Work Text:
This season in the car shop is brutal for Y/n. The cold is never kind to civilian life, especially with their transportation. Cars get snow piled on them from a sudden overnight storm and suddenly 20 issues arise. And this is worse for the people getting off of winter break. Cars sit in the lots longer than they usually do which is never good for the engines. Then they wait a month to scrounge some money up, hoping their car doesn’t break down on the highway.
Y/n is struggling to keep up with this. Though, for once money isn't the issue. It's the traffic.
She sits at the desk in her office upstairs trying to get through the finance paperwork and also figure out the paychecks. Hoping she can get desk work done quickly to go downstairs and help with repairs. Everyone is trying to get home. Then a particular email in her inbox catches her eye.
“Deposit of $500.00 from Cavendish. B. Transaction description: Monthly Donation.”
Her nose crinkles a bit reading the name. Not that she isn't grateful for the money, she depends on it.
Cavendish has been…not necessarily pushy, but…
Rio walks into her second floor office, peeking in with a smile. “Y/n, Cavendish is here with an old Silverado.”
Overly present.
“Turn him away.” Y/n says dismissively.
“Okay, but he's not gonna leave.”
“I know~” She hums tiredly.
Everyone else seems to love Cavendish, and she can see why. He's respectful, he compliments everyone, tips generously, and donates monthly. It's a miracle they have the attention of a famous model and CEO so she understands their excitement. Rio especially, she's had a history in fashion before she switched to vehicle work.
Y/n is unsettled though. She prefers to stay out of his sight but he always insists on sticking around. She doesn't have the gull to face him and the others never really get around to asking him to leave. He's smart with his social skills, always gets them too distracted in conversation and lets them give him some extra time to stick around. It's not like he's in the way, and it's not like he's disturbing their work. He just sits around in the break room on his laptop like it's a coffee shop. He even brings in coffee as a gift.
She's tried using the excuse of his expensive cars bringing too much attention, but he's since been bringing in less high end models. So now Y/n just stays in her office, too anxious to face him.
“He brought you flowers again.” Rio adds before leaving.
Y/n just stays silent, focused on her work.
The flowers are the main issue with her. He only ever brings them to her, and the others just eat it up.
She doesn't want his attention, but his donations have kept them above water so she's on the fence about it. On one hand she's suspicious of his intentions and wants him to stop coming around, on the other hand she's worried that if he decides to stop donating the shop will crumble. “This sucks.”
Rio walks back down to the floor and finds the tall blonde guest in the break room where he always is, laptop open on his lap while he answers emails and such.
Rio doesn’t walk in fully but relays the message briefly. “So the boss is actually busy and our garages are full today. Sorry.”
Cavendish turns to look at Rio and offers a kind smile. “That’s quite alright. I’ll put the flowers in water for her.”
Rio smiles back. “So, it’s probably best not to stick around, I don’t think we’ll be able to squeeze you in.” She reiterates in a mumble.
“Oh, no, don’t worry, I understand.” His expression softens slightly with a hint of disappointment. He can tell when the boss doesn’t want him around. Well… That’s all the time actually.
“Is it alright if I stick around for a while?”
Rio taps her nail against the doorway. “Uh, I’m sure that’s fine.”
“Thank you, Rio.” He smiles warmly.
“Yeah, it’s no problem.”
When Rio leaves the room he closes his laptop and looks at the flowers he placed on the table nearby. He puts a lot of thought into the choices of flowers, but it never seems to affect the woman of interest. His intention at first was to decipher which flowers were her favorite but she’s been keeping her distance from him so it’s nearly impossible. Her coworkers don’t know her favorites either. He would make an assumption based on her reactions but she never comes out to see them in his presence and according to her employees she reacts the same to each bouquet. Disinterest mixed with a twisted expression is disgust or wariness.
“We have a local gardener who comes in often to donate. She gives them to him to handle, otherwise we’d be flooded with flowers.” That was Ghalla’s explanation. She makes attempts to be polite but she often comes off as rude because of her tone and expression. Cavendish has actually gotten used to the bunch, kinda like friends. He wished it was like that at least.
His hands are gentle as he unwraps the plastic from the stems. The vase the last bouquet was displayed in is now empty. The last ones would have wilted by now so he shouldn’t feel hurt but knowing they have no effect on her, the empty vase feels more like a constant rejection.
“She just gives them away…? Yeah, I should have figured.” He murmurs to himself with a humorless laugh. “She’s not a materialistic person.”
After an hour or so Y/n gets her checks written and closes the computer down, finally able to go downstairs. It's been a restless day and she's ready to eat dinner and lay down but that's how everyone else probably feels so she will help to get the work done faster.
As she turns the corner she bumps into someone who happens to smell like flowers.
Her hands clench as they recoil off each other and she braces her hand against the wall. Face tight with irritation bordering on anger, hands clenched on her hip and on the wall.
“I'm so sorry.” Cavendish reaches out politely.
Why is he still here?
Before he can touch her she takes a step back and puts her hands up, then walks around him without a word or a glance.
This leaves Cavendish frozen in place. Worse than rejection, utter disgust? She doesn't even want him to touch her.
"... I'm sorry!”
His call echoes off the empty walls of the garage hallway. She wouldn't respond anyway.
Then he thinks I should go now.
With that he gathers his stuff and takes his truck, and he leaves. He doesn't even like trucks, he likes low cars. He does so much for her attention and he can bet all his money she doesn't know his last name.
"This is pathetic. Honestly, why do you keep coming here…?” He rants to himself as he drives out of the neighborhood, entering onto the highway.
A 2 hour drive home. Alone in the car as always. Everything feels pointless right now.
Y/n spent the next 2 hours working tirelessly under car engines and between garages. Everyone clocked out about an hour ago but she still had to clean up everything and fill out completion work.
Now, after a shower and a shitty TV dinner she drags her feet to bed, in a room too cold to even sleep in, insulated with a blanket taped around her window. She's too tired to grab another blanket.
After Cavendish showers he heads straight to bed. Too tired to consider his routine, no energy left in him. The meetings he rushed to all morning, the lack of food due to poor appetite, he feels weak but he can't bring himself to do anything.
He lays in his bed, staring at the ceiling as his bedside lamp casts shadows off the textures of the plaster. The TV is on and playing some low budget action movie. Alone in a bed big enough to fit a small family, and he lays so close to the edge.
"... I've always wanted to go ice skating. Doesn't that sound fun?” He murmurs. “There's a rink near town square. I can take you…" As he speaks to the empty bed next to him his eyes redden around the rims. “Y/n…?” he purses his lips.
The next day is quiet in the shop. After the customers of last night's work pick up their cars there's little traffic. It's a miracle.
“I'm so tiiiired! It's so coooold!” Ryan whines as he leans his head on Ghalla's shoulder. Everyone is huddled by the heater in the break room, desperate to keep warm in the poorly insulated shop.
Y/n buttons her coat and covers her head with a beanie. “I'll be out front.”
“Why don't you stay in here where it's warm?” Dwayne asks, a fatherly presence in the shop. Always concerned about others.
“Someone's gotta shovel the snow.” Y/n says matter of factly as she buttons the gloves around her wrists.
“What do you mean?”
“Hm?”
Ghalla speaks up. “Cavendish came by earlier to shovel and salt the ground.”
"... Oh.”
Shocking. Not that he came by but he put in labor.
"Did he come inside?”
"No, he said he has work. Kinda crazy of him.”
“Yeah… pretty insane.”
Dwayne watches her with a knowing look. She's finally feeling guilty. Time to rub it in. “You know, he drives 2 hours to come here.”
“From the capital?”
“Yeah. 2 here and 2 back. 2 and a half if he takes that farmer's private road.”
“Krieger?”
“Mhmm. He knows him pretty well. He's allowed to pass through.”
Suddenly Y/n feels stupid.
"... I didn't know that.”
“I know. You never really let him talk to you.” It was a statement said with little judgement yet all the disappointment in the world. Fathers really know how to rub more salt in the guilt wound.
What do I say now…
~~~
Work is never calm at Whitehorse Ent. 20 floors of a building seems impressive and it is, but it's a hassle. Especially for a CEO so hands on in his career. Floor 2 needs his attention to confirm designs, floor 8 needs his appearance in a student presentation, and the basement needs his signature for supply arrivals. Never ending. When he's present it feels like things only pick up speed.
"Mr. Whitehorse? Your business trip has been moved to an earlier date.”
“When?”
“The 14th"
He sighs.
February 14th.
“What's the reason?”
“Preparations need to be extended to be able to meet the deadline and shipments won't arrive to the destination on time if you're there after the 14th.”
He's so overwhelmed.
“Thank you for telling me.”
His personal assistant stands next to him in his office as he slouches in his chair.
"... Sir, posture.”
“Not right now, please…"
She just shakes her head and looks back to her tablet in her arm. “You've been put onto a new facial routine. I suggest you start tonig—”
“Jen.” That came out sharper than he intended it to be. She goes silent. "... Thank you.”
Cavendish drags his feet into his home, another assistant before him to survey the property and ensure no intruders are present.
"The estate is clear. Have a good night Cavendish.”
"Thank you Tom. You too, drive safe.” Then as the door closes the entire home seems to go eerily quiet.
He looks to the couch and smiles. "I'm home!”
“Haha, nobody's there…"
He sees the gift basket on his kitchen counter stocked with the new skincare products he's been assigned with. It's only because he skipped out on his routine that those imperfections have been visible. They're quick to try and correct them.
His hand touches his face awkwardly, dragging the skin down. His pores are clogged and his skin is drier than usual but what can't be covered with makeup anyway?
He leaves the basket alone and showers. The most he can do is wash off all the stress, maybe let the cold surround him to distract him.
He’s too tired. Too tired, too fucking sick.
All the lights in the house are left on most of the time even when he's not in the room. Even when he sleeps. He can't bring himself to turn them off. The sound of the TV keeps his mind at ease and the illumination of the kitchen when he takes a trip to the bathroom is oddly, sickeningly comforting.
When he dries off he feels the chill of the season nip at his skin. Odd for indoors. His heater is on and the thermometer reads it’s below the normal 71॰F.
Oh…
Soon the cops arrive at his house. He sits on his porch swing, disassociating as they ask him questions. He doesn't really care what happened at this point. He just wants some peace.
The next day he's in his office at work staring at his computer at the unanswered emails.
“Sir, posture.”
He doesn't answer this time, just obliges. Rolls his shoulders back as he straightens his spine and sits forward to engage in work. He can't mope forever.
“You should have received your new skincare package last night.”
“I didn’t have the time, my apologies.”
~~~
“I'll be gone all day. You guys gonna be alright?”
“Your dad is stationed nearby so we'll be fine.” Ghalla says calmly. “Do what you gotta do.”
“Okay, just call if something happens.”
“Will do. Drive safe”
She hadn't mentioned it to them, otherwise she wouldn't hear the end of it. The coos, the moans, the pokes to her arm and cheek and teasing questions. Besides, it's more personal.
~~~
A desk assistant calls Cavendish’s office phone from the ground floor. A blaring ring from his landline on the corner of his large glass desk, he grunts “Mr. Whitehorse, a visitor by the name Y/n is here to see you.”
He nearly jumps out of his seat in shock. When he feels Jen’s gaze on him he attempts to correct himself and lowers to sit back down. “Last name?”
“Last name…?” The voice muffles as if to press the receiver to her shoulder to speak to the guest again. “Reyes"
His heartrate spikes in that moment. “Send her up!” It was almost automatic, thoughtless. Maybe a bit desperate.
“Will do.”
Cavendish runs a hand through his hair, at the disapproval of Jen. Messing up his locks, caring less and less about how presentable he is, especially to an incoming guest. He doesn’t give her a moment to correct him though. “Jen, I'd like the office to myself during this visit.”
Jen side-eyes the man but does not argue. She steps out quietly.
Soon enough an escort knocks on the door. “Mr. Whitehorse. The Reyes girl.”
“Come in.”
The escort opens the door for her and Y/n walks in awkwardly, nodding timidly to the man who walked her up. “Thank you…"
Cavendish's brain falls into fumes suddenly and he is speechless. No greeting, no reaction, nothing. Just a stare.
“Hey.” She starts.
"... Hi.” He sighs the word out. “What… brings you here?”
“Oh, your donation deposit bounced so I just wanted to make sure everything is good with that.”
His expression falls immediately.
"... I'm joking, I just want to talk.”
Not funny.
"I'm surprised you drove this far.” He says with a hint of dejection as he folds his hands under his chin.
“You make that drive all the time to come see me.” She states with a gentleness in her tone he's never heard before. He didn't know she could be so soft. “I've been rude. No, I've been an asshole to you.”
He doesn't deny it out of politeness, because it's true. It's been painful to him. Every passive rejection, every avoidant glance away, every hour she spends in her office while he stares at the base of the stairway waiting to get a glance at her because she barely graces him with the littlest of pleasures. Now she's here in his office.
"You look freezing.” He comments.
“You look horrible in this lighting.” She retorts. "... I didn't know what to bring, so I… I dunno, I'm horrible with words and I was worried I would say something wrong but even so I… I dunno, here.” She pulls a small envelope from her pocket. “For after I leave.”
He takes the envelope, trying to control his shaking hand. He's tempted to reach a little further to let their fingers touch.
She then speaks again, clearly in a haze of tension. "Can I apologize?”
He looks at her again with a softening in his eyes reserved for one person in this world. "... You can say anything and I'll listen to every word.” He hums. He means it.
Y/n blushes slightly but doesn't turn away. She has to face him. “I'm sorry for making you feel like a burden. My own opinions made me the kind of person I detest. You are nothing but kind and giving to us and the others love your company. I pushed you away by making you feel unwelcome.”
He looks down as he listens to her. What can he say? “I know you hate me, I just want to know why.” He says suddenly.
She pauses and looks to the side with an awkward tilt of the head. "I was more scared of you than I was hateful.”
His expression softens with confused pain. “Scared?”
Her shoulders raise with unsureness. "A tall man with money comes into my store that’s hanging by a thread. You could ruin my life so fast.”
He sighs softly with despondance. "I wanted you to trust me. I knew that wouldn't happen over night, I just couldn’t bring myself to pull away.”
"And I knew you were a good person but my own personal experiences made me detest you.” Her lips purse. “I don't want to be that person… You deserve to feel welcome at the very least.”
Cavendish feels a flutter in his chest. Seeing her, hearing her, talking with her. It's all he ever wanted. The addition of at least means there’s room for so much more. He wants everything from her.
"I also, um…" She holds up a small paper bag. “Here.”
His eyes follow her hand and his attention piques. “What is this?” He asks as she sets the parchment handle in the proximal of his hand.
“You give me flowers and I don't always keep them around. Mostly because there's a lot of customers that come in and are allergic,” Is that an excuse or an explanation? “but I hand the bouquets off to a friend who's a gardener. He also keeps bees and makes honey so he's been keeping your flowers alive and they've been keeping his bees busy.”
Cavendish pulls out a jar of honey. Not a store bought one, it's in a mason jar with a label stuck on written “fall bouquets"
“I haven't opened it yet.” She adds.
"... From the fall? Wait, how does he keep the flowers alive? And the bees?”
“In the winter? Yeah, he keeps them in a temperature controlled environment so they work comfortably. Kinda tricking them into thinking it's spring.”
"... I'm impressed… and I'm grateful. Now my tea will taste like my love for you.”
Her face reddens again and she shoves her hands in her coat pockets, clearing her throat.
"You're easier to fluster than I thought.” he says thoughtfully. No tease.
"I don't get flirtations a lot unless I'm at the bar, so… and you're way too sincere.”
“Well, I mean it.” He holds the jar tight in his hand. "In all the women I've met I've never seen such sincerity and devotion like you. I know a good person when I meet them and they're rare around here.” He sets the jar down to take a step towards her. “Is it so weird that I don't wanna let you slip away?”
She stays silent for a moment, awkward. He knows he's being overbearing and she doesn't have to answer.
"... I just want to see you, Y/n.”
Her nose is red and she avoids eye contact but she's not avoidant of him. “You can come to the shop whenever you like. Just be careful. There's a lot of violence in the area and I don't want them targeting you.”
Cavendish smiles, he can't help it. She's finally letting him in on her own terms. “And you can come here whenever you like. Just don't let anyone push you around.”
She shakes her head like she's trying to unscramble her thoughts. “I appreciate it… I appreciate everything actually. Thank you, Cavendish.”
“For what exactly?” He teases her. Hoping for a brief sense of pride if she can name a few things. He doesn’t expect her to.
“The flowers, the gifts, for treating my friends so well, for putting up with me, for shoveling my walk and getting me new utilities.” She goes on. “I didn't know you did so much, I should have been more attentive.”
“I couldn't blame you.” He takes her hands gently and sits on the sofa so he's lower than her, able to look up at her, making her look him in the eyes. Give her a sense of authority over him.
"You were always so busy, I can't expect you to drop everything to talk to me. I was selfish sometimes.” He explains. “I know how important work is, and I know you have little wiggle room to make time off. The fact that you're here means more to me than anything.”
"Well it was gonna be a slow day.” She shrugs.
“Because of the snow?”
They both look out the window
"I haven't been in this city for years.” She admits to an attempt to fill the silence before it gets tense again.
“Really,” he tilts his head. Then a smile hits his face and she turns back to look at her. “Do you like ice skating?”
“I’ve never tried it.” She hums in thought, not rejection.
"When can I pick you up then?”