty laugh as he continues tickling her. Bubbles and bathwater spill over onto the pristine white tile floor, and her laughter drowns out the sound of the rain as he moves upwards towards under her arms.

“Kylo, Kylo!” His name bubbles from her lips, gasped in between giggles, but she doesn’t tell him to stop as she arches away from him in an effort to get away. She twists to the side, her abs aching from laughing so much, and even with so much room, she somehow manages to stub her toe on the side of the tub. The dull ‘thud’ of it is barely audible, but her hiss is a little louder. The tickling stops immediately.

“Are you all right?”

He sounds concerned, and she turns to look up at him, seeing the worry in his eyes. The ends of his hair are now damp from the splashing water, and she can still see the bruise where Tony punched him. It seems so long ago, now, she thinks as she moves to straddle his thighs, settling on them as her hands come to his neck. His come to her waist, holding her to him as she leans in to brush a kiss against the bruised skin.

“With Hux taking the Italian job, will you have to go? To Italy?”

“I’ll have to go for his induction as editor in chief.”

“Oh.”

“But you’ll be coming with me.”

“As your assistant, or as your date?” Rey asks, her fingers playing with the damp ends of his hair.

“You say that as though they’re mutually exclusive,” Kylo mumbles, and she smiles as he tips his head up to kiss her again.

“I’m going to turn into a prune, soon,” she mumbles against his plush lips, and she feels the buzz of his chuckle against her own mouth.

“Then get out.”

“You say that like it’s easy,” Rey teases, her hand slipping up to cup the back of his head, her fingers tangled in his hair as she smiles, their brows together and noses brushing. “It’s warm in here, and there’s champagne, and I’m sitting on the thighs of a gorgeous, naked man…”

She hears the editor in chief hum before she’s being kissed again. He coaxes her mouth open, and for a few moments she revels in the feeling of the hot water against her skin, his hands on her hips. She can hear the water sloshing, and their lips smacking, and the pounding of the rain on the little window. She desperately wishes she could save this moment, maybe even multiple copies of it just to be safe, feeling Kylo’s hand slide up her bare back, the skin of his palm and forearm warm against her spine.

Lightning flashes, brightening the dim bathroom before thunder quickly follows, the rumbling sending tingles up her spine before there’s a loud clap that sounds like it’s just outside the hotel.

“Fuck,” she breathes, startled by the sound. She feels Kylo’s fingers spread across her back, almost protective as he holds her closer.

“Get out, dry off, and get on the bed. I’ll drain the tub, and then bring the champagne.”

She nods, climbing off of his lap to obey his soft orders. He’s probably right. Reaching for a nearby towel, she can see her fingers are wrinkled, and any longer in the hot water would probably sap what little energy she has from her. She knows he’s watching her as she wraps the towel around her, and so she turns towards him, giving him a full frontal view before she covers herself. His smile, bright and happy, is the best reward.

“I’ll meet you in there, all right?” she asks, and he nods. As she goes towards the bedroom, she can hear the sloshing of the water, and then the rumbling of the pipes as the tub starts to drain. Lightning flashes again, illuminating the bedroom as she stands and observes the bags that were delivered to hold her new wardrobe. She can see her suitcases are now tan canvas and caramel-colored leather, different than the one she brought with her. She has her own set now, she thinks. Because of course she does. Because Kylo doesn’t skimp on anything.

Sighing, she walks towards the bed, reaching up to pull the hair tie from her hair. In the darkness of the room, she almost misses the box on the bed. But another flash of lightning brings her attention to the white package, and she frowns as she walks towards it, tucking the end of the towel against her skin so that she can take the box with both hands.

“Kylo? Did someone drop something off?” she calls, but there’s no response over the clap of thunder she hears. She looks towards the bathroom, but he doesn’t emerge, probably cleaning up the champagne or drying himself off.

It’s a simple package, just a plain white box, like one from a department store, or a gift box. No ribbon, no wrapping, nothing. Her first thought is maybe it’s a hard copy of the Book, an edited copy, but no, they wouldn’t get that until they’re back in New York, would they? And besides, it’s too light to be the Book.

“You can open it.”

His voice comes from the bathroom, and she looks up to see him with a towel wrapped around his waist, the glasses of champagne in one hand and the bottle in the other. He carries them over, setting them on his bedside table.

“What is it?” she asks. “If it’s another piece of jewelry-“

“It’s not,” he assures her, and she watches him for a moment to see if he’s lying, but he just smiles. Still, she’s wary as she takes the box and pulls the top off, her breath hitching in her throat as she stares down at the folded fabric inside.

“By some stroke of sheer dumb luck, the trash bag from the maid’s cart hadn’t been taken to the dumpster yet when I called. I had it dry cleaned, and asked them if they could fix some of the seams. I thought one more run through an actual washing machine would turn it into threads.”

Her heart is in her throat as she reaches for the t-shirt, ‘TATOOINE’ still on the front though the graphics are cracked, her grandfather’s name still written on the tag. Some of the stains that she got on it are gone, and she stares in wonder at the small stitches that someone must have sewn in to hold the shirt together for just a bit longer.

He … he got it back. He got it back, and he had it cleaned, and had it mended so it’ll last longer. Sure, there are some holes that weren’t fixable, and it was like that even when her grandfather wore it, but …

But maybe now she’ll be able to keep it for a few more years. Maybe it won’t disintegrate as soon as she thought.

“Rey?”

His voice and the clap of thunder that follows startle her, and her head whips around. He’s closer, now, and she stares wide-eyed at the man beside her. He looks worried, like he did something wrong in getting her the shirt back, in cleaning it and fixing it. No, no, she wants to say, but her throat feels tight with emotion, and she can’t even get the simple word out. Instead, she lets go of the shirt to reach for her boss.

Within seconds her arms are around his neck and her lips are slotted against his, tasting champagne as she presses flush against him. He’s there to hold her, his arms wrapping tight around her waist. She feels him lift her up, her toes leaving the ground, and she tightens her grip around his shoulders as she pulls back to brace their brows together.

“You got it back.”

“I got it back.”

“You … you have no idea, Kylo…” She doesn't even know what she's saying, what she would say if she could get her tongue and teeth to make words properly. He doesn't even know how much this means to her, he doesn't even know how much this had torn her up, he doesn't even know how many times in the past few days that she's remembered that it's gone and felt the sting of tears?

“The press would have had a field day with pictures of me rifling through a dumpster, but thankfully it didn’t come to that,” he mutters, and she laughs, the sound choked as a sob leaves her lips, the tears that had pooled in her eyes finally traveling down her cheeks.

She feels his lips on her skin, feels the towel slip from her body as he carries her to the bed. For half a second she sees his face as lightning flashes and lights up the pitch-black room, and she grins at him as he moves over her, kissing her again.

The lights remain off, and she’s glad for it. It makes the moments where there is light so much more powerful, the silver-white of the lightning illuminating the man above her from behind. A dark shadow, broad and beautiful, protective of her as he cages her in and presses against her. His hair is still a little damp at the ends, water collecting on her skin as she runs her fingertips down his bare back. His muscles shift and tense as he moves over her, his towel brushing at her inner thighs.

She wants to make this last. She wants to remember this, she thinks, as she reaches for where he tucked the end of the towel along his waist. He says nothing as she pulls it loose, his lips still slotted against hers as she pulls the fabric off and away, tossing it to the floor with a fwump. His bare skin is still warm and damp from the bath, and she relishes in the feeling of it against her fingers.

She prefers the flashes of lightning so much more to the flashes of the camera bulbs. There’s no one yelling her name, no one shouting at her as she flips them and looks down at the gorgeous man she can now publicly call hers. His hands find her hips, then her back, fingertips trailing up her spine as she bends to kiss him. His hand in her hair, pulling the elastic loose. It falls around her face, and she sighs as she presses closer, relishing in the taste of him.

He is beautiful. She knew that already. Of course she did, how could she not? She saw the beauty in him in the car, driving through the city, the golden lights reflecting on his pale skin. She saw the beauty in him at all the galas and shows, his broad shoulders covered in wool and cotton and silk. Hell, she even saw the beauty in him in the elevator the first time they met, observing his large features and the dark marks that are scattered like stars across his cheeks.

Now, she admires the beauty of his kiss-swollen lips, his pout already impressive when he hasn’t been kissed but even more erotic now, skin darker and fuller. She finds warmth in his dark eyes, softness as he stares at her, flipping them over once more and bracing himself above her. She thinks she prefers it this way, him being on top. Perhaps there’s something to it, something about him being the boss and her being the assistant, the king and the advi– no.

No, she is queen now, she reminds herself as the king pays his respects to her between her thighs with his mouth. She is queen of Hell, just like he said, and she wonders if it’s the heat of said Hell that’s consuming her as he sucks on her clit and makes her come apart with his fingers in her cunt.

He must be thinking of New York, too, she thinks. He seems to savor her, his eyes meeting hers over and over and over again. He looks up at her from between her legs, and she holds his gaze as he crawls back up, his plush lips marking their territory in kisses across her hips, across her stomach, her ribcage, her breasts. He’s taking his time, and she’s grateful for it as lightning flashes again and she sees the dark of the bruise across his cheek.

“Does it still hurt?” It’s a whisper as she reaches up to cup his cheek, and she smiles as he turns his face into her palm, kissing her thumb.

“Only when I do things that require a jaw movement, like eating, or giving oral sex.”

“Oh, my God, Kylo, why did you-?!”

She’s silenced by his mouth, and she groans to let him know her disappointment that he pleasured her even when it hurt his jaw. He chuckles, the sound buzzing against her closed lips before she relents and opens up to him, her arms twining up and around his neck, pulling him closer.

She wraps her legs around him soon after, clinging to him as he presses his lips to her collarbone. She wonders if he can feel her heartbeat against his mouth, wonders if it skips a beat every time he thrusts his hips. It certainly feels like it does, her breath hitching as his hand grips at her thigh.

“Harder…”

It’s a whisper, a plea, and she moans as he obeys. His hand tightens its grip on her thigh, and she hopes that it leaves bruises, some evidence that this is real, that this happened. Something she can look at in the dim light of her apartment and reassure herself that it wasn’t all just an insane, lust-filled dream.
She pulls him from her neck, guiding his lips to hers as his pace becomes less and less steady, as his hips stutter against hers. She clenches her thighs around his hips, clinging to him like a lifeline as she sucks and nibbles at his lower lip. His breath is hot against her mouth, her moans buzzing against his, and she hears his hiss as her nails rake down his back. Good, she thinks. Let him be reminded, too.

Let him remember her gasp as her orgasm hit her. Let him remember the way her nails dug into his bare shoulder. Let him remember her breathless laughter as he continued to thrust – faster, now, no rhythm, just need. Let him remember her lips upon his as she felt the warmth of him, her grin against his mouth as she let pleasure overwhelm her in the best of ways.

-

“Do we have to go?”

It’s whispered against his lips, her thighs cleaned by a warm wash cloth and his careful hands. He sighs, his breath fanning her face as his hand continues its path up her spine before it makes its way back down to the skin just above her ass.

“We do. I have to turn in my edits for the Book.”

“Just take pictures of the pages and upload them to some secret password-protected sharing site,” she offers, and she hears his snort of laughter, a quiet thing that’s barely a snicker.

“As brilliant as that idea is, if someone were to hack it-“

“You all take articles about glitter-covered clutches way too seriously, no one’s going to want to hack it just to read about cool toned red lipstick versus warm toned re lipstick,” Rey mutters, and this time Kylo does chuckle, and she smiles as she kisses him sweetly. Her skin is still sticky with sweat, the rain outside still going strong. The doors to the balcony are open, the chilly air of the autumn night cooling them down. A burst of cold hits her arm above the covers, and she shivers as she tucks it back in, using the opportunity to reach for her boss, her hand resting on the swell of his bicep.

“Tuesday.”

“Mm?” she asks, wondering why he just spouted a random weekday. “What about it?”

“I want you to deliver the Book to me. And then I want you to stay for an early dinner, and then I want you to stay the night. We can catch up on whatever sleep we’ve lost.”

“People will talk.”

“People are already talking. You staying at your apartment isn’t going to stop them, so you might as well come spend the night with me.”

He has a point, she supposes, and she hums in agreement, closing her eyes and snuggling closer as his hand moves to her thigh, hitching her leg over his hip and bringing him closer. She can feel the heat of his cock up against her, something erotically intimate and sensual about the touch, and she sighs as she brushes her nose against his.

“Let them talk,” he insists, his voice gruff. “We’re not doing anything wrong. I can date whomever I damn well want. So who gives a fuck if you’re not a model. You’re not an heiress. You’re not a princess. I don’t care.” He sounds so insistent she has to smile a little. “I don’t care. They can say some other girl is better for me all they want, but I want you. You know I do.”

I want you. You know I do.

She doesn’t know how to respond, not with words, not when her face feels like it’s going to crack from her grin and her throat is tight with emotion. So she kisses him instead, tilting her head up ever so slightly to kiss him almost innocently, her hand squeezing his bicep gently.

What started out as chaste becomes deeper, his tongue coaxing her lips apart, and she lets a moan slip from her as his hand grasps her thigh. Her hand slips from his arm up into his hair, and for a few moments she’s spoiled with heat and softness and gentle, passionate kisses.

She can feel his hand slip up the back of the t-shirt, fingers rubbing at the bumps of her spine.

"We'd better get some sleep. We have an early flight," he mumbles against her lips, but she knows it's useless. Between his wandering hands and her seeking fingers, there will be no sleep tonight.

She's not complaining, though. She might in the morning, but for now she'll fight the heaviness of her eyelids for the luxury of looking at the man she's in love with.

Chapter Text

She hates New York.

Rey’s never been much of a city person. She much prefers sprawling land and a baking sun, and there isn’t much of either in the Big Apple, if anyone even calls it that anymore.

She especially hates the city as they land at JFK, and she’s met with grey, dull skies and cold rain. It feels like the weather is trying to reflect how she feels, her hand laced with Kylo’s as they touch down.

There may be just as many lights, of not more in New York, but they don’t sparkle like the Eiffel Tower does.

She can feel his lips to her hair, has felt them for a while, and wonders if he’ll ever pull away so that they can get off the plane and face the press. They’d discussed separating, leaving the concourse a few minutes apart, or even maybe getting something to eat before they leave the restricted section so that they maybe, just maybe, be able to trick the cameras that they haven’t arrived yet, and they’ll leave, thinking the information they were given was false. But no, then they’re just avoiding it, and what’s the point in that?

“If they shout questions at you, don’t answer,” Kylo finally says into her hair. She’s teased it up into something of a fashionably messy high ponytail, and sighs as she turns to rest her head on his shoulder for the few minutes they taxi.

“I know,” she mutters, and she feels his hand squeeze hers as he looks out the window.

The Satan of General Fashion feels more like a guardian angel as they step out past the restricted area of the airport. Immediately cameras flash, but Rey feels herself be tucked into his side, his arm around her waist protectively, thumb rubbing the bare skin of her hip where her leggings and her t-shirt don’t quite meet. That’ll be a tidbit for the tabloids, she’s sure, but she doesn’t care as she leans into him and lets him guide her through the crowds.

The rain is cold, and she shivers in the Givenchy trenchcoat she’s wearing, worn with a simple white t-shirt of her own and the same black pair of leggings she wore on the flight over. “It’s what you wear with it,” Kylo had told her, and she had to admit that a jacket like the Givenchy one did make the simple ensemble look rich and classic instead of college student-esque.

Kylo helps her into the car, a group of men hauling their bags into the trunk for them. She’s come back with more than she ever thought she would own, everything packed into a new set of caramel-colored leather bags. When he told her they were Louis Vuitton, she was almost confused – she’d seen people pulling the bags along before, but they’d always been covered in the classic, instantly recognizable logo.

“Sometimes the best pieces don’t have a logo at all. Their luggage is incredibly well made, but I prefer the custom pieces, without the logo.”

She had noticed that his was sleek, and black, almost identical to hers except in color. And of course it would be custom. He’s Kylo Ren, after all.

She pops the collar of the trench coat as they slip into the sleek black car, Kylo helping her inside before following her. There are cameras out here, too. Not as many as there were in the airport, given the rain, but there are a few spots of cover along the pick-up area, and the paparazzi cower beneath them with their cameras. As soon as they’re inside, she sighs and leans against him, feeling his hand come to her knee. “This is exhausting,” Rey groans, and she hears her boss’s slight chuckle as he presses another kiss to the top of her head.

“And working for me isn’t?” he quips.

“Different kind of exhausting. Working for you is exhausting in how many people I have to talk to. This is exhausting in how many people I’m avoiding talking to,” she explains, curling up to him and humming as his arm drapes around her shoulders, his hand resting against her arm and thumb massaging through the navy blue fabric of her trench coat.

In Paris, her gaze would be out the window. She remembers seeing the lights of the city reflecting in the raindrops, and being enchanted by them. She remembers hearing taxi horns, yes, and seeing people going about their daily lives, and seeing the bustling city around them. And yes, New York has taxi horns and people and is just as bustling as Paris, but there’s something more grey about it. Or perhaps it’s just because she knows she’s going to be dropped off at her dingy little studio apartment, she’s going to go to bed with scratchy sheets and a shit mattress, and she’s going to wake up the next morning and go to work.

The dream is over, and she has to wake up.

She feels like she’s in the middle, though, blinking the sleep from her eyes and chasing the last memories of the dream as she feels Kylo rubbing her knee sweetly, his thumb fitting perfectly in one of the contours of bone. She smiles, a small thing as she rests her head against his shoulder and lets herself doze for a few minutes.

“I wish you’d stay with me.”

“You know that would be a PR nightmare, even more than what we already have to deal with,” Rey mumbles, stubbornly refusing to open her eyes. “I still can’t believe we’re having a spread on us in General.”

“I’d much rather settle things ourselves than let People magazine and The Global Enquirer decide what our relationship is. If we have the interview and the article through our own departments, there is less of a chance of our words being twisted. And you know-“

“I know you’d kick the ass of anyone who tries to twist them anyway, I know,” Rey replies. “Could give it to Poe. He wouldn’t dare.”

“Dameron?” Kylo asks, humming in response. “I’m less concerned with him twisting our words, and more concerned with him throwing an inappropriate joke or two in.”

“The man’s either entirely professional or entirely not, it’s a crapshoot,” she says with a soft laugh, recalling some of their phone calls while they were in Paris. More often than not Finn was on the other end, as well, and the calls themselves were brief with their schedules, but the quips Poe made were both hilarious and slightly scandalous. She wishes she had more time to work with him, but then she wouldn’t be Kylo Ren’s assistant, and she wouldn’t be curled up with him in the back of a black towncar on the way home from Paris.

Kylo adamantly refuses to pull his lips from her head the entire car ride home, and she wonders if it’s because she smells like him – like his shampoo, his conditioner, his cologne, him.

She finds herself also wondering how long it will take for it to disappear, with the rest of Paris.

-

If she were to pick a day to come back after Paris, this would probably be listed as her last, least-wanted option.

Over the past few months, she likes to think she’s developed a sense for the inner workings of General Fashion. If people around her are scrambling with accessories and clothes in tow, it means that the run-through is about to happen. If it’s just one or the other, it means Kylo’s shot something down during the run through, and they have to scramble to find something that pleases him. If it’s chaos when Rey first walks in, then something’s gone wrong, and they’re rushing to fix it before Kylo gets there.

And if Hux is waiting for her when she gets off of the elevator, then something, somewhere, is majorly fucked up. As in potentially catastrophically fucked up.
“Where’s the Book?” Rey demands immediately, already shedding her coat and moving to hang it up in the closet.

“With Ren. The Book is fine,” Hux replies, following her with every step of her Valentino pumps. For once, she wishes she could hear the stilettos on the black carpet; it makes her sound more powerful, and she’ll need power to get through this day, she can already feel.

“Then what’s going on?”

“Did you wear your battle armor today?” he asks dryly as she turns, closing the coat closet and making her way to her desk. Hux starts walking another way, though, and she has to rush to catch up to him.

Rey frowns, pulling the skirt of her blazer dress down as they hustle through the main halls of General Fashion, the executive editor walking with an incredible sense of urgency and purpose. “I wear it every day in this office, why?”

“Security is going over the clips now, but the cover’s Winston diamonds are missing.”

It makes her nauseous, how quickly her stomach falls, seemingly down to the basement’s cafeteria. She stops dead in the middle of the hallway, flanked by glass-walled offices holding designers and the higher ups of the magazine, those directly below Kylo and Hux. The redhead seems to hear the lack of footsteps behind him, and turns, and Rey notices that his hair is back to the slick-gelled style he wore before Paris. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she breathes, her butter croissant suddenly deciding it doesn’t like her stomach. She swallows the bitter bile that rises, burning the back of her throat painfully. “When did we find out?”

“When we opened the safe to return it, earlier this morning,” the executive editor says simply. “I’ll commend them for their arrogance, their gall, and their stupidity.”

He starts to walk again, and she speedwalks to keep up with his long strides as they make their way to the Closet. “Either it was someone with access to the safe room, or someone who managed to swipe a keycard, and figure out the code to both the door, and the safe,” Hux explains.

Rey herself has only been in the safe room once. A discreet door hidden along the wall of the Closet, the seam between the door and the wall is barely visible along the rows of mirrors and clothing racks. The only difference is the subtle card reader and keypad beside it, the room accessible only by a special clearance card, as well as a code that’s changed daily. The singular reason she was allowed in was on Kylo’s special orders, with his personal card and the day’s code.

It’s highly protected for good reason. It’s where they keep all the jewelry on loan for the high fashion spreads. All the Tiffany, Cartier, Winston, Gucci, Hermes, Bulgari.. everything and everyone over a certain price point.

“Were the security cameras hacked?” she demands, pressing close to the executive editor as a tall, thin blonde rushes by, obviously in a hurry. "Do we have footage of them taking it?"

“We don’t know yet. We have the our private investigation team on call, and the security company is reviewing the footage of the entire building as we speak,” Hux replies. He stops dead in the middle of the hallway, and Rey almost walks directly into the back of his Prada blazer. “This is Hux.”

Rey frowns, looking around at the executive editor to see his hand to an earpiece, his thin lips turned downwards. “Yes,” he says curtly, his eyes directed towards the floor. “Yes, I understand it’s an incredible amount of footage, but we are talking about a necklace worth more than you’ve made in the past ten years, sir.” His voice is practically dripping in venom, his gaze narrowed at the black hardwood that covers the majority of the editing floor. “Yes, the investigators have already examined the room, but perhaps the most helpful evidence will be the security footage, which we would receive a lot fast if you stopped annoying me with your idiotic questions and started looking!”

She almost wishes the man had a flip phone, so that he could slam it shut with all the drama that he deserves. But she has to watch him reach up and press the side of his earpiece angrily instead, his brow furrowed in frustration.

“Does Kylo know yet?” she asks as they start to walk again. A man she’s never seen before in the office rushes by, holding a large black briefcase.

At her questioning look, Hux sighs. “The investigators. They’re searching the Closet, and the safes for possible fingerprints. As far as we know, the damn asshole used gloves. Nothing to be found, so far. And no, Ren doesn’t know. I trust you’ll tell him.”

“Yes, because telling him that the diamond necklace that’s on the cover of the magazine has been stolen is going to go over so well before he’s had his first cup of coffee,” Rey says sarcastically.

“I thought you two would have remembered to put the coffee maker on, this morning.”

“We didn’t spend the night together,” Rey replies, keeping her voice low. “Why hasn’t this building been entirely cleared out, why haven’t we been questioned?”

“Because we’re too close to the deadline, and they’re analyzing which card was used when as we speak. It’s a relatively simple heist, only one necklace. They must have known the code only to that one safe, which means it’s someone who worked with the jewels on the shoot, and who would have had access to them for the return today. That narrows our suspects down, and they’re currently all being taken into custody. From there we analyze the card, and we analyze the footage, and we have our thief. If they were only able to access the one safe, then they’re no grand hacker or safecracker. This has happened before, which is why we have the investigation company. They were here about five months ago for a Cartier piece, a yellow diamond ring worn by Meryl Streep for our cover shoot.”

“That often?”

“More often than we would like,” Hux says with a sad, dramatic sigh. “But when you work with pretty, expensive things, I suppose the temptation is too great for those who can’t afford it.” He looks at her. “Or those whose boyfriends can’t afford it.”

“It was a losing battle,” Rey replies, noting the lack of malice or cruelty in his tone. He knows she can’t afford the clothes she’s wearing, and she’s sure everyone else in the office does, too. It’s just fact that Kylo bought them for her.

“Of course it was, it always is with him,” Hux replies. “Now, you are to tell Ren, and tell Ren only. That copy editor and photographer aren’t to know about this. We’re keeping it strictly on a need-to-know basis, considering the amateur nature and the fact that PR already has their hands full with your relationship.”

“Noted,” Rey says. “I suppose I’ll have to go get him coffee, and hope he doesn’t throw it at the wall.”

“Hopes are too weak – how’s your relationship with God?”

“I’d say piss poor, considering I’m fucking Satan,” she replies quickly.

She guesses it would be too much to ask, to be friends with the redhead after Paris, even after what they’ve said, what they’ve gone through, what they know about each other. But the snort of laughter and the smirk she receives for her little quip is enough for her, and she finds herself wishing he didn’t have to leave for Italy.

-

She orders two coffees, this time, knowing that he’ll need it, as well as a croissant. Compared to the ones she had in Paris, they’re a joke, but she hopes he’ll take it as a reminder of what they’ve been through the past week. All the good times, the sweet times, the gentle times…

And that it may distract him from the hell that is currently the General Fashion office, investigators rushing in and out and Hux the head of the chaos, speaking quickly and quietly with security personnel and outside forces alike.

She sets the drink caddy on her desk, sitting in the sleek leather chair and bringing out a sleeve of Starbucks cups from her bottom drawer. Glancing around her, making sure no one’s actively watching, she reaches for her pen cup to bring out a Sharpie, and quickly drawing a combination of numbers on the side of the paper cup. 2, for 2 shots of espresso. H, for hot. It’s standard procedure, now, to cover up his order of a white mocha, three pumps of toffee nut syrup and one vanilla, extra whipped cream and mocha drizzle. The man has a definite sweet tooth, and she’s honestly surprised at his lack of cavities. Then again, she has seen the toothpaste and toothbrush in his desk drawer when she was looking for a spare paperclip, so she guesses that’s the reason.

The coffee now disguised as a hot, black coffee with two shots of espresso, she scoops up both cups and the croissant in both hands to walk into the man’s office. A pile of competitor magazines are already spread out across the dark wood, and she quickly fetches a white porcelain plate to put the croissant on, a manicured finger picking up the flakes of pastry so that the surrounding plate is impeccable. A bottle of San Pellegrino is opened, the sparkling water poured into a crystal clear glass before she hears the elevator door open, and she finds herself standing at attention out of habit.

He already looks a mess, everything perfectly in place, except she can see the slump of his shoulders. He looks tired, and as he walks closer, she can see the concealer under his eyes.

“Good morning, sir,” she breathes, and he stops, his gaze raking up and down her form.

She feels like a student waiting to get an A. This is, after all, the first time she’s dressed herself since Paris. He seems satisfied, shrugging out of his wool Prada coat before handing it to her. Rey takes the heavy article immediately, draping it over her arm before she stills, feeling the slide of his hand across her ass as he goes to sit down in his chair.

Of course he can’t kiss her. His office is almost entirely glass, of course people would stare. To rub his hand across her lower back or her ass is discreet, and quick enough, a slight gesture of affection that no one could see. She finds she smiles a little as she turns, before the dread of what she has to do smacks her in the heart again.

“Hux… Hux wanted me to tell you, sir, that –“

“That the Winston diamond necklace was stolen, I’m aware.” He even sounds tired as he reaches for his coffee, taking a long sip before he hums. “This tastes different.”

“I asked for an extra pump of toffee nut,” Rey offers, keeping her voice low. “I figured you’d need it, between the jet lag and the thief.”

“You’re an angel,” he mutters, voice low and gruff, and the weight on her shoulders immediately lifts. “We have a private investigation company looking at the footage, and the data regarding the keycards. We've hired them several times before, they're notorious for catching them within a matter of hours. There's no need to panic. It's insured, anyway."

“Do people really think they can just walk in and take it with no consequences? I mean, with the footage, and the keycard data … they have to be easy to track,” Rey offers, frowning as she leans against the edge of the desk.

“They are. Greed overwhelms brains, most of the time,” Kylo explains as he slips his glasses on and reaches for one of the black folders on his desk, left by someone who didn’t accompany them to Paris, no doubt. “I need you to go to Hermes, I need a scarf.”

“Color, pattern, size?”

“You decide. You know what I like.”

There’s a swell of pride that comes with being entrusted with such a task. Sure, it’ll probably be tied onto some model’s purse in some shoot; it may not even be seen or noticed that much. But she pulls out the little black book that she’s used since the first week, the golden pen inside a gift from Finn as a reward for getting through her first month with Satan. “Hermes scarf, all right.”

“We’re going to have lunch at La Mercerie at 12:20.”

“With whom?”

“With each other.”

She blinks, looking down at the note she just took of ‘La Mercerie, 12:20’. “Don’t you have a meeting with Patrick at 12? It’ll take at least 20 minutes to get to Soho, if not more, I don’t think we’ll have time to-“

“Patrick has the flu, he canceled.”

“I didn’t see a message?”

“He texted me personally,” Kylo replies, his gaze never leaving the spread that’s in front of him, no doubt a revision of the Book that he’d called for while they were in Paris. “I thought I would take you out.”

Trusting her to get a Hermes scarf on her own. Taking her out to lunch at a French restaurant in Soho, from a James Beard award-winning chef. She smiles to herself, nodding as she adds, ‘with me’ in the appointment slot, and a little heart.

Fuck, when did she turn into a lovesick school girl?

“So lunch at La Mercerie at 12:20?”

“I already called and made the reservation, so just be ready to leave,” Kylo informs her.

“So Satan can do some things himself,” she teases.

“I thought I would surprise you,” he says, his voice warm as he looks up at her. She remembers a few months ago, when the news of the thief and Patrick cancelling would have broken him. But no, he’s taking her out to lunch with the free time, and the missing diamonds don’t seem to have affected him at all.

“Should I keep you up to date with the-“

“The head of the investigation team is texting me updates.”

“All right, then,” Rey replies, blinking in surprise.

“It’s better to have the information pass through as few mouths as possible.”

“Right.” That makes more sense. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her, no, it makes sense to keep it as quiet as possible. Should word get out that there was a robbery, or heist, or whatever this could be called – it would be disastrous. Poor PR. She’ll have to send them a muffin basket or something.

“I need you to call Zac Posen, I want a preview of his dresses for the cover of next month’s issue. I also need you to arrange a meeting with Donna, I need her for hair for the leather jacket spread.”

“You’re free at 4?”

“Perfect. Rey?”

She’s on the way out the door when he calls after her, and she turns, her eyes wide and brows raised in question as he looks up from the spread at her, eyes dark and narrowed behind his glasses. “Yes, sir?”

Oh, but she loves to see the way his shoulders tense and his hand tightens on his pen. She smirks as she keeps one hand on the door, her right foot crossing over her left, showing off the sleek black heels and the black stockings she bought, the kind with the seam up the back of her leg.

“… make sure Hux remains sane. Hot chocolate, two pumps of raspberry.”

Hot chocolate. The executive editor drinks hot chocolate. With two pumps of flavored syrup, at that. She expected his coffee to be as black as his Gucci loafers. But no, hot chocolate.

“I’ll make sure of it, sir,” she says teasingly, peeling out of the office and going to get her purse.

-

By 10, they’ve caught him.

“Far from disastrous as the great fire alarm of ’09,” Hux informs her as they make their way back to the Closet. Keycards will have to be changed, codes switched hourly, now. She never knew the codes, never had a keycard, so she doesn’t have to deal with that fiasco. There are fifteen or so people who do, though, and she pities them.

“Fire alarm fiasco?” Rey questions.

“Tens of thousands of dollars of couture, ruined because someone thought it would be fun to burn popcorn in one of the kitchens,” Hux says, and she winces at the idea. She can’t even imagine ruining the dress she has on now, a few hundred dollars. To ruin thousands of dollars, for the entire Closet to be flooded…
“But is it worse to have it be damaged by water, or by fire?” she questions.

The executive editor looks at her like she just slapped him. “Only you would ask that.”

She tells the story to BB, later, leaning on the desk of the receptionist. Their hair is a silver color, now, and she finds she likes the look on them. It’s a little sleeker, a little more modern than the orange. Of course, they found a way to work orange into their outfit, their canvas pants a vibrant clementine shade.

“Could’ve made a spread of it,” they reply, grinning as they munch on hummus and crackers. “’The Ashes of Fashion’ – wait, no, Ash-ion!”

“Why am I friends with you?” Poe calls from his office as Rey laughs, watching the clock above BB’s head as the minute ticks from 12:03 to 12:04.

“Because I’m adorable,” BB calls back. “You have to let me borrow that dress.”

“You’re a bit shorter than I am,” Rey teases. It’s true – BB’s a good few inches shorter than her, and a bit more round in the curve area. “I don’t know if it will fit.”

“I’ll make it fit,” BB says firmly, punctuating their remark with a crunch of cracker, and Rey laughs again. “I expected you to come back fired, but instead you come back fucking your boss.”

“I think you speak for the whole office,” Poe says, emerging from behind his desk, his glasses on top of his head as he hands a black folder to BB. “This needs to go to Irene before it goes to Ren, all right?”

BB gives a little salute as Rey looks towards Poe, frowning. “Why did you all think I would be fired? I’m good at what I do,” she insists, a bit offended that the copy editor would think so little of her.

“Because his assistants almost never survive fashion week, whether it’s here or in Italy or in Paris or wherever,” BB explains as they stand to fetch another pad of orange sticky notes.

“It’s not you,” Poe promises firmly. “It’s him, and the fact that he turns into an ass under pressure.”

“He’s sweet, too, though. He found my shirt, remember?” Rey asks, crossing her arms over her chest. That had been a FaceTime call the night before, with Finn and Poe, both. She’s learned to recognize whose apartment is whose, now – Poe’s has a lot more crap in it, whereas Finn’s is neater.

“And bridal-carried you out of the museum when you hurt your ankle,” BB adds, adding a dramatically dreamy sigh.

“He should not have gone from you wearing flats to you wearing stilettos that quickly. He should have started with kitten heels,” Poe insists, taking an orange pen from behind his ear and gesturing with it.

“Oh, so you’re a heel expert, now?” Rey asks, smirking at the copy editor.

“I was known to experiment on occasion, back in college,” Poe replies, giving her a smirk of his own, charming and pretty. She can see why Finn fell for him so fast.

But she has her own man, her own editor, and she’s going out to lunch with him in now 12 minutes.

“I’d better get going, I’m having lunch with Kylo,” she says, hoisting her Chanel bag over her shoulder and smiling at both Poe and BB.

“So that’s why you’ve been looking at the clock!” BB exclaims, grinning at Poe. “I win!”

“Win what?”

“The bet!”

“We didn’t bet on anything, you dork.”

“I bet that it was something to do with Kylo, now pay up.”

“But we didn’t bet anything!”

Rey laughs as she waves, the promise of having dinner tomorrow night with the three of them lingering on her lips as she walks out of the editing office and towards the elevators. She barely looks up as she presses the button to head down towards the lobby, and is surprised when there’s a hand on her wrist, grabbing her and yanking her into the elevator. There’s a hand on her waist immediately, one she’d recognized anywhere, and then there are lips on hers, and she grins against the editor in chief’s mouth as he bows her into him.

“The benefits of everyone being too scared to share an elevator with you,” she says as his hand rubs along her lower back through the crepe fabric of her dress.
“I’ve missed you.”

It’s low, almost gruff, and she knows that the security staff is getting an eyeful as she presses closer, counting the floors as the bell dings cheerfully at each stop. 18. 17. 16.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Rey breathes, sighing as his hand comes up to cup her cheek.

“Your eyeshadow isn’t blended.”

“Oh, fuck you, it was my first time,” she teases, grinning as he pulls away from her, the numbers dipping down into single digits.

“Your wings are better than I expected, I'll give you that."

“Thank Scotch tape,” she replies, reaching down to squeeze his hand gently before she attempts to let go. Much to her surprise, though, he doesn’t, his dark gaze on the number of the floor they’re passing as he continues to hold her fingers in his. “Kylo, you have to let go.”

“Why?” he asks, looking down at her. “The world knows we’re together. We’re going to hold hands.”

He says it so firmly, but so simply. Like he’s telling her to go pick up something from some store, or telling her to go fetch his coffee. That, or he’s a child, insisting that he’s going to have dessert before dinner.

She can’t hide the smile that starts to creep up her lips as the elevator doors open, the people waiting parting like the Red Sea for the couple as they step from the marble floor and out into the lobby. He doesn’t look at her, anymore, but she’s looking at him, vaguely hearing her heels on the marble lobby floor as she examines the strength of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the way the waves of his dark hair cover his slightly-too-big ears.

If she looks close enough, she can see the slightest quirk of his lips as they leave the building to where Mitaka is waiting with Kylo’s car.

Fuck it.

They’re going to hold hands.

Chapter Text

They’re … they’re okay.

She doesn’t know what she expected to happen. Maybe without the magic of Paris, they’d realize how ill-fitted they are for each other, and they’d just disintegrate. Or maybe for the sake of publicity, there would be some huge, explosive, public fight to end it in a big bang, and then that would be it. She’d go back to being his assistant, living in her shitty little studio apartment, and he’d go back to being the Devil who wears Prada.

But as Tuesday bleeds into Wednesday, and Wednesday bleeds into Thursday … they’re still okay.

They’re better than okay, actually. They’re holding hands.

He doesn’t kiss her in the office, and that’s perfectly fine with her. There are brushes of his hand against her lower back, though, a warm ghost of what he did in Paris. There are soft smiles, exchanged in the privacy of his office as she comes to tell him that the new Versace purses are in for the Baroque shoot. The glass walls surrounding them don’t allow for much privacy, but they find subtle ways, even if it’s just the brush of their hands as she passes him a folder about the Michael Kors leather jacket shoot.

He hasn’t asked her over to his townhouse yet. He hasn’t even asked her to dinner, only to lunch. She knows that he’s been stuffing his evening with meetings, getting together with a few contacts who couldn’t make it to Paris. Less experienced but skilled photographers, amateur but promising designers, a few trusted reporters, and the like. Aside from their brief lunches, his days have been packed, and therefore so have hers.

Her nights are free, though, and so Thursday night has her walking through Union Square to some lively Mexican restaurant Poe and Finn apparently frequent.

The late autumn chill cuts through her coat, an old thing from her college days that’s too tight in the shoulders, now, but still fits. She’s more than sure Kylo would insist upon her wearing his own coat instead of the monstrosity she’s wearing now, with the sleeves damn near falling apart and little strings of stuffing coming out of the side seams, but he’s not here.

She wonders if he’d even be willing to join her on a night out with everyone. She can just imagine him sitting in the corner, nursing a glass of wine and observing, as he always does. She can’t imagine him contributing to the conversation, though. Charming though he may be, a rambling conversationalist like BB he is not.

Warmth and noise accosts her as soon as Rey opens the door to the restaurant. Music is playing lowly, but for the most part the racket comes from the occupants. She can see a few people sitting at the bar, but none of them have the unruly curls or bright silver locks that she’s looking for.

“Rey!”

Rey turns and sees BB standing up from their chair, waving her over as much as they can in the tight space. That’s the thing she’s noticed about New York in general – there just isn’t much space.

“Sorry I’m late.” It’s a breathless sort of sigh as she weaves through to their table. Poe stands immediately to take her coat, brushing a chaste kiss against her cheek in friendly greeting. “The Hermes scarves were the wrong ones, so I was calling stores and had to beg them to keep it open so that I could pick it up,” she explains.

“How dare you do your job,” Poe teases as he drapes her coat on the back of her table, flashing that charming grin at her before settling back across from Finn. Their hands come together as if drawn by magnets, and Rey smiles at the sweetness of the two men as she scoots her chair in.

“You’re fine, we have queso,” BB explains, snagging a chip and dipping it in the big bowl.

Queso. Rey hasn’t had queso in what feels like months. Idly, she wonders if Kylo eats queso. Probably not, considering the restaurants they’ve been to, so different from this warm and almost loud establishment. But then again, the editor in chief is always full of surprises.

She should have expected it, really, the interrogation starting almost as soon as she puts her order in. Aside from her little trip down to the editing offices to give quick hugs and souvenirs to her three friends, they haven’t had a chance to talk much. And, if the questions she’s bombarded with are anything to go by, there is plenty to talk about.

“So, how was he?” BB demands as soon as the waiter turns his back after taking their order. They lean forward onto the table, grinning as they eagerly await Rey’s answer. One can’t have BB without gossip, or gossip without BB. They’re a package pair.

“How was he what?” Rey asks, reaching for another chip and dipping it in the cheese.

“You know – how was he?”

“I’m not answering that,” Rey mutters around the chip, seeing Poe grimacing out of the corner of her eye as he reaches for a chip, too.

“Yeah, please don’t make her answer that,” he says. “They’re vomit-worthy enough already.”

“Vomit-worthy?” Rey demands.

“He looks at you like you hung the sun, the moon, and the stars, Rey. You turned Satan into a golden retriever puppy,” Poe insists between the sharp crunching of corn chip.

“Black lab works better,” BB offers.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Poe takes a sip of his beer. “And if seeing you two in the flesh isn’t bad enough, I keep on seeing you guys on those cheesy tabloids in line at the grocery store. It’s disgusting. ’Rey and Ren, a Fashion Fairytale’? Come on, how much more obvious can you get. You have the two R’s, you have the two F’s, it works well, sure, but it’s easy. It’s too easy! They didn’t even try!”

“Aren’t we doing Rey and Ren, too, for our article?” Rey asks, snagging another chip. All right, she’ll give the crowded restaurant that – they do a damn good chip.

“Yeah, but that’s the title. We’re not adding ‘fashion fairytale’ or something stupid like that,” Poe explains, pointing at her with one of the corners of a chip. “We’re going to make it straightforward, no embellishments.”

“But he bridal carried her out of the museum,” BB insists, setting their hands on the table and leaning forward as if that will make their point more valid. "That's kind of fairytale."

“Did she lose a shoe? Did he kiss her back from the dead? Has he slain a dragon? No. It’s not a fairytale, they’re just fucking cute,” Poe says, biting into his quesadilla with vigor.

“I think you’re just jealous someone got to the title before you did,” Rey observes as she seals her lips around the straw, no doubt leaving a rose-colored mark on the black plastic. She bought this lipstick without Kylo’s help, and got a satisfied hum as he kissed her. Good to know she’s learning, at least.

“I’m not jealous, it’s a shit title on a shitty tabloid,” Poe grumbles, but the flush of his cheeks says otherwise. “Besides, General Fashion needs something with elegance, something simple. A ‘fashion fairytale’ is not elegant, it’s cliché.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Rey teases, looking up at Finn.

Her high school friend has stars in his eyes, watching Poe. His gaze is seemingly fixated on the one dark, silky curl that’s fallen in front of the copy editor’s forehead as he spoke, and Rey watches as Finn’s fingers reach across the chip basket to brush it up and away from Poe’s eyes. Poe flips like a switch, going from grumpy writer to happy boyfriend in a second flat, flashing that charming grin. “Thanks, babe,” he coos, leaning over the worn wooden table and baskets of Tex-Mex to kiss Finn with a loud ‘smack’.

“Make them stop,” BB groans, covering their eyes.

“I think they’re cute,” Rey protests, sneaking a chip from the basket again.

“You didn’t have to deal with them while you were gone. They kept on inviting me on ‘double dates’. It’s not a double date if I don’t have someone, you know,” BB scolds, sipping on their water.

“You could double date with me and Kylo,” Rey offers, looking to Finn and Poe, and she immediately regrets it as soon as the words come out of her mouth. Kylo knows Finn and Poe, sure. He makes a point of knowing the majority of his employees, if only because he needs a name to yell, sometimes, or to say lowly in disappointment. But would he be willing to double date? She honestly isn’t sure.

“Yeah, I don’t think we can afford the places he takes you, sweetheart,” Poe replies, snagging one of her onion rings in exchange for the fry she stole. “I don’t think he’d be into Tex-Mex.”

She wants to say she could try, try and convince him to try somewhere more casual than the little cafes and bistros they’ve been trying. Even then, though, she can’t imagine Kylo being that conversational. He knows Poe, sure. Knows him enough to come into the copy editor’s office and ask if there’s anyone who could be his assistant. Trusts his opinion enough to ask that.

… maybe. Maybe it could work. She’ll have to ask him.

The conversation, thankfully, flips from her and Ren to something about some sandals some designer came out with that look like giant hunks of rubber. She’s grateful for the change as she sips on her water, watching BB and Poe play-argue. Between seeing her face on magazine covers as she walks by the newsstands, to the bits of conversation she hears in the office, she doesn’t really want to talk about it.

After all, what’s there to talk about? She likes him, and he likes her, and they decided to try it out.

That’s all there is to it, as far as she’s concerned.

-

It takes him three hours to muster up the courage to call her.

It shouldn’t be this hard. It really shouldn’t be this hard. He’s called her at this time before, when something’s gone horribly, horribly awry and he needs her to fix it. They’ve texted over the past few days. Nothing too in-depth, nothing too dirty, but they’ve texted. And they’ve talked over lunch, they’ve talked in the office. Everything’s fine.

So why is he so damn nervous?

He wastes time puttering about the house, rearranging a few things and dusting things that didn’t really need dusting. Because the truth is he doesn’t want to go to bed, not without her in it. He forgot how much he missed having a bed partner, forgot how much he missed cuddling. He forgot how easily the stress melted away when he could focus on someone else’s breathing and the warmth of another body against his.

And now he’s alone, again.

C is looking at him curiously, her head tilted so much to the side that one of her soft ears has flipped over. He walks over to her, righting it and bending to kiss the top of her head. “Daddy’s just being stupid,” he mutters against her black fur before he pulls back. He wonders idly if Rey minds dogs on beds, or dogs at all. Shit. What if she’s allergic?

And then he remembers her mentioning something about a mutt her grandfather had, and he breathes a soft sigh of relief, pressing one more kiss to C’s head before he reaches for his phone.

He hangs up before it can ring. Twice. Twice his thumb goes right towards the red button, and manages to hit it. “Fuck,” he grumbles, before actually pressing the button, and lifting it to his ear. He’s not going to hang up this time, he’s going to tell her-

She answers almost immediately. He can hear the sound of rain, but closer than it would be if she were inside. He looks out his window, seeing the lights of the other houses in the reflection of the droplets. She must be out there, somewhere.

“What’s wrong?” Rey demands.

“What?” he asks, frowning as he looks down at where C is wiggling her way over to him, black tail wagging. He reaches so she doesn’t have to go so far, scratching behind her ears.

“It’s what, 10 at night?” she asks. “You don’t call me this late unless there’s something wrong, or something urgent, like your flight’s been canceled and you need me to book another one, or someone canceled something and you need me to reschedule. So what’s so important that you’re calling me this late?”

This was a stupid idea. He shouldn't have called her, it's too late, now, and she thinks it's some emergency when it's the exact opposite.

He must have taken too long to reply. “Kylo-?“

“I miss you.”

He’s not entirely sure she heard it, he says it so quietly. But then silence follows, and he tries to calm his racing heart by continuing to stroke the soft fur between C’s head and her ear.

If she hadn’t heard, then she would be saying his name, she would be saying ‘hello?’, she would be saying something at the very least. But she’s not. There’s only silence, the sound of rain on pavement through the speaker.

“Rey?” he asks. He can hear the rain, he knows she’s still there-

“What?” It’s a breathless sort of thing, and he bites his lip as she laughs softly. “Sorry, I just … didn’t expect you to say that.”

“Is it really so hard to believe that I miss you next to me in bed?” he demands, voice unintentionally sharp. Oh, God, he can feel his ears flushing, can feel heat from his ears to his cheeks to his chest, and he’s incredibly grateful he did this over the phone and not in person. No doubt she’d coo, touch his ear, pull him in for a kiss…

Maybe in person would’ve been a better idea. At least he would get a kiss out of it.

“You miss me,” she repeats, and he can hear the glee in her voice. “Kylo Ren misses me in bed with him.”

“What about that is confusing?” he asks, in that same demanding tone, looking down at C as her tail whaps against the black bedspread, his fingers finding that spot behind her ear she loves so much.

“It’s not confusing, it’s cute.” And there’s that damned coo. “Do you want me to come over? Do you need a cuddle buddy?”

“No,” he replies immediately. Fuck, did he come off as that desperate? His voice is gruffer than he meant for it to be, and he turns the phone away from his mouth so that he can play it off as him needing to clear his throat, the sound faint through her speakers. “No, it’s late, and you don’t have clothes here.”

“Could get up early and buy some,” she replies simply.

“You don’t have a toothbrush.”

“I could go into a Duane Reade.” Fuck, what did he do to deserve her? Offering to come to his townhouse at 10 at night. No doubt she’s across the city, in another borough, most likely. It’s raining, he can still hear it on her end, can hear it against the glass of his windows, and she still offers.

“Soon,” Kylo says, his voice soft. “Is it so wrong that I’d rather take my time and make you breakfast the morning after than rush off to work?”

There’s silence for another heartbeat, and oh, God, he offended her by rejecting her, shit shit shit–

“No, I like that idea.” Her voice is soft. It’s not a coo, but it’s close. It's sweeter. Less playful, more loving. Or at least he hopes it's loving.

“I don’t think I could replicate the croissants from the bakery,” he says, his tone apologetic as he looks down at C, raising a brow at the puppy eyes she’s giving him. He turns the phone away from his mouth, continuing his scratching behind her ear. “What? I already fed you, sweetheart.”

“The all mighty and supremely powerful Satan of General Fashion can’t make a simple croissant?” Rey asks. “What is the world coming to?”

“Very funny,” Kylo says, his voice flat.

“Who were you talking to?” The last half of her question is drowned out by an almost deafening buzzing. Kylo damn near yanks the phone away from his ear, looking down at the slim black device in confusion before he puts it back. C’s sat up next to him, raising her head at his sudden movement.

“What the fuck was that?” he demands.

“The building door,” she explains. “It buzzes when it lets you in.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Not everyone can have their own townhouse in New York, Kylo."

He knows this, but he can’t imagine hearing that every day, perhaps several times a day. Depending on where her apartment is in the building, too, he can imagine that the sound travels down hallways and through walls. He can picture dull walls, creaking stairs, perhaps an elevator that’s out of order. Of course, there’s the possibility that her place is decent. But there are the factors of her wardrobe and her belongings, as well as how she's spoken about the place, and they lead him to believe that the place is a little less than pleasant. The cursing he hears on the other line doesn’t help the picture much.

“Are you all right?”

“Stupid lock gets stuck,” Rey mutters under her breath. There’s the sound of something jingling – her keys. And then there’s a bang that sounds almost like a dulled gunshot, combined with a triumphant, “Ah ha!”

Damn her and her adorableness. Damn the fact that he can just picture her smile, the way her eyes become all squinty, the way her nose crinkles, the way her freckles all bunch up-

“Is that the only reason why you called me? You miss me? There’s no Calvin Klein crisis or Prada problem?” she asks. She sounds out of breath. He’s willing to bet it’s an older building, stairs but no place for an elevator.

“No,” he says simply. Again, the jingling of keys, and then the sound of them falling against some hard surface. He imagines a counter, or a little table beside the front door. If there’s even room for such a thing. “What were you doing out this late?”

“Poe, BB, and Finn invited me to dinner. Some little Tex-Mex place in Union Square,” she replies. He can hear the shifting of fabric, the whistling sound of nylon rubbing against nylon. Of course, there are high fashion coats that are nylon, but he didn't buy her any. Everything he bought her was wool, or leather, or cashmere, or shearling. So that means ...

“What are you wearing?”

All of the sudden, all noise stops. There’s silence for one heartbeat, and then two, and then – “How the fuck did you know?”

“How the fuck did I know what?”

“That I’m wearing shitty clothes.” It’s almost a grumble as he hears the nylon again, and then something that sounds like plastic hangers in a closet. Oh, God help him.

“Nylon against nylon has a very distinctive sound,” he explains, looking down at C and switching ears to even it out. Her tail whaps harder against the duvet. “I don’t recall buying any nylon coats for you in Paris, and you haven’t had the time to go shopping.”

“I could’ve picked something up at Burberry while I was getting the coats for the Winter Wonderland shoot,” Rey protests.

“But you didn’t.”

“Sorry that I didn’t want to wear a cream cashmere coat to eat Tex-Mex.”

Kylo chuckles, settling down into the pillows of his bed. “I bought you a shearling jacket, and two leather jackets, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“And if I’d worn them, they’d smell like cheese, and spiced meat.”

“You’re impossible.”

There’s warmth in his voice, and in his chest as he hears more rustling. He smiles to himself as she laughs. “What if I told you I make up for the shitty coat with the lingerie I’m wearing?”

“Oh?” he asks, his thumb moving to brush the soft, smooth fur between C’s eyes. Her tail continues to hit the bed in a slightly off-beat rhythm. He’ll have to wash the duvet before Rey comes over. He’ll have to vacuum, too. Though the benefit of having a black pup means that her fur doesn’t show up on black suits. Or, at least, it doesn’t show up as much as white fur would.

“Yeah.” Her voice is coy, and he can just imagine her grin. Her eyes perhaps not quite so squinted, but her nose still crinkled, the grin itself almost wicked.

“You’re not wearing lingerie,” he proposes. Two can play this game, he thinks, smiling to himself. A shitty coat, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, perhaps, and lingerie? No, Rey’s not the type. He knows the style, yes, of wearing lingerie as clothing, slips and camisoles and the like. And he knows the trend of wearing visible lingerie under sheer t-shirts. But if he follows the trend of Rey Kenobi, and he thinks he’s qualified to be an expert, by now, then there is a comfy bralette beneath the t-shirt she’s wearing. One that got thrown in the dryer when it shouldn't have, because Rey Kenobi doesn’t read labels, or at least she didn’t before she became involved with him. Maybe lace. Maybe some smooth, soft fabric. But comfortable, and casual.

The silence that follows answers his inquiry, and his smile turns into a knowing smirk as C shifts her head so that he’ll scratch behind her left ear again. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he purrs.

“You’re like a fashion Sherlock Holmes.” Her voice is farther away, now. He’s on speaker phone. “I would ask if you’d like pictures, but you’d just tell me how awful and ill-fitting it is, won’t you?”

“There’s always the possibility of pictures without the bra, but considering all the leaks these days, that’s a risk I’m not sure either of us are willing to take,” he replies. “Besides, I’d rather see the real thing.”

“I’d be terrible at it, anyway,” she says, closer now. He's off speakerphone. “I wouldn’t know how to pose.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to be terrible at nude photos. As long as it shows something, then I’d consider it a success,” he says teasingly before he pauses, his fingers halting behind C’s ear. “Rey.”

“Mhm?”

“I’d like to ask you something.”

“If it involves me going out into the rain again, then you’re out of luck."

He chuckles, but it’s almost forced. Shit, will she even agree to this? Or will she think it controlling? It’s just a suggestion, he’ll have to tell her that, just an idea he had. Something to think about, and consider, it might be fun—

“Kylo?”

“I want you to pick one set of lingerie,” he says, trying to keep his voice even and level. God, he’s usually so smooth with this, why is he nervous?

Because it's Rey, that's why he's nervous. Because he's in too deep to fuck it up with something so minor.

“For what?” she asks.

“I’d like you to wear it when I ask you to.”

He’s starting to hate the silences, because it gives his blood pressure a chance to skyrocket in between his words and hers. He waits another heartbeat before there’s a slow, curious – but thankfully not disgusted, or angry – “Why?”

“Because,” he continues, keeping his voice low as he looks down at the pattern of his sleep pants, a deep grey and black plaid. “I’d like to fuck you in that set. I want to peel it off of you slowly. I want to kiss your shoulders as I slip the straps from them, I want to kiss the freckles that were hidden by the band of the bra after I unlatch it and slip it from you. I want to suck your pretty little tits through the cups, so it should probably be something unlined. I want to kiss your cunt through the lace or mesh or whatever it’s made out of, and taste your release through the fabric.”

He stops, listening for her reaction, for her protest, if there is any. When all he gets is silence, he continues.

“I want that set, in your brain, to be a message. I want you to know that whenever I tell you to put on that set, you’re going to get fucked. I want you to pull the panties up your legs and realize you’re already wet at the thought of what the set means, and I want you to put the bra on and realize your nipples are already hard because that bra means they’re going to get sucked and kissed, and licked. I want you to know, when you put on that set, that I'm going to fuck you, thoroughly."

Despite the heat running through his own veins, and the flush of his cheeks, all he gets is silence from the other line. Which, considering what he just offered, is concerning. He can feel panic crawling up his throat, can feel the tightness of fear squeezing his chest. “… Rey?”

After his blood pressure is given yet another long few moments to skyrocket, he finally gets an answer.

“… yes. Fuck. Yes.”

-

She’d expected a quiet night in at home. After taking the subway to the closest stop, she’d walked through the drizzling rain and thought about green tea, and cozy pajamas, and maybe the next chapter of the romantic novel she’s reading, or the next episode of that crime show she’s been watching.

Something laid back, and low key. Nothing too exciting.

And then he called.

Of course he derailed her plans, because he’s Kylo Ren, and that’s what he does. He derails her plans and her closet and everything about her life. Sometimes it’s in the worst way possible. Sometimes it’s in the best way possible.

Now, though, with his low voice in her ear, talking about how he wants her to have a lingerie set that’s specifically for being fucked in – oh, God, saying he interrupted her night in the best way possible is a vast, vast understatement.

Rey doesn’t even realize that she should reply. If she were thinking straight, then she’d realize that the silence in between the lavish dirty talk were expectant pauses. It isn’t until he says, “Rey?” in some nervous, choked voice that she comes back down to earth.

“… yes. Fuck. Yes.”

Fuck yes, she wants a set like that. Yes, she wants to see the black or nude or pink or whatever set in her closet and get wet from the memories sewn – or rather, soaked – into the mesh or lace or whatever. Yes, yes, she does want that, she didn’t even consider it, and now he’s going into detail about what he’d do to her in said set and fuck, she really should have splurged on something more substantial than her fingers. She was considering it, but decided against it. She thought her fingers were good enough. But compared to him, compared to Satan … they’re not even close.

“Fuck, yes, Kylo,” Rey breathes, already picturing black lace or mesh, already feeling his lips on her neck and shoulder. Fuck, she didn’t realize how much she missed them. And it’s only been a few days. “Yes, please…”

“You like that?” It's earnest. For all of his smoothness, for all of the sexiness that is Kylo Ren 90% of the time, it's the eagerness to please and obvious concern that she loves about this side of him.

“Yes, Kylo,” she says, her voice a little less breathy and more insistent, now, because yes, she does like it, can’t he hear it in her voice? “Yes, I like it.”

“Good.” She hears fabric shifting. He’s moving. She hears rustling, then the sound of a door closing, somewhere. Maybe he's moved from the living room to his bedroom, or something. She hopes it’s to do what she’s doing, her hand slipping down the old pair of sleep shorts, the lace hem around the legs pulling away from the loose cotton. “If you don’t want to put it on, you don’t have to. But when you do put on that set, I want you to know that you’re going to be treated well.”

Of course he had to throw the element of consent in, because he’s Kylo. She already knows, though, knows that he won’t pressure her into something she doesn’t want. That’s not what she wants to talk about right now. “And if I decide to wear it without you telling me to?” Rey asks. Fuck, it’s hard to hold the phone like this, when she’s slipping against her cheap pillows, her head and neck crunched up against the headboard, uncomfortable but manageable.

“Then I’ll have to figure out how to work it into my schedule, won’t I?” he replies. She can hear the change in his voice, now. She's said yes. His voice is smoother, deeper, softer. He's more sure, now.

“We need to find something for you, too.”

“For me? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Rey says, her hand stilling beneath her shorts for a moment. She really needs new underwear that isn’t lingerie. The pair she has on is thinning, and she can feel the curls she needs to wax through the cotton almost too well. “That if I get a set of lingerie you tell me to wear when you’re going to fuck me, then you get something to wear if I want to fuck you.”

There’s silence. She can picture him easily, can see the way his dark amber eyes widen behind those damn glasses. Maybe he raises one of his brows. Maybe his ears flush. Maybe his cheeks turn pink. Either way, she finds the image both stupidly adorable and incredibly arousing.

“You’re saying you want to pick out my underwear?” he asks, his voice low.

“Most of your underwear’s the same, that won’t work,” she says. The man seems to only own black boxer briefs. “Maybe a pair of cufflinks or something. Or a watch. Or a tie.”

A tie. That’s it, she’ll get him a tie. A tie she can pull on gently, like the girls do in the cheesy romance movies she watches with Finn sometimes. A tie she can pull on to bring him down to her, so that she can kiss him.

No, she thinks, a second later. No, they use a tie, then he’d be wearing the same tie almost every day, and the Great Kylo Ren can’t have that sort of fashion blunder on his record. She may be still learning, but she knows enough to know that.

“And what would you do to me if I wore it?”

“Kiss you.”

Kylo chuckles, and something in her chest aches at the fact that she’s hearing it through a shitty little speaker instead of right next to her. Still, the sound itself is comforting, and she smiles. “And?” he asks.

“And I’m thinking I would start with your suit jacket. Or, if we don’t have much time, I’d sink to my knees and start to undo the belt that probably costs half of my paycheck.”

“If we don’t have much time?” There’s something darker in his voice, a slight rumble to his tone. “Where would we be where we don’t have much time?”

Fuck. Her hand’s still cupped against her cunt, in between the cotton of her sleep shorts and the cotton of her panties. She can feel a heat spreading that has nothing to do with arousal, and everything do with embarrassment. “Uh,” she says. “Out?”

“Ms. Kenobi.”

The sound of him purring her name should not get her as hot and bothered as it does. And it certainly shouldn’t make her whine, the sound coming from the back of her throat, unbidden. She moves her hand up, slips it beneath the worn-out panties. “Yes?”

“Do you like being fucked in public? Is that what you’re telling me?” It's teasing. Damn him.

“Says the man who ate me out in a museum hallway, and then watched me masturbate to the video footage. You know the answer,” Rey says, jerking at the simple touch to her clit. “Fuck!”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine, just sensitive.” She’s not even sure if what comes out of her mouth is words. It could be just gibberish, for all she knows.

“Rey.”

His voice isn’t teasing now. It’s low, and deep, and sends electricity up her spine. Her fingers brush her clit again, and her hips jerk involuntarily. Her head knocks against the wall a little, her bedframe cheap and basic and lacking a headboard. “Yeah?”

“I want to unhook that shitty bra from you and kiss your chest.”

“Already a step ahead of you, I’m not wearing it.”

“Then I want to push up your shirt and suck on your tits.”

She doesn’t know where he lives, otherwise she’d forget a bra, forget proper clothes and rush over there. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing any cab driver or subway rider’s ever seen in New York, that’s for damn sure. But it would be a really shitty decision on her part, and so she’ll have to do with the sound of his voice.

All in all, not a bad deal.

“And then what?”

“And then I’d pull you into my lap, and kiss your chest, and your shoulders, and your neck-“

“Damn it, Kylo, I don’t want you to describe making love or whatever, I want you to describe fucking.”

What a headline this would make. ‘Rey Kenobi begs General Fashion Editor in Chief Kylo Ren to talk dirty to her over phone – becomes hot, melting mess at just the sound of his voice’.

“So you’d rather I grab you and lift you up onto my desk?”

Oh, fuck.

“Yes…”

“And you want me to shove your skirt up around your waist before grabbing your knees and yanking you towards me, bringing your hot little cunt against my cock?”

She really shouldn’t have the fantasy of her boss fucking her on his desk. She really shouldn’t be as turned on by the idea of being fucked in a very public, entirely glass-walled office where anyone could see. She really shouldn’t be getting as wet as she is from imagining being handled a bit roughly. “Yes, fuck, yes, please!”

“It’s easy to touch you, to slide my hand between us. You’ve already taken your panties off, you wrote it into the schedule for the day to take them off after lunch, my orders. You’re already soaked, aren’t you, Rey?”

She manages only a soft little, “Uh huh,” her fingers dipping lower to feel her slit. They’re not going to be as good as him, but maybe they’ll be enough.

“You want me to eat you out, sweetheart? Or use my fingers, first?”

Sweetheart.

He hasn’t called her that often, but she loves it. Sweetheart, and babe. She never thought she’d be one for pet names, but there’s something about the way sweetheart sounds, rolling on the rough timber of his voice that makes her shudder. “Fingers.”

“You want to be finger-fucked on my desk, or do you want the whole world to see me kneeling between your thighs?”

Fuck, they're both tempting. They're both really tempting. "Fingers," she repeats, because that's what she has right now. The angle's all wrong, and they're not as thick as his, no, but they'll have to do. "Fuck, Kylo..."

"I know, honey." Oh, but she likes that one, she likes honey, for some reason. Maybe it's the way he says it, the way his deep voice spins it into something almost dirty. Take your panties off for me, honey.

He doesn't say it, but she finds herself obeying, anyway, turning the phone on speaker just so she doesn't lose any precious seconds as she shimmies out of her pajama shorts and underwear.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking off my panties," Rey confesses. The low groan she receives for saying that is worth the flush of her cheeks for saying the word 'panties' out loud.

"Fuck, I miss you."

"I miss you, too. Miss your hands, miss your mouth, miss your cock. My fingers are too damn small."

He laughs. She misses that, too. The phone distorts it a little.

She never was one for drawing it out. Yes, she knows from experience that it can be good, it can be great, it's usually so much better than a quick rub, but she’s impatient. And so her fingers find her clit, and she finds the rhythm and speed she uses when she’s desperate. Her knees bend, feet coming up to prop against the bed. She imagines him between her legs, imagines his face right there. It's not quite right, but she quickly dips a finger in, pretending it's his tongue. It's not quite right, no, but it's enough that her hips jerk up.

“Rey…”

Oh, thank God. He doesn’t sound like he’s going to last long, either. He moans into the phone, and she wonders how obscene it would be to ask him to record himself. Maybe she can convince him to record what else he’d do to her on the desk, too.

She cums before he does, and then Rey gets to listen to the sounds of him jerking off as she rides her own wave of heat and pleasure. It’s not as good as it is with him, and she knows part of that is her own fault for not dragging it out, but between his words and the sound of his voice, she was just too eager.

“I just came to the thought of my boss fucking me on his desk,” she says, once his moans and grunts have quieted, and she hears his breathing instead. She can’t help thinking that if he were here, he would be getting up to get a washcloth. And then he’d clean her, and take care of her, because that’s what he does. She knew she’d miss it, miss him, but the want for him is more than she imagined.

“Considering the amount of porn with that scenario, I’d say it’s a pretty common fantasy.”

“A fantasy.” She feels light, and boneless, staring up at the ceiling. There’s a crack, and water stains. The landlord assured her that it had been fixed, it was just old, just a stain. She wonders if Kylo’s staring up at the ceiling. His is probably some kind of wood, or at least smooth, and one color. “Is that all it is?”

“I have a desk at my house.”

“Is that your way of finally inviting me over?”

“No,” he says. “I have a different plan for that.”

Of course he does. “I need to shower.”

“I wish you could join me in mine.”

Whatever heat was still lingering from her orgasm leaves at the softness of his voice, and the twinge of sadness in it. “Me too.” A pause. “If only because your water pressure’s probably better, and I don’t have your stupidly expensive conditioner.”

His chuckle is deep, restoring the warmth she just lost. “I have nothing do with it, hm?”

“No,” Rey replies, grinning into the phone pressed to her ear. “I just want hotter water and your conditioner.”

He actually laughs this time.

Yeah, she thinks, listening to him laugh before saying goodnight. Yeah, they’re definitely okay.

Chapter Text

She sees the first one as she’s walking to work.

Her Prada pumps are in her purse, a pair of simple black flats she’s had forever (they certainly look like it) taking their place as she weaves her way through the early morning work crowds. She’s never been comfortable in the bustling hubbub of the city, and she’s certainly not comfortable now, bundled up in her Burberry coat against the late autumn chill. The wind rushes between the skyscrapers, making everything feel frigid even though there are hundreds of other warm-blooded bodies around her.

There’s no snow, not yet, but Poe told her to buy boots for when it does. It’ll turn into disgusting city slush faster than she can blink, he said, and then it remains grey and dirty until the spring.

“Don’t wear your pretty little Pradas, they’ll be ruined and he’ll probably throw a hissy fit,” Poe warned with a wink.

She’s not sure about Kylo throwing a hissy fit, but he wouldn’t be happy. She makes a note to buy boots, and not tell him she got them from H&M or something. Or maybe she’ll get a pair of those Hunter boots. Something durable. Practical. Something that suits her more than the heels she has stuffed in her bag.

The vendors around the block nearly sway her with the smells of spiced nuts and hot pretzels, but she decides to splurge on a rich and flavorful green tea at the nearby bakery instead. Blowing across the little mouth hole like that’ll help the steam coming from it, Rey steps back out onto the street, intending to rush along so that she can get there before Kylo does.

And she nearly succeeds, too, quickening her pace so that maybe just maybe she’ll beat him. But then the bright yellow lettering on a magazine makes her stop so suddenly she can feel hot green tea splattering her bare hand.

‘Rey Kenobi: Golden Girl, or Gold Digger?’

She knows they found her name, of course they did. It didn’t take long at all. They published it even before they came out as a couple, explaining that the girl next to Kylo Ren was in fact his assistant, and they had no romantic attachment – or did they? She’s seen her name countless times since then, in articles that BB sends her or leaves on her desk. They’re almost always all highlighted up, emphasizing the sweet and soft while drawing her attention away from the fact that they call her poor, or a nobody, or all sorts of things. No family left. No one to pry directly for personal information except for Finn, maybe. But he hasn’t said anything, and she knows that he would never talk about her behind her back, even if everything he had to say was good.

She can’t say the same for some of the girls in the office, though.

Right now, Rey’s just grateful she and Kylo have the corner spot. The front page, sure, but in the bottom right hand corner, where the scratched up and cloudy plastic magazine slot covers it almost entirely.

Maybe someone will overlook them and focus on the blown up picture of the celebrity family who’s having their 7^th kid, instead?

One can hope, Rey thinks bitterly as she makes her way towards the office, taking a sip of her green tea and grimacing a little.

They forgot to put honey in it.

It’s just going to be that kind of day.

*

Some of the girls in the office are nice. She’s interacted with a few of them, always been kind to them when she had to ask them for something. And, for the most part, they’ve been nice back.

There are a few quietly nasty ones, though. Girls who rolled their eyes when she asked what the difference between two belts was, who stared at her like she was insane when she asked why they couldn’t just use another model for a shoot, who scoffed when she came into the office in her old clothes. She remembers their cold looks, the way their perfectly blended and flicked eyes roamed from her worn-out loafers to her hastily brushed hair and then back down.

She’s not petty. She’s not angry, no. This world she’s entered has both wonderful people, and some less wonderful people. And while it’s changing for the better, she thinks, there are some aspects that aren’t going to change.

She’s had bitchy coworkers before.

They’ve never done this, though.

The magazine she saw earlier is on her desk. Or at least the part of her and Kylo is, the rest of the cover torn away and the rest of the magazine missing, as well. The scrap of paper has been drawn on, because of course it has, she thinks as she sets her purse down and picks up the little note.

‘Good Girl’ has been scrawled across in black marker, leaving only ‘Gold Digger’ behind.

It shouldn’t make her feel as shitty as it does. She shouldn’t be tasting ash on her tongue, she shouldn’t feel as though her stomach’s plummeting right down to the cafeteria. She shouldn’t be feeling this way, because she knows that’s not what this is. That’s not who they are, no, far from. She doesn’t like being spoiled with diamond necklaces, even if they are on loan for the night, and weren’t actually purchased. She doesn’t like it when Kylo spends a ridiculous amount of money on her, because it’s not needed. She doesn’t give a flying fuck about what he has in his bank account.

What’s really happening doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to the rest of the world, though. She could take a polygraph test and they would still say she’s lying.

“Good morning.”

His hand on her lower back, a kiss pressed to her temple. Rey closes her eyes, leaning into the touch. No one’s around. Or maybe people are around. Who cares? He obviously doesn’t.

She can hear the sound of paper crumpling, and when she opens her eyes, his other hand is in a fist, and the torn up piece of magazine cover is nowhere in sight.

“Do you know who it is?”

“I can make some guesses, but by faces, not by names,” she mutters, looking towards her left where the long hallway lined with other offices is. “I don’t want to make any false accusations, though.”

His hand rubs up and down her back. “Come into my office.”

“You have a meeting at 9:30.”

“This won’t take long.”

She hasn’t had the chance to change into the Prada shoes, yet, and she feels like she’s trespassing on sacred ground as she steps into his office. The flats are scuffed, a few threads coming undone, the fabric worn away on one of the toes so the plastic beneath is peeking through. But Kylo says nothing as he sheds his coat and hangs it up in the little closet, opening his hand for hers. She shimmies out of it before offering it to him, and then all of the sudden they’re in darkness, and she’s pressed up against his chest.

It’s not a big closet. It was designed to hold a few coats, not two people. A Burberry raincoat crinkles against her back, and she’s pretty damn positive an umbrella is poking her in the ass. But it’s one of the few places in the entire office that doesn’t have glass for walls, the closet itself on the one wall in Kylo’s office that isn’t transparent.

His breath fans across her cheeks, the space too tight to breathe, let alone do anything of the naughty variety. Her breasts feel squished against his chest, almost painfully so, but his hand comes to her hip, thumb stroking gently.

“It’s all to get paid. And it’s all to stir up drama. It’s all for show, you know that, right?”

Yes. Yes, she knows that. She knows she’s not in it for the money, and she hopes he knows that, too.

“I know you’re not a gold digger, and anyone who saw your shoes this morning should know that, too.”

“I’m going to change them,” she protests, but then his hand is slipping around to her back, pulling her even closer, and there are lips upon her nose. Tender. Sweet. Almost innocent.

“Ignore them. This is between you, and me. And no one else should matter.”

No one else should matter.

But just because they don’t matter doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt…

She closes her eyes, breathing in the musk of his cologne. She can’t remember which one it is, some Tom Ford something. She remembers seeing it on the desk in Paris. Fuck, she’s missed it. Missed smelling it on his skin and not just his suits.

His lips find her nose again, then her cheek, then her temple, then her brow. “Keep an eye out, and let me know if you discover who it is, all right? I’ll deal with them.”

Rey wants to tell him it’s not necessary, that she can fight her own battles, but she finds herself just nodding as he seeks out her lips in the darkness. He misses, at first, kissing the skin beneath her nose, and then the corner of her mouth, and then her chin. It takes her a few kisses to realize that he’s doing it on purpose, probably to make her laugh, and so she smiles and kisses him properly.

“We should probably get out before we suffocate or sweat to death,” she mumbles against his lips. He tastes like coffee.

“Mmm, probably.”

She presses one more sweet, lingering kiss to his lips, holding on to heaven for just a little longer before they have to step back out into hell. It’s a day of meetings, of lunches, of run-throughs and a designer preview…

She snags just one more before her hand finds the door handle, and the little closet is flooded with bright white light.

“A closet. How cliché,” Hux drawls.

“You look good in brown,” Rey offers, seeing the executive editor leaning against Kylo’s desk. He does look good in brown. Hux’s hair has gone back to the coifed and gelled style he wore before, but his face looks less pinched. The dark circles under his eyes are gone, and-

“You haven’t shaved.”

She didn’t mean for it to sound so surprised, but as Kylo walks towards his desk, no doubt to gather the materials he needs for the meeting, she can see the light hitting the copper scruff the editor is sporting.

“I forgot to change the blade,” Hux says as she steps forward to see it more closely. He’s been in his office the past few days, making calls and arrangements with General Fashion Italy. If she’s seen him, it’s been through glass walls, and she’s apparently been too distracted to notice the fur on his face.

“It looks good,” Rey tells him with a smile.

Immediately something in the editor loosens, some string twisted tight unwinding just the slightest bit. “You think so?”

“You look happy.” She means it. He looks better than he has in months.

Hux doesn’t confirm or deny whether he actually is happy, but there’s a warmth in his eyes she’s starting to become familiar with. And then he’s turning and talking to Kylo about some designer home collection, the editor in chief not even looking up as he answers Hux’s questions. It doesn’t take long for her to determine that she isn’t needed right now, or at least not immediately.

The phone starts to ring at her desk. And of course there’s the schedule to go over, Edna to call, lunch to confirm, the Book to finalize…

And shoes to change.

*

“He wants you to deliver the Book.”

She’s just taken a bite of the salad she bought and brought back up to her desk, her eyes widening as she stares at Hux. He raises one ginger brow at her as she tries desperately to chew and swallow, damn near choking in the process.

“So elegant,” he quips. There’s a sharpness to it, sure, but there’s some mirth in there, too. He’s not as cruel as he once was, and it shows.

“Shut up.” It’s mumbled around arugula and balsamic vinegar as she reaches for her water. “I thought that was your job?”

“It is. But with my moving to Italy, it’s going to become your job. He wants you to take over from now on.”

Right. He’s moving to Italy. And before, she’s willing to guess that Kylo didn’t trust her with the Book. But now he does. And really, she would be offended if he didn’t.

A key is placed on the glass top of her desk with a gentle click. “Be there by 6. And don’t eat dinner.”

“What?”

She isn’t given an explanation as Hux turns and struts away, Italian leather shoes clicking on the dark hardwood. She stares at his retreating back before looking back down at the gold key. Of course it’s gold, she thinks, picking up the tiny thing and reaching to put it in her purse. Rich. Elegant. Sophisticated. Like him, like Kylo.

And so very … not like her.

*

A townhouse. Enna said that he had a townhouse.

This … does not look like any townhouse she’s ever been to.

Of course it’s on the Upper East Side. The man loves to be surrounded by art and beautiful things, and so it makes sense that it would be near the Met. It’s all too easy to imagine him walking through the halls, admiring the paintings and sculptures of years and perhaps even centuries past.

It has to be a ridiculously pricey block, considering it’s tree-lined. She hates to think what he paid for that luxury. The townhouse itself blends in with the others around it, the pale limestone shining in the early evening light. It’s rich, yes, but it’s also fairly unassuming. It’s not in her face, which is why she almost walks by the damn thing.

The lights are on. Well, it looks like one of them is. There’s one light in one of the rooms upstairs, and one light downstairs, but the rest of the house looks dark. Maybe he’s not home?

Hux didn’t give her instructions for him not being home. He gave her the key, though. Should she just walk in and leave it somewhere? He didn’t tell her anything except for the address, and not to eat dinner. Which is a weird instruction, but it’s still an instruction.

She’s early. Is that it? She finished up work earlier than she’d expected, and she had the unbelievable luck of getting the train right as it pulled up to the platform, cutting off a good few minutes of her time. Hux said to be here no later than 6, and it’s 5:30, so-

Rey stands there, staring at the wrought iron gate, a dark wood door just beyond it. Should she open it? Does the gate even open? Does it have a lock? Should she text Hux? Or should she just text Kylo? Or call him?

Yes. Calling Kylo. She … she can do that. They’re dating, after all, this isn’t weird. Her standing outside of his house isn’t weird at all.

The cool evening air nips at her bare fingers as she pulls her phone out and presses his number. She can just barely see her breath pluming in front of her as she waits, the Book clutched to her chest. It takes a moment to connect, but then-

The sharp chime of his ringtone cuts through the delicate sound of something metal clinking, and she turns.

The dark collar of his wool coat is turned up against the chill. His hair’s been ruffled, lacking the perfect waves he usually wears and looking straight up messy, instead. She likes it. She likes it a lot.

“I thought Hux told you to come at 6.” He has to raise his voice a little.

“By 6,” she calls back, watching as he approaches. It takes her longer than it should to realize that the metallic clinking sound is that of dog tags and a dog collar, and that his arm is outstretched because he’s holding the other end of the leash.

“Easy, C, easy…” Kylo says, the dog getting excited immediately. She doesn’t see why he says ‘easy’ at first, but as they round the boxwood bushes at the front of the townhouse, she understands.

“Hello,” Rey coos, slipping her phone into her purse so that she can bend and pet the pup. The three-legged dog tries to lick and nip at her fingers until Kylo reaches for them, trying to get them to calm down. “It’s all right, he’s okay.”

“She,” Kylo explains.

“She’s okay,” Rey corrects, laughing as all of the sudden there are paws on her bent legs. “Hi there, sweetheart…”

“Let’s go inside before my fingers fall off.”

“Good idea. The magazine needs those,” Rey teases, grinning down at the precious pup who keeps on trying to jump on her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay!”

“C, down,” Kylo tries. It works, somewhat. Rey’s grin broadens as there’s still a warm tongue licking between her fingers, but at least there’s no more jumping. “She likes everyone.”

“I didn’t know you had a dog.” She’s never seen anything about it in his schedule, never made any vet appointments or grooming appointments or anything like that…

“Adopted her about a year ago. I have a caretaker who comes here and walks her and takes her to appointments.”

The wrought iron gate creaks a little as he pushes it open – so it doesn’t need a lock, Rey thinks, watching as Kylo closes it behind the three of them. He unlocks the townhouse door before reaching down to let the dog off the leash, and then she’s off and running through the townhouse. Rey can hear the sound of dog nails on hardwood floors, and grins as there’s a hand on her waist and a kiss to her temple.

“I told Hux 6 because I’m going to make you dinner,” he explains. His lips are at her ear, now, and she shudders at the warmth of his breath, leaning back into him. There’s another, firmer kiss to her cheek, and she hums as he pulls away to pull the front door closed again.

“That explains why he told me not eat dinner,” she replies, looking out into the foyer.

She’s not sure what she expected. Early on in her career at General, she would have expected all blacks and reds, something like a vampiric bachelor pad. Looking around, it’s anything but.

Sure, it has some dark elements. The wrought iron of the gate outside is mirrored in the railings of the dark wood staircase. The walls, though, are painted a delicate cream, and black and white sketches have been carefully placed in dark wooden frames, creating a gallery wall of designer’s works.

“For future reference,” he says, his voice warm as he strides over to a table pushed up against the wall. “The Book can go here.”

She sets the Book upon the marble tabletop, looking down and seeing a spread of a few other General Fashion magazines, no doubt this month’s prints from Italy, France, Germany, China, Japan…

There are hands upon her shoulders, a wordless request to take her coat. She obliges, undoing the belt of it and the buttons and letting him slide it off of her shoulders as she looks around. She doesn’t get too much of a chance before C is rushing back, managing just fine without her back right leg.

Now no longer hindered by the Book and her coat, Rey grins, going down onto one knee so that she can scratch and rub behind the dog’s ears. “Yes, hello, I’m new, aren’t I?” she asks, laughing as she gets wet kisses to her cheeks and jaw. “Hi there…”

“Her name is C,” Kylo explains. She looks up, rubbing behind one of the pup’s ears as Kylo leans against the wall. He must have changed when he got home. To see him in sweatpants and a black t-shirt after seeing him in suits for the past week is a welcome change, and she grins as he crosses his arms.

“Is it short for anything?” she asks, looking back down at C and rubbing the dog’s sides, feeling soft, pitch black fur.

“Cerberus,” Kylo says simply. However, she knows where to look, and while his cheeks remain pale, she can see the hint of pink on the tips of his ears. “It made sense at the time. Three heads, three legs-“

“Not to mention you’re Satan,” Rey teases, reaching back up to stroke the soft spot between the pup’s ears.

“Cerberus would be Hades, but yes.”

“Didn’t Cerberus guard the Underworld?” she asks, pulling back so that she doesn’t get entirely slobbered over. “Such a vicious guard dog.” It’s completely and utterly sarcastic as C continues to lick at her fingers. She laughs, indulging the dog in a few more head scratches.

“I went to the shelter hoping for a guard dog, and came out with a little princess.” There’s warmth in his voice, though, and Rey smiles, looking up at him as he stares down at his girls. There’s something in his eyes that makes her heart do flip flops in her chest, and she’s not entirely sure how long she stays on one knee, stroking behind C’s ears. Long enough for it to hurt after a while, at least.

“I need to get dinner started,” he says, after what seems like forever. He pushes himself off of the wall, turning, and she’s graced with the glorious sight of black cotton hugging his broad shoulders.

“What are you making?” It takes some effort to get C to let her back up, but eventually the pup takes the hint and decides to lick at her fingers instead. She watches Kylo make a left and disappear, and follows, looking to her right to see that the stairs curve upwards as well as downwards. An upstairs and a basement, then.

“You’ll see.”

“That’s not cryptic at all,” she teases, turning to follow him into the kitchen. White marble counters and ebony cabinets surround her, the can lights in the ceiling giving off a warm, homey glow. The glass doors of the upper cabinets reveal countless dishes, no doubt for dinner parties hosting designers, photographers, models, writers, other editors… It’s not hard to imagine the nearby dining room and den filled with elegant and beautiful people.

She wonders how many have sat on the leather stools at the island, watching as Kylo prepared their meal. Or was it all finished before they came?

C’s nails click on the dark hardwood floor as she makes her way over to her water bowl. As dark as everything is, there’s a warmth to it, as well. Cozy, and quiet. Fitting of the man she’s now watching pull a pound of something from the fridge, wrapped in white butcher’s paper.

“You’ll find out,” he says. She watches as he bends down at one end of the island, pulling a bottle of red wine from what she guesses is a wine rack – she’s on the other side, so she can’t see exactly, but she watches him come back up with a dark bottle.

“Enna said you make good chocolate cupcakes.” The stool she climbs onto is wide and comfortable, the leather soft and supple beneath her. Five stools could fit here, sure, but there are four. Better to have less, but more comfortable people than more uncomfortable people, she supposes.

“Did she?” His plush lips turn down into a frown as he opens a drawer for a bottle opener. Gold. Sleek. No doubt more expensive than the bottle opener she has, some thing she grabbed at college with some bar’s name on it. She watches him as he slides the blade along the foil, breaking the seal. “I can’t remember what kind they were.”

“She didn’t say. She just said they were good.”

C trots back over, the curls of her silky fur shining in the warm light. Rey smiles as she reaches down, seeing a precious pink tongue hanging out as she scratches behind her ear. “What breed is she?”

“A mudi.” He’s unwrapping what looks to be a slab of some sort of fatty meat. Bacon, maybe? “She was dropped off at the shelter with a broken leg, and lacerations on that side. Their best guess was she got hit by a car.”

She’s never heard of a mudi before, but the pup who’s currently sitting beside her is adorable. With silky, curly black fur, and ears that stick straight up, she’s almost reminded of—

She keeps that thought to herself, smirking as she watches Kylo chop up the meat into cubes. There’s a pan on the stove, probably heating. It has more burners than a normal stove, and she can see that the ovens are to the right – two of them, on top of each other. This kitchen was designed for someone who loves to cook, loves to entertain. No doubt he dropped the cash because it’s important to him.

In a moment, she can hear the sizzling of the meat in the pan, his back turned to her as it cooks. Her fingers have found a sweet spot behind C’s ear, apparently, because she can hear C’s tail whapping against the hardwood floor.

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Not food-wise, no,” she replies quietly, watching him move, picking up a spatula from the pegboard against the wall. There’s a space for everything – hooks for the tongs, for spatulas of different sizes, for big spoons and little spoons and measuring cups and measuring spoons…

His entire posture changes as he scoots the bits of meat around the pan. His shoulders are looser. He always holds his head high, a king overlooking his kingdom, making sure everything is running as it should. But as she watches him cook, she can see the looseness of his shoulders through the tight fabric of his t-shirt, can see how at ease he is at the stove. This … this is something he enjoys. This is something that he loves.

“What are you making?” she asks, listening to the sizzling and popping of the meat on the stove.

“You’ll see,” he says, turning away from the pan to walk towards the wine rack. He grabs a slender bottle around the neck, pulling it from the rack before opening a drawer for an opener. For a few moments, there’s just the thwapping of C’s tail, the sizzling of the bacon, and the squeaking of the corkscrew into the cork before he pulls it out with a ‘pop’.

Within seconds, there’s a glass of white wine by her free hand, and she takes it gratefully. Kylo’s back to pushing the bacon around the pan, before he goes and brings a pot up from some lower cabinet. Rey watches as he goes to the fridge, pulling pre-prepared bowls of cut potatoes, onion, celery…

“Is this a dish we had in France?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him as he puts some butter into the pot, dumping the rest of the ingredients in.

“No. It’s something my mother’s chef made when I was younger.”

Chef. They had a chef. Of course they did. Han was off being gorgeous for the cameras, Leia was running a magazine… Of course they had a chef.

“Oh,” she says quietly, watching him as he goes towards the fridge again. It’s large, bigger than two of her fridges combined, she’d guess. On the door, she can see Perrier, the same sparkling water he drinks in the office. There’s other waters, as well, and two carafes of fruit-infused water, mint and cucumber and lemon and strawberry. Because of course Kylo Ren’s too high and mighty for regular water, she thinks, smiling as she sips her wine.

“What’s that face for?”

“You have fancy water.” Great, Rey, that sounds so intelligent. Bravo, well done, now he thinks you’re an idiot.

Kylo stares at her for a moment, before he looks towards the door again. He sees the water bottles, the Perrier, the fruit water, and hums. “So I do.”

The door closes, a yellow-green pear in his hand. Rey watches as he sets the pear down on the island, just across from her, and then he’s walking towards a cabinet that looks like it has … glasses?

Plucking one from the shelf, Kylo turns, walking towards the sink that’s just across from Rey, within the island itself. And then he turns the tap on, filling the glass with plain old tap water. He reaches forward, clinking the water against her glass of white wine before smirking and taking a long sip.

“Smart ass,” Rey teases, sipping her wine in retaliation. It’s good. It’s very good. It’s certainly not the three-dollar wine she buys these days, that’s for damn sure.

Watching him cook is like watching him edit the Book. He moves to the island to chop the pear, and she is rewarded with seeing how relaxed his face is. There’s focus there, sure, but his brow isn’t furrowed, and there’s an ease to it as he chops the pear into thin slices. Then there’s a grater, and a hefty chunk of true parmesan cheese, and she watches as it cascades into a bowl. All of his prep bowls are made out of a dark wood, it seems, or metal like a true restaurant kitchen. She gets to listen to the bubbling of some sort of soup, the sizzling of the bacon, the sound of him sharpening his knives to get the cleanest cut possible.

“So we’re not having aligot and filet mignon and broccolini?” she asks as he seems to make a sandwich, slathering the sides of the bread in butter before pressing them into a plate coated with parmesan.

“You should have put in your request before I went grocery shopping,” Kylo replies. She watches as he puts the bread into the pan before arranging the rest of the cheese, the pear, and some sort of sauce on the other piece of bread.

Grilled cheese. He’s making her grilled cheese. Fancy grilled cheese, sure, but he’s making her grilled cheese.

“You’re making me grilled cheese,” she says, watching as he lets the first side get golden and crispy. Occasionally he lifts a corner with a slim silver spatula and takes a peek, but for the most part he lets the sandwich be.

“I am,” he replies simply, not turning around to look at her and instead focusing on the food.

“Why?”

“Because sometimes simplicity is the best way to go,” he explains. “There is a reason a white t-shirt and jeans is a go-to outfit for supermodels. You’ll see pictures of some of the world’s most fashionable women wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of well-fitting jeans. It’s universally flattering, and it’s a good go-to. Why do you think the best selling colors of heels are nude, and black? Simplicity, when done properly, is often more appealing than diamonds and prints and bright, vibrant colors.”

The other side of the grilled cheese sizzles as he flips the sandwich, checking the inside to see the cheese melting around the pear slices.

“Now, a pair of black heels with a bow, or a different color heel, or some embellishment on the toe…” Kylo explains, turning to let the grilled cheese cook. He picks up an extra slice of pear and reaches across the counter, offering it to her. Rey leans forward, ignoring the way the marble countertop digs into her stomach as she decides to bite the pear directly from his fingers. He expected it, he seems, because he simply smiles and watches as she returns to sit on the stool properly, nibbling the sweet fruit. “Grilled cheese with brie, pear, and chili-infused honey, though. That is the embellishment.”

“And the pot on the stove?” Rey asks, the sweetness of the pear going well with the white wine he gave her. Either this wine is going to be with dinner, as well, or he planned on giving her a snack. Both are possible.

“Corn soup. Not in season, no, but warm and comforting, and one of my favorites from my youth.”

“Your youth wasn’t too long ago,” she replies, watching Kylo as he gives the soup a little stir. The first grilled cheese comes off of the stove, and is set aside. The next goes on, and then he’s chopping chives in front of her with a bigger knife than she’s ever used, and with more skill than she’ll ever have.

“It’s longer ago than yours was,” he mutters, sweeping the chives into a small wooden bowl and setting it next to the bowl of bacon he took off the stove earlier.

It’s true. Just one more thing to add to the list of reasons they shouldn’t be together, according to the media. She’s poor, he’s rich. She’s young, he’s older – if only by what, 8, 9 years? She comes from nowhere, he’s fashion royalty. She’s … well, simple. And as much as he may try to tell her that simplicity is often better, there are still those who prefer fur and diamonds to cotton and denim.

A small piece of bacon is placed in front of her on the marble counter, and Rey frowns, staring down at it before looking back up at Kylo. “What?”

“Bacon. It fixes everything,” he explains before turning away to ladle the soup into bowls.

She has to laugh at that, popping the perfectly fried meat into her mouth before snagging another for the puppy still sitting beside her stool.

*

For all of the jumping and running that C did earlier, Kylo’s apparently trained her well when it comes to the table. Instead of begging for scraps like some of the dogs Ben had when she was younger, she’s content to make her way into the living room and curl up on an expensive-looking dog bed.

Rey’s willing to bet that the bits of bacon Kylo put in her bowl are part of it, too.

There’s a dining room off of the main living area, with a long dark wood table perfect for entertaining. But there’s also a smaller table just off of the kitchen, made of the same dark wood, but with a single pillar candle in the middle that Kylo lights. The rest of the lights are dimmed, and the result is a dinner much, much more casual and much more intimate than she’d honestly been expecting. Of course, there were a few meals in Paris that were more intimate, including when she fed him fries while sitting on his lap in the hotel bed, but this … this is nice.

It’s especially nice considering he cooked it, a flourless chocolate cake currently in the fridge and waiting to be eaten with homemade vanilla bean ice cream and caramel bourbon sauce.

The grilled cheese sandwich is a polyamorous marriage between spicy, sweet, and savory. The parmesan on the outside gives an extra layer of buttery godness, while the brie melts and oozes, cushioning the sweet, still-crunchy pear. The honey was a surprise, even though he told her it was in it, and she likes it more than she thought it would. It adds another level of depty she didn’t even know the sandwich needed, but she’s not sure it could do without. She’s seen pear and brie grilled cheeses on the menus of brunch places Poe and Finn like, but none of them have had any sauce or honey with them. She’d bet her entire next paycheck that they’d pale in comparison to Kylo’s masterpiece.

The corn soup warms her soul, the corn adding a decent amount of sweetness while the bacon adds crunch and salt. The stock was apparently made in the summer, and frozen, made out of the ears of corn themselves. The actual corn in the soup was grilled as soon as he came home from work, put in the fridge right before he took C out for a walk. “The more you prepare in advance, the easier it is,” he explains in between bites of soup and sandwich.

It makes sense. It definitely makes sense. She’s not sure how often she’s going to be able to take his advice, though, because of her tiny tin-can of a kitchen and the nerve-wracking monstrosity that is her oven. She relies on the microwave and toaster, she confesses.

“Then, you’ll just have to come here for dinner more often,” he replies.

It sounds nicer than it should. To spend her nights here, stroking the soft fur behind C’s ears, watching Kylo cook in a t-shirt and sweatpants, maybe even helping him prepare. She’s not as good with a knife as he is, that’s for sure, but maybe he could teach her.

The flourless chocolate cake is sinfully, terribly rich, and she eats every damn bite. Of course the man made the vanilla bean ice cream, too, casually dropping that he actually bought pure vanilla bean pods for it. Even she knows how pricey those pods are, but it’s worth it. The ice cream is addictive, and she shamefully wonders if she could just ask for a small container of it to take home, or if she’d have to bribe him with something.

Kylo raises an eyebrow as she uses her finger to scoop up every last bit of the caramel bourbon sauce, but says nothing as he leans in to kiss her. They both taste like the sauce, and like rich, rich chocolate.

“Stay the night?”

It’s breathed against her mouth, and she whines, chasing his lips as he pulls away.

“I didn’t bring any clothes with me.” It’s a weak protest, she knows. There’s sure to be a washer and dryer somewhere in this place for her underwear, and it’s Saturday tomorrow, it’s not like she’s going to go into work wearing the same clothes—

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he groans, pulling her closer as they stand together in the kitchen.

That’s always an option, too, with Kylo Ren.

She can’t say no. Not because he wined and dined her. Not because he made her one of the best meals she’s had since they came back from Paris. Not because it’s late and it’s cold and she really, really doesn’t want to walk all the way back home…

But because she missed him. Fuck, did she miss him, miss his arms around her, miss his lips, miss the way he nuzzles her and brushes his nose against her temple, and miss the way she woke up in the middle of the night to her legs tangled with his stupidly long ones…

She wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him and kissing him as though they’re dying. He reciprocates in kind, his hands coming to her ass and holding her flush against him.

“Make me breakfast in the morning, and I’ll stay,” she teases, nipping at his lower lip.

“As you wish.” Her own lip is nipped right back.

For the first time since their plane landed at JFK airport a few weeks ago, the sense of dread and fear completely and utterly leaves her in favor of warmth and giddiness as she goes up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. 

Chapter Text

She’s not sure what to call it.

It’s not fucking, no, that’s for sure. Fucking was back in Paris. Fucking needs stark white starched hotel sheets. Fucking needs a room that doesn’t belong to either of them. Fucking needs a level of harshness, a impatience and a need that doesn’t belong to them tonight. There’s impatience, yes, but it’s halfway up the stairs, when he turns and looks at her and she’s knocked breathless at the warmth in his dark eyes and then he leans down to kiss her, her lower back against the bannister.

Fucking doesn’t involve her giggling – yes, giggling – as she hears the sound of C’s collar, loud and jingling as the pup stops at the bottom of the stairs and looks up at them curiously.

“Stay, C,” Kylo says, his voice gruff and warm. His hand is on Rey’s lower back, and she smiles at the very confused puppy. She’s half expecting her to rush up the stairs, to slip her dark body between their legs and knock them off balance, but instead the dog just sits quietly at the bottom as Kylo tugs at her hand.

“You trained her well,” Rey breathes, barely getting the chance to look at the abstract art on the wall before she’s being pulled into a dark bedroom. A lamp is switched on, warm light damn near blinding her.

“She’ll be crawling between us later,” Kylo admits. His hand is warm against her back and his lips plush against hers. He still tastes like chocolate.

This isn’t fucking. But it’s not making love, either. Love isn’t made, can’t be made. Love is worked for. Love is discovered in the strangest of places, she thinks, as he unbuttons her blouse. She missed the callouses on his right hand, the one that makes all the edits and signs forms and sketches ideas. Love is … love is …

Her train of thought pulls into the wrong station as all of the sudden she’s lifted out of her heels, her skirt hiked up as her legs wrap around his waist. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, hand tangling in his hair. She missed this so fucking much, missed the way his hair curled around her fingers and how wrapping her legs around his waist burned a little bit because fuck he’s wide—

“I want to taste you.” It’s a groan against her mouth. His comforter or duvet or whatever the fuck it is is silky beneath her fingertips. Black, or dark grey, or something like that. She kisses him back, tugging him against her.

“You’re doing a pretty damn good job of it right now,” she breathes, nipping at his lower lip and getting an almost growl in response.

“Not these lips.”

The sound of the side zipper on her skirt is the definition of teasing. No, actually, how slowly he pulls the zipper down is the definition of teasing, with those damn dark eyes and those pouty lips—

“Get on with it already.” It comes out more snappish than she’d intended, but she gets a chuckle in response, so she’s guessing she didn’t offend him too much. Within seconds, her skirt’s tugged down, and she watches as he pulls back to set it on a nearby chair. While his back is turned, she props her legs up, an open invitation.

“You’re learning,” he tells her as he comes back, his eyes dark and roaming over her, starting at her face and finishing at what she’s very obviously presenting to him.

“What do you mean?”

His hand finds her foot, the black nylon stretched across pale, freckled skin. His thumb presses into the arch, relieving some of the pain there from wearing the Prada pumps all day. “Stockings,” he says simply.

“So much better than tights.” It’s true. The stockings he bought her have some kind of non-slip thing on the inside of the lace, and since she’s started wearing them to work, they haven’t fallen down at all. No more sagging crotch, no more trying to discreetly hike up full tights back to where they’re supposed to be. She can see where he’s in the right.

He’s in the right about a lot of things. Not all, but a lot.

He doesn’t peel her stockings off like she’d expected him to. Instead, he guides her legs over his broad shoulders. Oh, but isn’t that a fucking sight? And one she’s missed since Paris. Seeing his head in between her legs, feeling his soft waves against her inner thighs.

Her boss’s nose bumps against her through the lace of her panties. They’re not her favorite pair, no, but she’s glad she wore them, if anything for the seam that runs right up against her clit. He seems to realize the benefits of this pair as well, his tongue finding said seam and pressing it directly against her. The combination of pressure has her gasping, and when she looks down between her legs, she finds him looking like the cat who caught the canary.

“Stop it,” she groans, her head tipping back against the down pillows.

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me like you planned this, you didn’t know what underwear I was going to wear.”

Him chuckling doesn’t help, because she can feel the buzz of the sound against her cunt. She’s yanked right back to the night where she wore a corset and her feet were aching, the night where every step echoed on the marble of the museum and her heart was racing so fast in her chest she was damn sure it would run right between her ribs and be gone forever. The night when he said he was thirsty in the voice that would plague her dreams and fuel her fingers these past few weeks alone in her creaky bed.

Now, the memory of their little exhibitionist adventure combined with the feeling of his tongue against her slit through the lace, his hair between her fingers, the strength of his shoulders beneath her legs—

She’s not there, she’s not at her peak, not yet, but his name falls from her lips in a soft sigh. The hand that’s clutching the sheets like a lifeline is suddenly taken, and Kylo laces their fingers together. It’s a stretch, definitely, his fingers much wider than hers and his hand damn near covering her own. But the intensity of his tongue against her, the friction of the lace and the warmth of his mouth, and the very slight pain of his fingers stretching hers, has her coming.

Oh, yes, she’s definitely going to need to wash these…

Her eyes remain closed against the warm light of his bedroom. She feels him shift, his hand pulling away from hers. He’s leaning over her, that’s easy to guess, with the warmth and the closeness, and within seconds she’s proven right by the kiss pressed to her lips. She sighs against his mouth, pulling him closer and feeling his cock through his sweatpants, pressing against her. She’s still dressed somewhat, still wearing her shirt and bra and panties and stockings, but she feels absolutely fucking wrecked.

Which is hotter than she’d honestly expected it to be.

“You have no idea how much I missed that,” he mumbles against her mouth. He tastes like her. She loves it more than words can say.

“You? Think about me. Having to go without your perfect mouth for weeks on end,” she sighs, pulling him flush against her and hearing him chuckle. “That phone sex was not nearly as satisfying.”

“Glad we’re in agreement,” he teases as he guides her to sit up. Within moments, she’s sitting on his lap, his cock pressing against her entrance through soft cotton. His sweats are still in the way, as well as her panties, but his fingers are deftly undoing the buttons of her blouse before he’s guiding it off of her shoulders.

“Missed your chest,” Kylo mutters as he bends to kiss the tops of them, still somewhat concealed in the demi bra. Rey hums as she reaches down, palming him through his sweatpants. The sharp intake of breath from him makes her grin, her lips finding his jaw as she pulls the waistband away from his skin to slip her hand beneath them. He isn’t wearing underwear, and she moans at the feeling of hot skin.

“I missed your chest, and your arms, and your mouth, and your ass…”

“My ass?” he asks.

“You have the world’s most biteable ass,” Rey declares as she nips at his jaw for emphasis.

He pulls back, and she just has to laugh at the look he gives her. Wide-eyed and incredulous. “What?”

“What? None of your model exes told you that?” she teases.

“Not that I can recall.”

One of her favorite little quirks about the great and mighty Kylo Ren is the fact that, when he blushes, it’s so stupidly obvious. His pale skin turns cherry red in the most endearing way, and his ears—oh, God, his ears. She coos a little as she brushes his hair back behind one of them, the bright red contrasting wildly against his dark waves. The playful glare he gives her is totally worth it, as is the way he avoids her eyes as she laughs.

“Oh, come on,” she insists, pulling back and guiding him into a kiss. “Yes, your ass is biteable. And your lips kissable. And your cock-“

“Suckable?” Kylo suggests, and she didn’t think it was possible, but he gets even redder.

“Suckable and ridable and lickable and totally and completely perfect,” she promises, pulling his hair ever so gently. He grunts at the tug, but she rewards him with a gentle kiss, her other hand still feeling the warm, smooth skin of his hip beneath the cotton of his sweatpants. He’s too clothed. He’s very, very much too clothed.

She pulls away from him to guide his t-shirt over his head. It leaves his hair even messier than before, and she grins. She’ll never get tired of seeing Kylo Ren all mussed, she thinks. Perhaps it’s silly, to love such a mundane thing, but there’s something about seeing him look so human after seeing him look so ethereal and godlike all day…

His lips are swollen from their kisses, his eyes dark and wide as he stares up at her. His hands are splayed across her back, and she sighs, just relishing in the feeling of being in his arms for a moment more. It’s pathetic, probably, to have missed him this much. BB would think it’s adorable, but BB is BB. To everyone else? Pathetic.

His thumbs rub circles into her spine, and she hums at the gentle touch. Is she truly so desperate as to enjoy him rubbing her back?

“What are you thinking?” His voice is low, soft, warm, sweet, everything it was back in a hotel room that didn’t have an alarm clock but did have the softest, biggest bed…

“How much I missed you. And not just this,” she explains, rolling her hips against his cock. She receives a low groan in response. “But … everything.”

“Everything,” he repeats.

“Everything,” she confirms, sighing as she bends to kiss him once more.

She could get him off with her hand. She could get him off and watch his release splatter across his toned stomach and her hand and oh, wouldn’t that be fodder for her fantasies? But instead she slips out of his lap, leaving him kneeling at the end of the bed as she slides towards the pillows. He watches her as she grabs the lacey thigh of the stocking, peeling it down ever so slowly. He moves, leaning forward just the slightest bit—

“Ah ah ah,” Rey says, and she swears to God she hears him whine. Kylo Ren. Whining like a puppy who wants a treat.

“Rey.” Oh, there he is, there’s her boss, in the gruffness of his voice and the narrowing of his eyes.

“You’ll be able to touch me after,” she says, peeling her stocking off as slowly as she can, one centimeter of silky nylon at a time. “But for now, just watch, hm?”

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman.” It’s a groan.

“Then I’ll see you in hell, Satan.”

Despite his whines and groans and grumbles, he does stay put. She’s incredibly glad he wore sweatpants, because though she could probably see how much her little show is affecting him through work pants, it’s even more obscene through the thin cotton. She can see the ridge of his head, even, swollen against his thigh and fuck, she really is fucked for him, isn’t she?

He’s squirming. Her boss, her boss who values control over everything else, is literally squirming by the time she unhooks her bra. She tosses it at him, and he catches the lace and nylon and mesh, a deep chuckle coming from him as he holds the lingerie in his hands.

The panties are next. She didn’t expect him to last so long, and so she can’t particularly blame him for the way he moves above her the second the lace is tossed aside. His lips are hot and hard on hers, and she moves to scratch her nails down his back. A low moan buzzes against her mouth, and she grins, doing it again.

“Fuck, Rey…” He pulls away from her to brace his brow against her shoulder. “Can I fuck you? Please, Rey, fuck…” His mouth finds her shoulder, kissing at the skin before—

“Ah!” He sucks a mark into the flesh, making her arch as she digs her nails into her back. “Fuck, Kylo!”

If it was summer, she would be fucked. As it is, though, he made it where it will be covered by sweaters and blouses and coats. She gasps as another is made, a twin almost right next to it, and she almost hates the way she gets wet at the feeling of his lips and teeth and tongue against the skin of her shoulder. Fuck, she’s getting soaked from a hickey.

“Please, can I have you?” he asks again, a breathless and gruff thing that damn near makes her whimper.

“Yes.”

It’s all he needs.

There’s the short question of protection. She took her pills, they haven’t been with anyone else since, of course not. And so it’s a mutual decision to leave the foil packets in the bedside table drawer.

She’d forgotten how thick his fingers are. She has to clutch onto his shoulder and his arm when he guides two in, the stretch so much more than her own measly digits. He’s sweet, as he always is, his nose pressed to her temple and lips to her ear. Asking, always asking, always confirming that yes, she’s fine, yes, she wants this, yes, he can go ahead…

It’s better. Fuck, it’s so much better than in Paris. She’s not sure what it is. Maybe it’s because it means this is real. This is happening. They are happening. This isn’t sex over the phone, this isn’t a quick kiss in a closet, this is fucking in his bed. His bed. With his sheets and his things filling the room. This isn’t some too-air-conditioned, impersonal room in a country she’s never been to. No, this is more. This is so much more.

The fucking bastard teases her, pulling out until only his head remains and waiting until she physically whines before sinking back into her. Her hands can’t figure out whether to hold his shoulders or his hand or his arm or his hair or his bedframe, as much of the leather as she can grab. Her mouth can’t figure out what sound to make, mewls and groans and moans and whines coming from her as he fucks above her, his lips catching every sound that falls from her lips. And then he shifts, sitting back on his knees and guiding her up into his arms, and she’s gone.

As much as she loves him above her, there’s something about being above him. When he’s above her, she sees the Kylo Ren she works for. She sees the darkness of his eyes, the sharpness of his jaw and his nose, the darkness of his hair around his face. But when she’s above him, when she’s sitting on his thighs and bouncing on his cock, she sees the Kylo Ren who loves her. With wide eyes and lips parted in awe and sweat sticking his hair to his brow, a few strands to lovingly brush away when they’re sticky and sated.

As great as the fucking is – and it is, it’s truly great, she would even call it perfect – it’s the after that gets her heart skipping in her chest. It’s probably not healthy for her heart to be beating so quickly and heavily and skipping at the same time, but between the physical effort and the way he’s looking at her and the pleasure that’s still surging like fire through her veins… Fuck it, she doesn’t care.

Showering is amazing. His water pressure is even better than the hotel’s. The moment the smell of his shampoo fills her nose, she’s taken right back to Paris. His arms wrap around her and they just stand for a moment, the water pounding against his back before they switch. She kisses at his wet shoulders, hugging him from behind, her hands massaging soap into his hips. She loves his lips, loves tracing the defined muscle. And though it’s odd to be holding him instead of vice versa, the way he holds her hands around his waist is reassurance that he likes it as much as she does.

Maybe if she tries, if she tries hard and bats her eyelashes and pouts her lips, she can convince him to be the little spoon sometime.

She wonders if it will even take that much convincing, or if she just has to ask.

When Rey emerges from the bathroom after stealing his hairdryer for a little bit, the sheets are changed. Both sides of the bed are turned down. There are water glasses on each bedside table, and her heart skips a beat when she sees her phone on the bedside table. Not his bedside table, no, she can tell which one’s his by his phone and his glasses and a pen cup filled with identical black pens. No, her phone is on the other bedside table with water, plugged in and with two painkillers next to it.

There’s a hand upon her lower back, a kiss to her brow as soft cotton is pressed into her hands. He says nothing. He doesn’t need to.

He didn’t bring this shirt to Paris with them. She’s never seen it before. It’s a Starkiller shirt, though, just like the other one was. This one has silver foil, the graphic cracked after so many washings. There’s a small, thumbnail-sized hole in the armpit, but the cotton is as soft as butter as she crawls into her side of the bed. Her side. She has a side of his bed.

His hand slides across her hip, and though she wants to try, she wants to bat her eyelashes and pout her lips and ask if she can hold him for once, that urge is squashed by the need to be held by him after so long. It’s pathetic that a few weeks can be considered ‘so long,’ but she doesn’t give a damn. She sighs as he pulls her against him, his lips against her shoulder, his nose burying in her damp hair.

“I think I have bacon,” he says.

“I just need tea,” she explains, closing her eyes and wriggling back into him, as though she could bury herself between his ribs and beside his heart and stay there forever. “We’ll figure out food when we wake up. Just tell me you have tea.”

“I have tea.”

His fingers are big. It hurts a little to lace their fingers together again, but she does it anyways. Because there’s something about the stretch, something constant about the way it hurts. She knows he’s there. Sure, she can feel the heat at her back and the lips on her shoulder, but there’s something about the little bit of pain that’s grounding and a reminder of Kylo, Kylo, Kylo…

-

He’s not there when she wakes up to the buzzing of her phone. It’s not a text, no, it’s someone calling. She barely looks at the caller ID before she answers, groaning as she runs a hand through her hair. “What is it, BB?”

“Wow, he really did fuck you good.”

“What are you talking about?” Rey’s not sure if it comes out as words, or if it’s just a slur of syllables. Kylo has black-out shades, apparently. Either that, or it’s really fucking early. She can barely see the ceiling in the dark.

“Someone took pictures of you walking into his house last night. Sounds like you never came out.”

The pitfall of dread that she’s come to be so familiar with doesn’t open like she expects it to. Instead, she feels heat in her cheeks, along her chest, and pressure in her ears…

“So what if I never left? So what if we’re going to get breakfast somewhere?” It comes out harsher than she means for it to. “We’re fucking. We’re dating. I missed him, and so when he made me dinner, I stayed. And when he kissed me, I stayed. And when he fucked me, I stayed. They can say all they want, and they’d be right. We’re adults. Whether or not someone stayed up all night to see if I went home is their fucking problem.”

She hears the door to the bedroom creak, but she doesn’t look over, instead staring at the carved decoration in the ceiling. She reaches up to brush her hair from her face, listening to the silence on the other end of the phone and wondering if she went too far. BB was only trying to help, BB’s been her rock through all of this—

“I’m so buying you a drink the next time we go out. How was dinner?”

The brunette snickers as the bed dips a little. “Amazing.”

“And everything else?”

“Even better. I gotta go, I’ll text you later.”

She can’t remember what BB said. Probably some sort of goodbye and a plea to spill everything when she can, because BB is BB. There’s a hand upon her cheek, and then lips on hers, and her mind goes blissfully blank. The heat remains in her chest and in her cheeks, but if someone spent all night waiting for her to leave, then it’s their fault.

Her night was much, much better than theirs.

Chapter Text

There are many things in life that are much easier said than done. Like getting up early and working out. Like packing three days in advance instead of the night before. Like taking one’s makeup off after a particularly rough night.

For Rey, trying not to give a fuck about what anyone thinks is definitely one of those things.

There are more pictures. God, there are a lot of pictures. Ones of her in the morning, waiting in line for her tea. Ones of her leaving Kylo’s townhome. Ones of her going grocery shopping and juggling bags. There is no way she’s carrying a jug of milk in Prada heels, why did they assume she would? ‘REY KENOBI DRESSES DOWN TO RUN ERRANDS’. Seriously? Though it’s hardly a headline, she can think of plenty of things that are more worth reporting than the fact that she wears sweatpants to get milk and eggs.

“I use a delivery service,” Kylo explains, his hand in her hair and her legs across his. C gnaws on some bone at their feet, looking as content as Rey feels, the anxiety and panic in her bones eased by gentle touches and soft kisses.

“I just don’t see why it’s a big deal,” Rey mumbles into the warm skin underneath his jaw.

None of it’s a big deal, and yet the press makes it out to be. Every single time. More often than not there’s some issue of some magazine, some print out of some online article on her desk when she walks in in the morning. She visits the recycling bin more than anywhere else in the office, including Kylo’s office. And considering how many things he has her running around doing, that’s saying something.

She knows it’s a strategy. If she’s always running around, picking up scarves and purses and skinny pants and tortoiseshell belts, then it means she can’t hear the whispers, she can’t see the stares. At least the sales associates at all of the stores are nice, some of them even calling her by ‘Rey’ now instead of ‘Miss Kenobi’. And if she’s entirely honest, she spends time lingering, looking for way too long at pairs of pumps and wood-handled handbags before returning to the office.

She thinks it was better when she still had her duct-taped flats and pilled sweaters. At least then they were whispering about her fashion choices and not her life choices.

“Don’t listen to them,” Kylo mutters against her ear, pulling her to him in the kitchen, gnocchi boiling on the stove.

She tries, she really does. But it’s hard not to, especially when they raise their voice when they realize she’s within earshot.

Most of the time it’s just easier to stay at his place, because his place is significantly more secluded than hers. Her apartment has some security, yes, it has a keypad to get inside, but she doesn’t have a car. To leave her apartment means walking through the streets, which she didn’t exactly enjoy anyway, but she certainly doesn’t enjoy now. With Kylo, there’s a car, there’s a hand holding hers on the way to work, there’s peace and quiet for a few more moments before her day well and truly begins.

There are rumors, because of course there are. Spread by magazines looking to make a quick buck, people who have nothing better to do than stir the pot online. She’s pregnant. They’ve moved in together. They’ve had a fight and are now spending their nights apart. They’re planning on eloping. Each one is more ridiculous than the last, and when BB brings them up to her, she tries to smile, to laugh. Because that’s what she should do. She should be laughing at these outlandish rumors, not giving them more than a second of her time except to chuckle and move on.

It’s significantly harder than she thought.

“This one’s hilarious. According to this source, you’re not from Arizona, you’re from Britain.”

“It baffles me that these people are paid to do nothing but come up with ridiculous theories and rumors,” Rey bemoans, stepping into the elevator with BB after a quick coffee trip. She sighs, holding the drink carrier in one hand and tucking her hair behind her ear with the other as the door closes. Despite the amount of people waiting for the elevator, once she and BB had stepped inside, no one dared join them. She bites her lip, finding herself longing for the days when she was almost squished inside, back to the corner of the elevator and sharing breath with at least ten strangers.

“Me too, but they’re entertaining, at least,” BB says, flipping through the gossip magazine. “Oh, look, Jennifer Aniston’s pregnant for, what, the 945^thtime?”

They’re trying to put some perspective on it, Rey knows, and she offers them a small smile when they get off on their floor, but the quip doesn’t exactly diminish the boulder in her chest.

Kylo holds his hand out as soon as she pushes the door open, never taking his eyes from the Book currently spread out on the desk. She pulls his sugar monstrosity from the carrier, handing it to him before grabbing her own tea from it. Between the two drinks is a chocolate croissant, and she tears a little off, tucking the pastry between her lips. They were running late this morning, and while Kylo usually prepares some sort of quick breakfast for them, they didn’t have time.

She enjoyed the extra time in the shower, though, his lips on her shoulder and his hands on her hips, just holding her before facing the hell ahead.

“Thank you,” he mutters, taking a sip before setting it down and pushing his glasses up his nose. With one hand on his coffee and the other twirling his pen, he continues to read. “Does this line sound strange to you?”

“Hm?” Rey makes her way around the desk, bracing her hand on the wood so that she can lean down and read. Immediately his hand leaves the coffee, skin warm from the cup as he puts his hand on top of hers. It’s subtle, the gesture of affection, but she’s grateful for it as he points to a line with the tip of his pen. “’This winter, be on the lookout for amber, emerald, and sapphire hues.’ No, I don’t think it sounds strange.”

“I don’t like the word ‘hues’.”

“Tones?” Rey suggests.

Kylo hums, rereading the line before he nods, grabbing a small sticky note and placing it beneath the word, writing ‘tones’ in his elegant cursive. “Thank you.”

“Because they’re all jewel tones, no one says jewel hues, that I know of,” Rey explains. At least, not that she’s seen since she started reading the magazines. Then again, she’s only been really reading them for about a year, now, but still.

“You’re right. Thank you,” Kylo says again, squeezing her hand. She can tell he’s about to let go, and she gets ready to pull away, when there’s another gentle squeeze. She looks down at him in question, raising a brow.

“How is it today?” he asks, his voice low, as though someone could possibly overhear them through the walls of his office.

“Apparently I’m from Britain, but nothing else too damning,” she explains. “It’s still early, though.”

“Statements can always be made.”

“It’s a waste of time,” Rey insists gently. “There are always going to be rumors, no matter how many statements we make.” She chances a quick kiss to his temple. “I need to go pick up those scarves from J. Crew.”

There’s one more gentle squeeze to her hand before he lets her go. “I’ll call you on the way. Could you do lunch?”

“If you think we have time,” she replies, standing up from the desk just as someone approaches the office door, a woman named Kaydel who has better hair braiding skills than Rey ever will. Rey’s pretty sure she has an ally in her, though. She gestures the woman in, before looking back to Kylo. “Do I need to call them?”

“I’ll handle it as soon as I finish with Kaydel.”

The day isn’t disastrous so far, Rey thinks, slipping from the office just as Kaydel slips in, the woman holding a tablet, no doubt filled with pictures from photoshoots. Britain. She can handle being British.

-

It’s not the worst day she’s ever had. It’s not the best, no. But it’s not the worst. Lunch with Kylo is a nice break from it all, tucked in a little corner at the Union Square Café. It’s nice to hold hands, nice to indulge in a little bit of affection before being pushed back into the grind.

His hair’s in disarray when she approaches his office at 5:15, the sun already having set behind the glittering buildings outside and the office damn near plunged into darkness except for the brass and onyx lamp he has on his desk. The buzz of the fluorescent lights annoys him when he works late. She doesn’t blame him.

“I’ll see you at home?” she offers, her coat already draped over her arms as she watches him strike a word through.

“Yes,” he mutters before looking up at her. “We have some things in the fridge. If you want to wait—”

“Or I could cook you dinner?” she asks.

Kylo’s quiet for a moment. “Or I could bring Chinese home?”

“You’re really that doubtful of my cooking abilities?” Rey teases, shifting her coat to one arm as she approaches him. It’s hilarious, truly, to see the way his eyes widen slightly in panic.

“I didn’t mean that, I just—” he starts. She bends, slotting her lips against his before he can backpedal any more. She slips her hand into his hair, no doubt messing it up even more as she keeps him close to her for a handful of moments.

“It’s okay,” she whispers against his lips. “I get it.” Truth be told, she’s not much of a cook. She can cook the basic things, and has learned a lot since cooking with him, but she wouldn’t exactly call herself confident. Especially not compared to him. Plus, Chinese sounds damn good right now. “I’ll see you at home.”

“I just don’t know when I’ll be home, and I don’t want you waiting or keeping it warm,” Kylo insists, grabbing her wrist before she can pull away. He lifts her hand to his lips, kissing her palm. She smiles, before moving forward to kiss the top of his head.

“Chicken chow mein and two egg rolls,” she replies against his hair, smelling his conditioner. Or is it theirs, now? She’s used enough of it to qualify as ‘theirs’. “I’ll feed C.”

“Thank you.” One last kiss to her hand, and then he lets her go.

She misses the end of summer in the city. When it wasn’t so damn hot, but it hadn’t started to get darker just yet. Now, as she steps out of the building to wait for the car, she looks up into the lights of the city. There’s no true darkness here. Back in Arizona, she could drive out into the middle of nowhere and look up at the thousands of stars, not a city light to be seen. She hasn’t done it since Grandpa Ben passed way, so it’s been a handful of years, but it’s hard to forget the beauty of the night sky.

The city lights are beautiful in a different way, of course, but her throat tightens with the want for the simplicity of the stars.

And just simplicity in general.

“Hey there, pretty girl…”

C’s fur is warm and soft between her fingers, the pup jumping up to greet her even before she’s put her bag and coat down. Laughing, Rey coos, knowing Kylo will give her just a little hell for hanging her coat and purse on the bannister instead of putting them away properly. But how is she supposed to ignore the precious pup?

“Hello,” she croons, kneeling and getting kisses to the face and paws on her thighs. “Oof, yes, Daddy will be home soon.” She rubs behind the dog’s ears, laughing as C continues to lick at her neck and jaw. “Hello, sweetheart, yes, it’s dinner time.”

It’s going to be ‘Kylo gets faux mad at her’ night, apparently, but she can’t help it. They have leftover turkey in the fridge. Like she’s not going to give C some? Sure, it may be one more teeny bit than Kylo would give her, but he can’t tell her that he wouldn’t have given his little princess some turkey anyway. Rey just gives her a bit more.

“There you go,” Rey says, setting the dog’s bowl down. She smiles, watching as C tip-toes as best as she can, her two front legs tapping excitedly. She sits, though, no doubt thanks to a decent obedience course. “Eat,” Rey tells her, and she laughs when the pup nearly slides across the dark floor to get to her bowl. She doesn’t eat fast enough to be of concern, but she does get excited. Rey grins, watching her for a moment before she goes to pour herself a glass of … something.

They’re almost out of her favorite tea. She’ll have to get some more tomorrow, maybe in between gathering cashmere scarves and suede booties. She sighs, leaning against the counter and listening to the electric kettle.

It’s quiet. Calm. Perfect. No people who dislike her for one reason or another. No articles on her desk, about her or otherwise. No eyes on her, because C’s are on her food, and rightfully so.

She collapses a little, every tense muscle releasing as she watches little bubbles start to rise in the kettle.

It takes until a tear rolls over her lips and she tastes salt for her to realize she’s crying, and the kettle pops, the water at a rolling boil seemingly in the blink of an eye.

The sound of the alarm beeping as the front door opens startles her, and she watches as C scrambles, barking briefly as she goes to greet Kylo.

“Hello, sweetheart.” Rey can hear him, can hear the jingling of C’s collar and Kylo’s laughter as she pours the water into the mug. “Rey, why isn’t your coat in the closet?”

“The option was either pet C or put my coat in the closet,” she calls. “You tell me which one you’d pick.”

By the time he comes around the corner, carrying a paper bag with some grease-spots on it, she’s wiped all the tears from her face, her stomach growling as the smell of egg rolls hits her. His hand’s on her lower back within seconds, his lips on hers, mumbling something about the Chinese restaurant and knowing their order.

If he tastes salt and assumes, he says nothing.

She’s grateful for it.

-

“I noticed there was less turkey in the fridge.”

Rey cups her hand beneath her mouth, catching the bits of shredded vegetables and dough flakes that fall as she bites into her egg roll. “Hm?”

“You gave C turkey.”

She rushes to chew and swallow. “Like you wouldn’t have,” she accuses teasingly.

“You gave her more than she should have had.”

“I gave her one bite more than she should have had,” Rey argues. “So what?”

“You’re spoiling her,” Kylo warns, but she can see the quirk of his mouth as he reaches for the soy sauce.

“She’s your girl,” she replies. “You ‘re the responsible one, I get to be the spoiling one.”

“Mhm.” Kylo doesn’t sound convinced. “If you put your coat on the bannister, the neck’s going to be misshapen.”

“I was going to hang it up, I was waiting for my tea.”

“So you say.”

“Because I’m right,” Kylo replies matter-of-factly.

She knows he’s right. She’s done that with sweaters before. The coat was wool, the material stiff but shapeable. Overnight, there could have been a consequence. But it was for fifteen minutes, maybe. Still, it's Kylo. 

She waits until he’s not actually eating, for safety reasons, before she decides to give him the news of the day. Or, rather, the fake news of the day. “So, did you hear I’m pregnant? And royalty, by the way," she adds.

His fork and knife come to a halt, his eyes still on his plate for a heartbeat. His gaze lifts to her, confused and slightly panicked. “—what are you—"

“I’m also British,” Rey tells him. “According to the National Enquirer. But I already told you about that one.”

“You did. I told you not to read those.” He sighs. “Though I guess I should, so I won’t think you’re serious.”

“And if I was serious? I’m not, by the way,” Rey replies, watching as he looks back up at her. "About ... any of what I just said?" Between occasional bloating and unflattering tops, of course there are going to be rumors. But there's always a chance, even with protection...

“… then we would decide what to do together, with your decision being the most important, of course,” he insists.

“Thank you.” She waits a heartbeat. “I’m also not the secret daughter of some tycoon, if you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” Kylo replies immediately. “A tycoon’s daughter would have heard of Marc Jacobs. And Tom Ford.” He takes a bite of his beef and broccoli. “… anything else I haven’t heard about you?”

“I don’t know, ask BB. They’re the one constantly refreshing every news outlet and gossip page,” Rey replies. “I don’t mean to read them. But there are too many news kiosks when I go to pick things up.”

“You can use the car? Or I can get someone else to—”

“I’m trying,” Rey interrupts, looking up at Kylo. His lips close, and he watches her intently as she sighs and sets her eggroll down, wiping her oily fingers with her napkin. “I’m trying not to let what they say interfere with my life. With any aspect of it. I’m trying.”

She doesn’t mean to get choked up, she really doesn’t. She doesn’t mean for the last ‘trying’ to be barely audible. She doesn’t mean for it to make him get up and come around to her side of the table.

But she won’t deny the comfort and safety that comes with him leaning over her from behind, wrapping his arms around her. The chair at her back doesn’t let them embrace completely, but it lets him rest his chin on her head. It lets him wrap his arms around her almost entirely, and lets her lift her hand to hold them there. It lets him kiss the top of her head, his lips warm and gentle as he just holds her.

“I know you’re trying,” he mutters against her hair. “I know you are.”

Trying. But not entirely succeeding.

And he knows that as well as she does.

-

“Can I ask you something?” she asks.

She will never get tired of seeing his shoulders. He’s a beautiful man clothed, whether it’s in an Armani suit or whether it’s in one of the t-shirts he’s had forever and a pair of sweatpants. But she loves him bare, loves seeing the little imperfections that make the so-called ‘Satan’ human. The moles, the scars, the few blemishes that just come from being a person with skin. He has his back to her, his t-shirt on his arms but not over his shoulders just yet as he turns to look at her in question.

“Can you take a bath with me?” she asks. “Like we did in Paris?”

The shirt is pulled from his arms and tossed on the bed within seconds of her request, his hand on her lower back and his lips on her brow within the next moment. “Yeah, of course.”

There’s been a chill beneath her skin for the past few weeks, and showers haven’t been able to get rid of it. If she’s honest, his touch is the closest thing she’s gotten to true relief, but even that isn’t enough. Maybe hot water, and him?

She’s trying to convince herself, she knows, but at the very least it’ll be nice. A little indulgence of the non-monetary kind.

The bubbles smell different from the ones in France. Those were almost overwhelming in their scent. These are lighter, soft against her skin as she dips her hand in to test the temperature. Kylo traces patterns on her back as she leans over, trying to be calming, trying to be reassuring.

The cold doesn’t go away.

There’s no champagne this time. It’s not that kind of bath, not one with champagne and sex. It’s one of closeness, of intimacy, comfort and safety. She closes her eyes, leaning back against his chest and feeling one of his hands on her hip and the other on her thigh as he holds her. His cheek is braced against the top of her head, his arms around her as they just enjoy the feeling of each other.

“This was a good idea,” Kylo mutters.

“So was Chinese,” Rey replies.

Kylo chuckles, turning to kiss her hair. “That was a good idea, too, huh?”

Rey hums and curls into him, the chill leaving if only for a few moments. “We need to get more tea.”

“I’ll put some in the grocery order.”

“Thanks.”

“Why do you drink tea instead of coffee?”

Rey opens her eyes, turning slightly to look up at him. He’s looking down at her. “It’s a valid question,” he defends.

She smiles. “It is. I don’t like coffee.”

“Why not?”

“Grandpa Ben would have some on the stove all the time,” she explains, moving her hand to cover where he has his on her thigh. She laces their fingers together, even though the size of his fingers means hers are stretched apart. “I wouldn’t call it coffee. It was kind of a sludge, if I’m honest. The house always smelled like it. It smelled almost burned, and tasted like it, too. But that’s the only way he would drink it. Dark roasted, really black. I didn’t like the taste of it, no matter how much cream and sugar he put in it for me. After he died, I couldn’t smell coffee without crying. So I started avoiding coffee shops, and buying my own tea to make at home. I can smell it now, but for a good one and a half, two years I couldn’t smell it.”

“You have a lot of good memories with him, don’t you?”

“He was what I had for a parent,” Rey explains. “Mine left. He was my legal guardian. I don’t know where they are, if they’re even here anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she insists, trying to turn to kiss his cheek, reassure him he didn’t dredge up any terrible, traumatic memories. “I remember them a little, but not much. It’s okay.”

“Mom and Dad like you, if that’s any comfort,” Kylo replies. “I’m sure Uncle Luke would, too.”

“I’d like to meet him. You know, considering I want to work there and all,” Rey teases, kissing at his jaw.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he promises. “We’re not exactly on wonderful terms, and we’re both busy, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“What happened?”

“He wanted me to work for Skywalker Publishing,” Kylo explains. “I didn’t. I’m not one for books. I enjoy magazines. Several authors. Several subjects. Easy and quick to consume, and yet so much thought goes into every piece. There is design in a book, yes. The font must be chosen to be as transparent as possible, it must be edited to prevent rivers of type, et cetera. But a magazine? It combines art in a different way. There is graphic design, there is writing, there is photography, there is editing, there is the fashion itself. It’s not to say that books lack creativity, far from. But magazines are significantly more visual, and I was drawn to them at the beginning.”

“I see,” Rey replies, because she does. It makes sense. The man holding her is a visual person, that much is incredibly clear. He cares about appearances, he loves beautiful things and beautiful people. Books are beautiful, yes, but in a different way. It makes a lot of sense.

“Do you?” Kylo asks, not teasing but genuinely curious.

“I do.”

“I’m glad.” His lips find her hair again. “You smell wonderful.”

“We’re surrounded by scented bubbles.”

“My statement still stands.”

Rey laughs, grabbing a handful of bubbles and turning. She aims for his nose, missing and getting his jaw instead. “Whoops, now you have half of a beard.”

“Really?” Kylo asks. His voice is flat. “A bubble war?”

“Oh, I was thinking just a fight, but you’re going for a war?” she asks, grinning as she moves to scoop another bit of bubbles to complete the beard. Surprisingly, he lets her. “Hmm, have you ever thought of growing facial hair?”

“I’ve tried it a handful of times,” he replies, surprisingly serious for someone with a bubble beard. “Clean shaven is professional and classic.”

She hums, remembering the few times she saw him with some scruff in the mornings in Paris. “I’d like to see you outgrow it.”

“Would you?”

“Mhm. For scientific purposes.”

“Scientific,” Kylo repeats. “I see.”

“Do an experiment for the magazine,” she replies, twisting completely in his arms and straddling his thighs. She smiles, reaching to get more bubbles and attempting to add more to the beard. He remains still, his hands finding her hips and holding her steady as she kneels on the porcelain. “Do a poll. See what people prefer. Grow a pointy little chin beard and a mustache like those cartoons of Satan.”

“Never,” he insists immediately, almost before she’s finished speaking. Rey laughs, moving in to kiss him despite the few bubbles clinging to his lower lip. The bubbles tickle against her chin, but she moans, her hands braced against his shoulders as she tastes him. There’s a hint of soap, but not enough to be repulsive as she presses close.

His hand slips from her hip to her lower back, and she can breathe more easily. He splays his fingers, and she melts into him. Despite the chill of the bathroom air against her shoulders, her hair damp at the ends and clinging to her skin, she feels warmer than she has in the weeks since they’ve returned to New York. As if feeling her need to be closer, he wraps his arms around her entirely, pulling her against his body. Her knees squeak a little against the porcelain as she’s yanked into his arms, held so tightly she damn near loses her breath.

“This was a good idea,” Kylo replies when they pull apart. It’s comical, really, the way the bubbles still cling to his jaw but the ones around his lips and chin are completely gone thanks to their kiss. “We need to do it more often.”

“You won’t hear me complaining,” she whispers, wiping the rest of the bubbles away with her hands. She can feel the start of hair against her fingertips, the beginning of the scruff she remembers. She leans in to kiss him again, this time softer, a little less desperate.

Fuck, she loves kissing him. Not just his mouth, though that’s fantastic too. It’s the way he holds her, like he’ll never let her go. It’s not tight, no, but it’s reassuring. Safe. Almost all-consuming in the best way possible. What she needs right now more than ever. For him to consume her, to make her forget all the terrible headlines, all the rumors, all the judgmental looks, the questions, the pressure—

“I need to ask you something.”

“Hm?” Rey asks, the sound buzzing against Kylo’s lips. He pulls back a little more to see her more clearly, his hair laying funny against the cream-colored bath pillow. Damn him, he still looks attractive. A little goofy, but still sinfully attractive.

“Are you happy with me?”

“Yes,” Rey says without hesitation. Because she is. She is very happy with him. “With you? Yes. With what comes with you…?”

“I understand,” he replies. “And I’m sorry. And you know we can—”

“We can try a press conference,” she insists. “Or legal action. And those may stop the printed rumors, but what about the spoken ones? Or the looks the girls throw me in the office?” She leans forward, wanting his arms around her tighter. He complies. “I’m happy with you. I promise.”

“Thank you,” he replies, tilting his face up to kiss her again.

When the water starts to cool, the chill starts to come back. That damned feeling in her chest that feels like a buzzing ice cube between her ribs. He helps her out, wraps her in a fluffy towel. She laughs through the feeling, because it tickles when he rubs at her ribs.

C is waiting for them when they come out, her tail thwapping against the coverlet as Rey pulls on a pair of panties and one of Kylo’s soft shirts. There are a few holes near the bottom hem, near where the arms are hemmed, but it’s as soft as butter against her skin and warm, smelling like him. To crawl into his arms is to be cradled, be comforted, and she curls in gladly, closing her eyes and resting her head against his shoulder. He sits up, the Book spread across his lap and his glasses perched on his nose as he edits just one more article before bed.

The warm light of the lamp on the bedside table keeps her awake. So does the scratching of his pen against the paper, and his muttering aloud as he considers the best way to word something. She doesn’t mind, though. She says nothing, just listening to the low hum of his voice as he questions whether the sentence he just read needs to be reconstructed slightly.

She’s happy with him. She knows this damn well. She’s happy here, with him and C, with the world quiet around them and the lamp light warm and C’s fur soft beneath her fingers and Kylo’s shoulder beneath her cheek.

She’s happy with him, and with their world.

But to be happy with his world, the one so reluctant to let her in?

Easier said than done.

Chapter Text

She smells the tea before she sees him.

Peppermint tea isn’t her favorite, but it’s the thought that counts as Hux walks towards her and sets the cup down on her desk. Steam curls delicately from the little mouth hole, and Rey hums as she sets her pen down so that she can reach forward and wrap her hands around the cup. The heat of it soothes her fingers, sore from attempting to jot down the ramblings of an Italian photographer.

“What’s this for?” Rey asks, looking up at the redhead.

Before, he used to come into the office strictly in suits and ties. And while that was a good look, she does like him in stone grey slacks (perfectly pressed of course) and a soft-looking black turtleneck. She’d bet her entire paycheck that the sweater costs more than said paycheck, but it’s flattering, and much more casual than the dress shirts and ties and Armani blazers he used to wear.

“You think it’s for something?” Hux asks, raising a brow at her. “What could I possibly want from you?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the one who bought me tea because you want something,” Rey teases, pulling her drawer open to fetch her little honey bear.

“It’s already sweetened. Two hefty drizzles of honey.”

Rey glances up at Hux, closing her drawer as she watches him. “When did you learn my tea order?”

“Weeks ago,” Hux says simply. “I saw Ren putting the mobile order in while we were in a meeting.” He shifts his weight. “I apologize, they were out of your usual flavor of leaf water.”

“Leaf water?” Rey asks, laughing as she takes the top off of the cup so that it can cool more quickly. “Better than bean water.”

The sweet smell of peppermint is a cooling, soothing balm to how her heart has been beating erratically ever since she received yet another dirty look from some woman in the elevator.

“I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner.”

“I’ll have to see if Kylo’s free, I don’t know if he had any plans for dinner, but yeah, I’m sure he’d be open to it,” Rey replies as she hooks her fingers around the string of the tea bag, pulling the little paper tags out from where they were tucked into the cardboard cozy. “Where are you thinking?”

“I’m not inviting him,” Hux says.

Rey stops, the strings still wrapped around her fingers as she looks up at Hux. “You want to have dinner with me? Just me?”

“You sound shocked.”

“Because I am shocked,” Rey replies, pulling the tea bag out and tossing it into her little waste bin, careful not to get any hot drips of tea on her black faux leather skirt. “Why do you want to have dinner with me?”

“Because it’s come to my attention that there are some people in this office who are … disapproving of your relationship with Ren.” He pauses, and she has to wonder if he’s genuinely considering his words or if he’s just doing it for dramatic effect. It’s difficult to tell with him. “And that they have been leaving things for you to discover in the morning.”

“Kylo told you.”

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Hux promises. “I’ve seen the clips myself, even removed a few of them before you came in a few days. The security footage isn’t accessible to me unless a formal complaint has been made, but if you want me to pull a few strings-”

“If I was that bothered by it, Hux, I would have put in a complaint,” Rey replies quietly.

“You are that bothered by it,” he deduces, before he sighs and reaches up to run his hand through his hair. The gesture’s become more common for him since he started to ditch the heavy product he used to use. Rey’s sure there’s still some there, because the man likes control above everything else, and to leave his hair to the elements and its own shape would be against his nature, but it’s not the harsh, slicked back style it was before. “If you don’t want to talk about it, then fine. I would still like to have dinner. But I’m offering you the opportunity to speak with someone who isn’t Ren.”

Rey stares up at the executive editor. It’s not surprise, not really. Maybe a little, that he would consider to ask if she’s okay at all, let alone offer to take her to dinner and to offer her a pair of ears that aren’t her boyfriend’s. But there’s a little warmth there, that he would actually give a damn.

“How does 7 sound?” Rey asks. “I’ll ask Kylo, I don’t think he was planning anything specific for dinner, but I’ll check.”

“I’ll send you the name and address of the restaurant before end of day,” Hux replies, his voice firm and matter-of-fact, leaving her no other option. “Restaurant preference?”

“Surprise me,” she insists, offering him a genuine smile. “I’m sure you know some good spots.”

His smile’s small. She’s not used to seeing it at all, but the hint of teeth and the way his pale cheeks crinkle as his lips part is more precious than any piece of expensive jewelry in their closet. “I look forward to it.”

With that, he turns, and she watches him retreat down the hallway. It’s comical, really, to see someone with a rolling cart come to a dead stop to let him pass, clothes swinging forward as they try to avoid invoking Hux’s wrath.

She’ll have to text her group chat with BB, Poe, and Finn that she saw finally saw the ice prince smile.

“What was that about?”

A slim black folder is offered to her, and Rey hums, taking it from her boyfriend as he sets a plate of bright red, juicy strawberries down on the desk for her from the meeting he just came from. “Hux asked me to dinner,” Rey explains. “You didn’t have anything special planned, did you?”

“There are some steaks we should eat soon, but no, nothing special. Dinner?” Kylo asks, raising a dark brow at her in surprise.

Rey holds her hands up in mock innocence. “Hey, I’m just as shocked as you are.”

“Huh.” He bends and presses a kiss to the top of her head, humming quietly. “You smell divine.”

“It’s your shampoo.”

“I know.” One more kiss to her crown. “We have that meeting at 11.”

“Yeah, I’ll get everything ready.”

“Thank you.”

She hates the feeling of his lips leaving her head, but it means she gets to watch him walk towards his office. Which means she gets to watch the way his ass is hugged by his slacks, and she grins before returning to her work.

✧

Most days they’re both too busy to have lunch. Most days she ends up grabbing lunch for the both of them, slipping the to-go box onto his desk while he’s either in a meeting or on some call and indulging in a quick hand-hold before going to eat her own.

To be able to sit down somewhere during meetings and errands and run-throughs and visits with designers and every other thing that’s required of her boyfriend.

“Did he say where he was taking you?”

“Nope. Told him to surprise me.”

“Knowing Hux, he’ll take you to some uppity restaurant with small portions and a tasting menu,” Kylo says, reaching for his water.

“Uppity?” Rey asks with a small smile. “Like you didn’t take me to an uppity restaurant in Paris?”

“I also bought you frites and a croque monsieur from a street shop.”

“Mhm.” Rey can’t help but smile as she tears a bit of roll off, buttering it liberally before slipping it between her lips. The bread is still warm, and she hums, remembering how she didn’t eat breakfast, despite the homemade protein bar in her bag that Kylo shoved into her hand before they left that morning. Oops. “He said he knows what’s going on, and wanted to offer to listen. Or help me put it through HR.”

“Which you know-”

“Is an option,” Rey finishes, reaching for another bit of bread. “I know it is.”

She knows, and she’s debated. A lot. Internally struggling because yes, it hurts, and yes, a few - no, several - tears have been shed over the pettiness of some people in the office.

“I’m fine,” Rey insists quietly, shoving the bit of bread in her mouth before he can argue.

She’s dating a smart man. He’s learned when to push with her, and when to let it go, and also she’s saved by the waiter arriving with their lunch.

She’s just reaching for her fork to stab her mixed greens salad with perhaps a bit more energy and rage than usual when he reaches and takes her other hand.

Rey looks up and meets his gaze across the table. Her heart skips a beat as she stares at him, those damn dark eyes wide and sad as he squeezes her fingers.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither does she. They don’t need to, not really. She can read between the lines in the skin of his hands as he laces her fingers with his and squeezes again. His skin is warm, and she can feel the callouses from him playing with his pens constantly and writing in the Book.

She squeezes back, and offers the best smile she can manage.

It’s enough for him. He smiles back, but doesn’t let go.

It makes eating just a bit awkward, but she’s all right with that.

She doesn’t want to let go, either.

✧

She likes to think she’s learned about fashion, between working in the industry for so many months now, and by just seeing what Kylo’s added to her closet on a daily basis. And sure, she can dress herself for work, but for a dinner with a man she thought hated her guts for so long?

It’s more difficult than she thought.

“Why is this so hard?” Rey asks, feeling Kylo behind her, and then feeling his hands on her bare waist. She’d stripped out of her work clothes hours ago, standing in her bra and panties in what is now her closet in his townhouse. Sure, a lot of her old clothes aren’t here, but she has sweatpants and t-shirts and even her ugly, soft, comfy ’time of month’ underwear, which was a step and a half in terms of their relationship.

Sure, they’re not as pretty and fancy as the lingerie Kylo buys her, but he said nothing when she put it in the same drawer, instead stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her and kissing her neck.

Just like he’s doing now.

“Keep on doing that and I’ll be late,” Rey says of the black lace balconette bra and matching cheeky underwear. “And I don’t want to have to run to the restaurant in my underwear. I don’t think he’d be into that.”

“He’s kissed a few women over the years, but no, you’re right,” Kylo replies. Even though he admits she’s right, his hands don’t leave her, roaming over her bare skin. He doesn’t unhook anything, doesn’t pull anything, doesn’t tug anything, but just enjoys what’s there for him already. Rey hums, reaching down as his hands find her hips and holding them there.

“You’re not being helpful,” she teases, turning her head slightly in an attempt to catch his eye. He ends up catching her lips instead, and she hums, leaning back against his chest as he holds her tight.

“Did you want me to be helpful?”

“Yes. Help me figure out what to wear to whatever uppity place he’s taking me to.”

“Hmmm. Dress? Pants? Skirt?”

“Dress is easy,” Rey admits. “Don’t have to think too hard.”

“Dress it is,” Kylo replies. “But I want to see you pick it.”

“You are the opposite of helpful.”

He chuckles, and she can feel the sound against her shoulders. There’s a kiss to her jaw, and then he’s pulling back. “Let’s see how much you’ve learned.”

“Kylo,” Rey insists, but his hands leave her and she feels him step back away from her. “Kylo.”

“You must have picked something up aside from how ‘Dolce and Gabbana’ is spelled,” he teases. She turns, watching as he leans against the door frame of the walk in closet. He’s dressed down from his work clothes as well, simple grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt that strains against his arms as he crosses them over his chest. His face betrays absolutely nothing, which is the only clue she needs to know he’s highly amused by her and her little dilemma. “I believe in you.”

“Mhm,” Rey hums, the sound dripping in sarcasm as she turns back to the closet.

There are the dresses she wore in Paris, sure, but none of them feel quite right. Her fingers brush against chiffon, velvet, leather.  Sure, she could make a statement. Plenty of things she has have studs or grommets or buttons or giant bows, but …

But that’s too much.

There’s a new dress, one bought after Paris and still hanging in the closet. The neck is high but its sleeveless, a ruffled collar bringing attention to her neck and jaw. The thin black fabric is knife-pleated to give it some texture, and the large white belt tied in a bow at its waist adds contrast and a little more playfulness. There’s a difference between a functional bow and a decorative bow, she reasons as she pulls the dress from the closet.

Rey turns, looking over her shoulder at Kylo in hopes of some sort of approval. She gets nothing, because of course she doesn’t.

“Ass,” she mutters, hearing his chuckle.

“You’re doing fine,” Kylo promises as she grabs some black Louboutin sandals, to make the dress look a little more casual than it would be paired with pumps. “I’m impressed.”

“Yeah, well, I learned from the best,” Rey teases, taking her outfit and leaning up to kiss him chastely. He chases her lips, but she pulls back, smiling as she makes her way into the bedroom. “I mean it, I have to get ready.”

She hears his footsteps towards the door.

“But don’t leave me yet, I need your help zipping.”

His laugh is one of her favorite sounds, his low little chuckle as he watches her shimmy into the dress. The kiss he gives her as he helps her into dresses and zipper-backed tops is one of her favorite kinds of kisses from him, because it’s so sweet and soft and gentle. She smiles, holding her hair as he kisses at the nape of her neck.

“You look lovely,” he mutters, his hands finding her waist and giving her a little squeeze before letting go. “Have a good time.”

“Want me to bring you some dessert back?”

“If they have anything with chocolate and raspberry, sure,” he replies.

“Wait.” He walks to her, knowing exactly why she called him back, and she grabs onto his shoulder so that she can bend down and put her shoes on. “Thanks.”

She’ll have to reapply her lipstick, she knows. Even though it’s liquid, it’s not exactly kiss proof. At least, not with the kiss he gives her, passionate as sin as he slips his fingers into her hair and holds her to him. She teeters on her heels, leaning into him and into the comfort he provides.

✧

The restaurant is in some hotel. She hadn’t been expecting some hole in the wall, really, nothing like the places Finn and Poe and BB take her. She can’t see Hux eating tacos, or really anything with his hands. The man probably eats even a slice of pizza with a fork and knife.

The lobby is a modern sort of grandiose, with modern chandeliers sending light across the room. The marble floors are sleek and black, polished so well that she can almost see her reflection in them. She moves through quickly to where the restaurant’s sign is displayed prominently, AURORA in some minimalist, sleek font in silver against a deep wood background. A fountain that takes up almost the entirety of the wall runs smoothly, and there’s the childish temptation to just put her fingers in the cool water. But she resists and walks towards the hostess stand where a brunette is standing in a sleek black dress and blazer.

“I’m looking for a table for Hux?” Rey asks, glimpsing behind the woman into the restaurant. It has that modern, minimalist, trendy look, that’s for certain.

“Of course. Follow me.”

Rey observes the diners as the hostess leads them to their table, and sighs in relief. No one here is dressed in a full tux or ballgown. There are a few people who dressed up, to be sure, but she can also see a few people in nice jeans enjoying a glass of wine and several plates of appetizers.

Good. Hux probably would have told her if there was a dress code to save her but mainly himself some embarrassment.

“Here we are.”

The redhead hasn’t changed from work, it seems. He stands, reaching for Rey’s black trench coat and helping it from her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Rey says, helping him by rolling her shoulders back and letting him be the gentleman as he drapes the coat over the back of one of the spare chairs.

“I must say, you clean up well,” he says. There’s a teasing tone to his voice, and Rey smirks in return, settling into her chair with his help.

“I do my best for you,” she teases back.

“I would expect no less,” he says as he hands her a menu. “There are a few entrees I’d recommend, but the real stars of the show are the small plates. I usually get a few. I’d be willing to share.”

“You’d be willing?” Rey asks with a laugh, taking the menu from him. The cream paper is tucked into a leather sleeve, the font that same minimalist one from the logo. She hums, pleased to see there are ingredients she’s actually familiar with. Even dishes she’s familiar with. “You come here often?”

“Yes,” Hux replies. “They have an excellent espresso that’s nice to have after a long day at work.”

“Good to know.”

It feels weird, how comfortable it is now to sit with him. There’s something about Paris, she guesses, and knowing something so intimate about him and so private. And yet he trusts her with it.

“I recommend the scallops to start.”

“To start?” Rey asks, looking up from the menu to the redhead. “I thought we were ordering all at once?”

“No,” Hux replies. “I want to enjoy your company before I go flying across the ocean in a month, never to be seen again.”

“You say that like I won’t be seeing you at least four times a year, if not more,” Rey says. “There are fashion weeks, you know. And galas. And you’ll have to come and visit sometimes. Bring back presents.”

“You think you’re important enough to me to receive presents?”

“I’m important enough to be asked to dinner alone,” Rey argues. “I’d think they’re on the same level for you.”

“A fair point,” Hux admits, and Rey has to smile at that.

They do start with the scallops, and Hux takes the liberty to order wine. She’s never really been much of a wine drinker, or at least not expensive wine. The most she’s spent on wine was probably ten dollars, and she’s pretty sure that was because of some breakup and the idea of a red with notes of chocolate sounded really appealing at the time.

“So,” Hux says, his glass of white wine balanced delicately in his pale, slender fingers as he leans in. “How is life with Ren?”

“Are you asking out of curiosity or jealousy?” she asks.

“Bit of both, but more curiosity.”

“It’s … good.”

“Really? Just good?”

“It’s really nice,” Rey replies, because it is. “It’s not perfect, not with everything that goes on at the office, but at home it’s really nice. He has an adorable dog—”

“The three-legged nuisance, yes, I know her.”

“Nuisance?” she asks, laughing.

“She likes to lick at my fingers and jump on my trousers. She ruined a perfectly nice pair of Gucci pants by jumping on me after a muddy walk through the park.”

“You say that like you don’t have other pairs.”

“I liked those, though.”

It’s surprisingly easy to talk to him. She’s not sure whether she helped pull the designer-branded stick from his ass, or whether he did it himself, but she finds herself smiling more than she thought she would.

“It’s really nice,” she repeats. “I like coming home to him. His townhouse is ridiculous, but I like living with him.”

“Oh so you’re at that stage?”

“Kind of? I have a lot of my things there…”

The scallops arrive, and even the smell of bacon and caramelized brown sugar can’t distract Rey from the slight look of sadness that crosses the executive editor’s face. A realization that she has what he won’t, she guesses.

“It sounds as though you’re happy with him.”

“I am,” she answers, immediate and honest. “Happier than I thought I’d ever be with anyone. I mean, he has his quirks. Sometimes he gets angry with some things, but with everything he has to do, I get it. And that’s when I make him hot cocoa.”

“Hot cocoa?”

“The man has a sweet tooth like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I believe it. I’m very careful to know which coffee cup is his and which is mine. I only made that mistake once.”

“You could do with a little sugar in your coffee sometimes, though,” Rey says. “I can’t imagine just drinking it straight.”

“If you add cream or sugar or whatever monstrosities they call syrup or those flavored creamers, you miss the richness and depth of the coffee itself, and all the notes within it.”

Rey snorts. “You are so fucking pretentious, you know that?” she asks, wondering when exactly she became so bold to say that to him, but not regretting it in the slightest.

“I like to think I’ve made it my brand.”

“You’ve succeeded,” Rey says as she reaches for a scallop. Wrapped in bacon, the tender meat melts in her mouth. Crusted brown sugar coats the outside, but there’s something else. Something more acidic to make it less sweet, and more a nice combination. There are a few ribboned vegetables on the plate, and Rey takes some of those as well, the cucumbers cutting through the richness of the scallops.

“But you are happy with him,” Hux repeats, his brow furrowed as he watches her.

Rey pauses, chewing quickly and frowning in return. “Yes. Why?”

He hesitates. He hesitates long enough for the second plate to be brought out, homemade pasta with fresh parmesan and some sort of creamy, rich mushroom sauce that smells incredibly earthy.

“People are assholes,” he finally settles on, once their waiter has left.

“Yes,” she agrees. “But what does that have to do with my being happy with Kylo?”

“He and I are both aware of what you’ve been dealing with,” Hux explains. “And the fact of the matter is, those people are assholes, bitches, wankers, whatever you want to call them. Especially when you are dating someone with as much media exposure as Kylo Ren. There are things that can be done, legally, but ultimately they will not stop. There will always be someone on Twitter, someone on some gossip site, someone who catches an odd photo or lies about something or other in order to get attention and put themselves in the limelight for their fifteen minutes or what have you. I’m surprised some of your old classmates from wherever you came from haven’t spoken up yet to put their two cents in.”

“I’m still confused.”

“I’m asking,” Hux says, his voice low and slow. “Because he is in love with you, and has been for months.”

Her heart skips in a chest to hear it out loud. And hell, it’s not even from him, it’s from someone on the outside. But it’s confirmation, she guesses, that there’s something there. That she isn’t just the poor girl from Arizona who’s hitched herself to the editor-in-chief of General just to get some pretty shoes and sparkling diamond necklaces.

It’s difficult to speak for a moment, before she says —

“I love him, too.”

“Good,” Hux says, just as low as before. “I am asking because I need to know whether you love him enough to deal with all of the shit that comes with him. The photos. The gossip. The people assuming you are dating him for some other reason, that he is dating you for another reason. You know the truth. He knows the truth. I know the truth. And anyone who spends five minutes in a room with you two knows that your relationship is far more than sex or money or what have you because you too look at each other like two people very much in love, almost sickeningly so.”

“Thanks,” Rey says sarcastically. “Good to know how much we look like lovesick idiots.”

“You’re welcome,” Hux replies, just as sarcastically before his voice returns to more serious. “I am asking you because he is my friend. Because I love him as well. And if this is going to fall apart, if you are going to leave him, I need to know when to be there, and if I need to buy plane tickets back to New York in advance.”

“You think that he and I are going to break up eventually?” she asks, hating the heavy feeling in her chest or stomach when she considers the idea of leaving him. Of leaving that townhouse with the gorgeous dog and the smell of roasted coffee in the morning and the shampoo that smells like him in the shower and the sheets still warm from his bare skin…

Of leaving his arms around her waist, his lips to the back of her neck, his hands all over her and mouth following in damn near worship of her.

Of his crooked teeth when he smiles, the way his cheeks crease and his eyes crinkle. Of the way he looks with a pen between his teeth and his glasses and his hair rumpled from looking over an article just one more time. Of the way he smiles and pulls her in when he sees her wearing one of his t-shirts. Of the way he looks like a goddan sex god when he walks into a room in a black suit and tie, hair perfectly in place and hand reaching for hers.

Just the thought of all that … gone. Just the thought of it makes her eyes burn, and she blinks, staring at the redhead.

Hux watches her carefully. “If you were in any other position, I’d say no,” he whispers. “If you both had obscenely boring desk jobs and your closest chance of fame was a viral tweet, then I would have no doubt that you would last until your last days together. But as I said before, people are assholes. And I’m very familiar with how much words can hurt.”

His voice breaks slightly in the last sentence, and Rey watches as he looks down and stabs a bite of pasta, eating it perhaps to keep himself steady and give himself time to consider what he’s going to say next.

He chews for longer than necessary, before he meets her gaze again.

“I’m well aware of how it can take a toll on your mental health,” he explains. “And if you were to leave him for self preservation, know that I would understand. I’m not asking to … accuse you, of anything, or make you a sort of villain if you do part ways. I’m just asking to know. Because you are no longer Rey Kenobi. You are Rey Kenobi, the girlfriend of Kylo Ren, and there is a significant difference between those lives. And if you want to return to the one you had before … I wouldn’t blame you. Being with him is a lot to handle. The question is whether being with him is worth all the shit that hitches a ride as well.”

As delicious as the plate before her smells, Rey finds her appetite has gone as she looks down at the food.

“And you need to know,” Hux continues. “It’s been something on his mind as well. Whether you think it worth it to stay. And he wouldn’t hate you if you didn’t.”

“He wouldn’t?” she asks. “I just …” She pauses, trying to find the words, but God, it’s hard when her head is a mess and her heart feels heavy and like it’s about to break just at the thought of maybe saying goodbye.

“It hurts,” she confesses. “When people think that I’m a gold digger or that I’m in it for the money or I’m manipulating him in some way when I know I’m not. But if it’s repeated enough times, you know, or said by enough people, it almost seems like it’s true?”

“But it isn’t.”

“But they don’t know that.”

“But you know that. And that’s what statements are for, if you care to release one. The truth of the matter is that not everyone is going to always love you. Ren is hated in many circles, I’m sure. I’m positive there are group chats of designers who received his criticism and took it as a personal offense and curse his name constantly, sometimes even very publicly in other publications. There’s a reason he’s known as Satan or the Devil or what have you. I’m sure people hate me, as well.”

“I used to. I like you, now,” Rey offers.

“I like you, too,” Hux says, so seriously that she almost laughs. “And he loves you. And while others may not, do they matter? They don’t know you. They don’t know Ren. And they don’t know how much he absolutely adores you. You know it.”

“I just wish people would stop giving me dirty looks.”

“They’re jealous, and petty. And so you raise your head high and ignore them, because the opinion of someone who doesn’t know you is worth absolutely nothing unless you put value in it, which you shouldn’t.”

“You’re talking like you know it,” Rey says quietly.

“I’m very aware of the looks I get every time I go down to the lunch room.”

She smiles at that, looking down at the ring of darkness her water glass is leaving in the black tablecloth.

The silence is filled by the sound of another plate as it’s put down, but she doesn’t even see the food, looking down at the table and the pale grey napkin on her lap.

“You don’t need to answer now,” Hux says gently. “I know that it’s a heavy conversation. I was just curious as to your feelings about him, since I know his about you.” He makes a slight face. “Almost a little too well, unfortunately.”

Rey has to laugh at that, and then she continues laughing, because if she doesn’t she’ll start to cry, she’s sure. And she’s positive she looks almost crazy to the other tables around them, even as quiet as she forces her chuckles, but at the very least she’s not in danger of shedding tears. Her eyes still burn, but her cheeks are dry for now.

“I love him,” she says. “I love him more than I ever thought I could love someone. He makes me feel … like I’m something to be valued. Something to be spoiled, pampered, adored.” She stops for a moment, looking down at her hands. “I haven’t felt that before, at least not with someone I was dating. I mean he shows he cares in Cartier, sure, but he also shows he cares in making me tea every morning, you know? It’s … I love him, and I love being with him. I just wish everyone else—”

“Would shut up,” Hux interrupts with such a blank, expressionless face that she has to laugh again.

“Yeah,” she agrees, before reaching with her fork to get some pasta. If it’s there, she may as well eat it, she thinks. Especially since it’s really, really good, despite the weight in her stomach. “This is wonderful.”

“You should tell him you love him.”

“What makes you think I haven’t?”

“Because if you had I would get a very excited text as soon as your back was turned,” Hux explains. “For a man who has dated several people, I have never seen him so eager. He’s almost like a school boy in his excitement.”

“So you’re saying him buying me diamond necklaces is like him giving me his shiny Charizard?”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.”

“I know avoidance when I see it,” Hux explains. “If you love him, then tell him. Right now. Regardless of your decision down the road, he needs to know.”

“What, you want me to call him? Text him?” Rey asks, raising a brow.

“No. I want you to call Mitaka and go home.”

“But dinner—” she protests.

“I’m not leaving for Italy for another month, we can have dinner once a week if you want to,” he insists before waving her off. “Now go before I get another paragraph overanalyzing your feelings for him, I’ve gotten three this week already.”

She stands so quickly that her chair almost falls over, and she goes around the table, bending to kiss his cheek. His wide-eyed stare is adorable, and she wishes she could snap a picture and preserve that expression forever.

And for bribing rights.

“Thank you,” she says, squeezing his shoulder before turning and weaving her way through tables.

It had been drizzling when she arrived at the restaurant, but now it’s almost pouring. She realizes too late that she left her trench coat back on the chair in the table. Hux must have texted Mitaka or told him to keep close, because she isn’t left out in the rain long before the sleek black car pulls up and Mitaka emerges with an umbrella.

“I’m a little late, aren’t I?” he asks, looking at her, soaked and shivering a little.

“A little,” Rey replies, but she’s grinning so hard she feels like her cheeks are going to ache. “Don’t worry about it, it’s just water.”

He holds the umbrella over her, but it doesn’t really matter as she slides into the car. She feels like a little kid again, both nervous and excited about their birthday or something, her knees bouncing and her heels thudding on the carpet of the car. It’s hard to tell what’s because of the chill of the rain and what’s just pure nerves.

Why is she nervous, though? Hux told her Kylo loves her. He told her Kylo texts him wondering if she feels the same. Hux is as close to a trustworthy source when it comes to her boyfriend as a source can get. And even without his input, there’s that feeling, that warmth in her chest whenever Kylo looks at her, whenever he pulls her into the shower in the morning for a quick makeout session, whenever she opens her eyes and feels his hand on her hip and she just knows he’s memorizing the freckles on her shoulders.

He loves her.

And she loves him.

She curses New York traffic, because it takes entirely too long to get to the townhouse. Of course it’s a Friday night, so everyone’s out and about and taking taxis everywhere to drink or dance or laugh off the weight of the week.

The car’s about three blocks from the townhouse, just on the beginning of the street when Rey knocks against the slightly open partition.

“Let me out.”

“Miss Kenobi, it’s raining and you’re in heels—”

“I’ve walked more blocks than this before I moved in in the same shoes, I’ll be fine. And I told you, it’s just water. It’ll take 45 minutes to get there in this and I can’t wait.”

“If that’s what you want, miss.”

The click of the door unlocking is music to her ears, and as soon as she opens the door she hears honking. She ignores the horns in favor of rushing to the sidewalk, thankful for New York and the way people don’t really give a fuck, because it means no one looks twice at the way she’s soaked to the bone.

Her feet ache as she makes her way along the street, waving to the cars that let her cross the intersection. It’s not like they have anywhere to go, anyway - it’s bumper to bumper traffic. She slips through, making her way to the more private, quiet street that the townhouse is on, and relying on the streetlights to illuminate the familiar structure.

Between the rain and the chill of the spring air, she’s shivering. And the only thing she can focus on is the warmth of Kylo’s chest, and his arms around her, and just how good it will feel for him to panic at the sight of her and her soaked state and wrap her up in an embrace. Maybe a blanket or a towel first, but then an embrace.

The door’s locked - she wouldn’t expect anything less, given the amount of security Kylo has on the house. And so she knocks, hearing C’s excited barking at the sound, and waiting as she hears heavy footsteps, the footsteps she could recognize if she were blindfolded. Slightly hesitant, like he doesn’t want to make too much of a sound, but his size makes a decent thud anyway.

The door opens.

Kylo must have been cooking something for himself, because he has a black dishtowel over his shoulder, and there’s a spot of some kind of sauce on his white t-shirt. He’s taken out his contacts already, his slim silver glasses only accentuating his quickly-widening eyes. He’s changed into sweatpants since she left him, and her heart skips at just how warm and domestic he looks. For as amazing as he looks in suits and ties and tuxedos, there’s nothing better than cotton and terry on him.

He’s opening his mouth to speak, no doubt to ask something along the lines of ‘what the hell?’, but she doesn’t give him the chance.

“I love you.”

She has to practically shout it over the rain falling behind her, the slick sound of tires on asphalt, and the water pouring down the drain spout.

Kylo stares at her for a moment, shocked, and for a heartbeat she thinks back to the redheaded man who convinced her to change the Book, who convinced her that the times on meetings had been moved, but he’d changed, hadn’t he? He wouldn’t ask her to dinner if—

“I love you, too.”

It’s barely more than a breath, and she has to strain to hear it, but the three words are unmistakable as she stands in the doorway, feeling so much like that drowned rat she was on that first day, staring at a god of a man who, instead of staring at her in disgust and shock, just told her he loves her too.

“Good,” she says, because where do they go from here? She … hadn’t really gotten that far, thinking about it on the way over. Does she kiss him, does she—

His hands feel almost scalding as he cups her face and pulls her in for a kiss. Her hands come to his wrists, holding him tight and kissing him just as fiercely as he’s kissing her. He tastes like red wine, no doubt sneaking sips while he’s cooking with it, and she lets him coax her mouth open, lets him taste her and pull her closer and wrap his arms around her so tightly she feels as though she’ll break something.

“I love you,” he whispers against her lips, the both of them breathless. “I love you so much, you have no idea…”

“Enough that you texted Hux about it,” she teases. “About being unsure if I loved you.”

“Well, I know you care for me—”

“I love you,” Rey promises, her fingers slipping into his hair, feeling the silky locks curl around her fingers and that’s yet another thing she would miss if she were to leave… “And I don’t have any plans of going anywhere, okay? I love you, and I want to be with you. Because as much as terrible as the press and rumors and everything have been… to not be with you would be hell.”

There’s that smile she loves so much, the one where his eyes crinkle and his cheeks crease and she can see just how crooked his teeth are. And she smiles back, pulling him closer as he rests his brow against hers.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you. I love you.”

“I know,” she whispers in return, leaning up to kiss him again.

She can feel C licking at her legs, catching the rivulets of water running down them from her soaked dress. And she’s pretty sure that her boyfriend — no, her love, will have a giant wet shape of her against his t-shirt and sweatpants. But there’s something delicious about the contrast between her cold and his warm, so very warm, and it makes his kisses all the better as she melts into him.

He continues to whisper it against her lips, her neck, her shoulder. They stand there for God-knows-how-long, the door still open to the rain and the gentle sound of water hitting his entryway echoing in her ears, along with that gorgeous, gorgeous sound.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

And occasionally, when he’s breathless from worshipping, he’ll let her say it back.

“I love you, too.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, which suit do you want for tonight so I can make sure it’s ready?”

Kylo looks up, seeing Rey standing in the doorway. For as often as he’s seen her in silk ballgowns and tulle skirts and rhinestone-covered shirts, there’s just something about her in a black pencil skirt, plain white t-shirt, loose waves, and red lipstick that takes his breath away.

“The Burberry one,” he replies, before he looks down at the article again. What line was he on?

“That narrows it down,” Rey teases. She crosses her arms and leans against the doorway. “Black, again, or something more adventurous?”

“Let’s do the midnight blue.”

“Oh, so you’re feeling extra adventurous tonight.”

“Hush, I’m working.”

Her laugh is sweet and lighthearted as she walks over, combing his fingers through his hair. Enough to massage his scalp gently, but not enough to mess up the locks he spent so long on this morning. He hums, closing his eyes as he feels her bend over and press her lips to the top of his head.

“Don’t work too long, okay?” she asks gently. “I want to take a shower before we have to go to the gala. And I want you to join me.”

“Join you, or … join you?”

“Depends on how quickly you get your work done,” she teases as her hands come to his shoulders, massaging gently through his button down. “Oh, and I finished that freelance piece for Luke. Can you look it over when you have a chance? No rush, the deadline’s Monday, so we have the weekend.”

“You know I’d love to,” Kylo promises, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingers.

Rey hums and gives his cheek one last kiss, his hair one last stroke before she leaves. “And we’re meeting Rose Tico tonight, right?”

“Yes. I’m impressed with her. So young and already editor-in-chief of the Vietnamese branch. I’m excited to meet her.”

“Me too,” Rey says, leaning in the doorway one last time. She smiles, watching him.

Kylo blinks, looking up at her. “What?”

“Nothing. Just I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’m going to get everything ready and make sure it’s all good, I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll meet you at home.”

He watches her walk away, leaning down the hallway and waiting for a few moments before he reaches for his phone and checks the most recent message.

Just landed.

Good. How was the flight?

Decent. Sebastian slept the whole time. I found it difficult.

You’d find sleeping on a down mattress that isn’t yours difficult.

You said it, I didn’t.

Do you have it?

Do I have what?

The ring?

Shit.

Kylo stares at the message, feeling his heart drop to the first floor, where no doubt Rey is striding through the double doors. He feels his hand shake and grip the phone, before it buzzes once more.

Of course I have the ring. It’s been in my carry on the entire time. I even checked it at the beginning and end of the flight. It’s safe and sound. And gorgeous, by the way.

Thank you.

Kylo sighs, reaching up to run his hand down his face, before he looks out to the city. The sun is setting quickly, casting the entire city in a gorgeous gold. It’s a view he’s seen many, many times before, but it still leaves him breathless.

As does she.

And he very much hopes that he gets to be left breathless for the rest of his life.