Part 6: Endgame
The reception area of W&H Industries was the perfect representation of everything else about the company. It was cool (but not uninviting), modern (but not ugly), and reeked of power and wealth. It had been a Fortune 500 company for several years now, and everything about the company—and the waiting area—was impressive.
The silence was broken occasionally by the ringing of the receptionist’s phone as Buffy sat nervously, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her charcoal pencil skirt, waiting to be called in for her introductory presentation. She flipped through her laptop case, taking inventory, even though she knew everything necessary was there from the two previous times she had checked… in the last five minutes.
Extra battery, paper copy, back-up flash drive… check. Skirt—straight. Blouse—crisp and buttoned correctly. No runs in the pantyhose. Hair fine. I’m good, I’m fine… I’m going to slay them in there… I’m going to breathe a new life into this firm. Breathe… breath? Oh God, what if my breath smells?
Buffy discreetly covered her mouth with one hand and breathed into it, measuring its minty-freshness. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blonde receptionist suppressing a smile, and she resolved to be more discrete about her total mental meltdown.
“Sorry,” she murmured, “nerves, you know?”
The receptionist smiled reassuringly. “You’ll be fine. I’m sure the Director of Personnel wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you were the best person for the job. You know, they interviewed an insane number of applicants for your position. He wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t the best and brightest. Now, all you have to do is go in there and give your presentation to the higher-ups. There’s only twelve of them, plus our new CEO, which admittedly, is probably a little nerve-jangling for you, but you just have to go in there and be brilliant! Knock their socks off! Easy as pie.”
The receptionist smiled encouragingly at Buffy.
The whole encouragement thing? Not this chick’s strongest suit. ‘Just knock their socks off.’ Fine, no problem.
Just as she was sinking deeper into her mire of self-doubt, the door to the boardroom opened, and the Director of Personnel who’d hired Buffy, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, gave a nod to the receptionist, who turned back to smile chirpily at Buffy.
“They’re ready for you, Ms. Summers.” As Buffy passed her desk, she added, in a stage whisper, “You’ll be fantastic… and if not, with your credentials, I’m sure you can find something else real quickly.”
Buffy missed a step. This girl definitely missed her calling as a motivational speaker.
She entered the room and her eyes quickly scanned over the thirteen people seated around the table, mentally cataloguing their faces for later reference. Most seemed to be in their early thirties, like her; clearly W&H Industries made a practice of taking chances on young talent.
Wesley gave her a brief introduction around the table, and she smiled what she hoped was engagingly at several suited men, one pretty female redhead, and---OhdearGod.
Her heart dropped, her smile froze, and her blood ran cold.
There, seated in what was undoubtedly the Power Seat at the head of the large mahogany table, was William. Or who she had known as William. The blood rushing to her ears almost drowned out Wesley introducing the man in question as “Our acting, and soon-to-be permanent CEO, Spike Giles.”
She thought for a minute that she was seeing things. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…
But no, it was William. Same sharp cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and aquiline features. The only thing different was the hair, which had been bleached almost white and slicked back, and only served to highlight the sleek angles of his face. An odd look for a CEO (or acting-CEO), but it worked for him. Made him look more dangerous.
Had it not been for the scarred eyebrow that twitched upward for a split second, Buffy would have thought that he did not recognize her at all. Spike… Mr. Giles… smiled and nodded politely, offering a totally neutral, “Pleasure to finally meet the woman who so impressed Wesley, Ms. Summers. We’re eager to hear what you have planned for revitalizing our marketing division.”
And then he turned away, giving her no further notice as the introductions continued around the table.
Buffy got through the rest with a frozen smile plastered on her face, fumbling as she connected her laptop to the projector, giving herself time to gather her runaway thoughts.
This was the mother of all catastrophes, really. Standing in the most panic-inducing, high-pressure moment of her life, and realizing you’ve slept with your boss. Not only slept with, her mind mocked. Been on your knees in front of. Let him turn you inside out and upside down, and begged for more.
Her Inner Monologue and the chirpy blonde receptionist needed to run off and give self-help lectures together.
Taking a deep breath, she looked back up at the table full of people, who were looking at her expectantly. Spike, however, could not be bothered. He was typing away on his PDA, not ignoring her but not looking at her either. Not even registering your presence.
The blood burning in Buffy’s ears boiled, and she narrowed her eyes slightly. Oh, this was going to be fun. The lights dimmed, and it was time. Go big or go home.
She channeled all her anger at Spike’s casual dismissal of her into her presentation, and she put on one hell of a show.
She had charts, graphs, and statistics. She had PowerPoints for illustration, PowerPoints for persuasion, and PowerPoints for planning. She had drive, skill, ambition, and passion.
She had also accidentally pierced the projection screen slightly with the collapsible pointer, but she chalked it up to an unavoidable casualty of the presentation.
As she tore through slide after slide of charts, market research, and data, with more passion and fire than she had exhibited for her work in a long time, she could see the various board members start to lean forward slightly with interest, and by the time she clicked the lights back on at the end, several were even nodding in approval.
She would have felt wonderful if she hadn’t been sick to her stomach.
* * *
It was almost 5pm, and Buffy sat in her beautiful new office, with her head in her hands. The belongings she had shipped from Sunnydale were still sitting in stacks of boxes around the room exactly where they had been deposited by the delivery company.
Several of the execs had taken her out to lunch after her presentation, a nice, welcoming gesture that she would have enjoyed more had she not been so distracted her skin practically itched. She had kept her head in the game and her composure on, and had managed to charm them as well, but she barely touched her food.
After the late lunch, she had retreated back to her office, ostensibly to unpack, but she couldn’t bring herself to open a single box. Her entire business life was surrounding her in shipping cardboard, the business life she’d worked so long and hard to build, and had taken the chance and up and moved out here.
The business life she was watching go up in smoke. She had slept with her boss. Sure, she hadn’t known he was her boss at the time, but still. She’d slept with her boss. She was relatively certain this was not something covered in Hints From Heloise.
And so she sat, elbows propped up on her desk, listlessly checking her email as she waited for 5pm to roll in.
She wasn’t at all surprised when the receptionist from earlier popped her head in and informed Buffy that Mr. Giles would like to see her in his office before she left for the day. Not surprised at all.
* * *
She entered Spike’s office slowly, unsure of what to expect.
Spike was sitting behind an enormous desk, checking his email, and looked briefly up at her, waving her towards a chair while he finished at his computer.
Buffy elected to stand instead, busying herself by taking in the details of his office. Obviously expensive, obviously professionally decorated. There were scads of black leather, very modern furniture, and scarlet slashes of color here and there. Like the man holding court in the middle of it, the office was both comfortable and edgy.
The lover-formerly-known-as-William finished his work, put the laptop into sleep mode, and focused his undivided attention on her.
“Buffy.” It wasn’t a question. He was testing the name in his mouth, weighing it and finding it much more suitable than ‘Elizabeth.’ “Buffy?”
She understood what he was asking, and answered him, not being able to meet his penetrating gaze just yet. “My mom gave it to me. It’s not a family name or anything; she just liked it. People just always seem to assume that it has to be short for something, that nobody could be cruel enough to name a little blonde girl ‘Buffy.’ For some reason, they generally assume it’s short for ‘Elizabeth.’”
She steeled herself to meet his eyes, watching him as he stood and moved around his desk towards her.
His expression remained entirely too neutral for her liking, and Buffy’s blood started to pound in her ears again. Here she was taking the chance of a lifetime, abandoning everything she had built for herself in Sunnydale to take this opportunity, only to have it blow up spectacularly in her face. And here he was, calm as could be, studying her like she was a problem that needed to be solved.
She had opened herself up to him on The Island, told him things--done things—that she had never dared do before, and she had laid herself bare for him. She could feel her cheeks flaming as she was assaulted by a montage of images from the days they had shared, a cruel contrast to their current situation. Frustration and rage mounted higher in her until finally Spike spoke.
Suddenly he couldn’t meet her eyes. She had given up everything to do this. Quit her old job, sold the family house, and moved up here on a wing and the promise of this job. And he couldn’t even look at her?
There was pregnant silence for a solid minute, and then he sighed.
“Pet, I think it might be best if—" He never got a chance to finish his sentence.
“You ASSHOLE!” Buffy’s anger boiled over, and she snatched the nearest thing off his desk--a delicate crystal vase brimming with English roses--and threw it at him.
Spike barely had time to duck as the vase sailed past him, smashing against the wall and dripping crystal shards and rose-scented water onto the thick cream carpeting.
He gaped at the sparkling wreckage for a moment, before turning to gape at Buffy, his composure completely gone. “Bloody hell, woman, you almost took my fucking head OFF!”
Buffy was too far into her ire and righteous indignation to care that she had just heaved an object at the head of her new (acting) CEO. It was all too much, just too much. To have shared an amazing weekend with this man, who she had finally opened up to, only to have to say goodbye. And just when she had started to reconcile the loss of what-could’ve-been…
“You deserved it! You were about to say something AWFUL!”
“How do you know it was gonna be awful?”
“Have you ever heard a positive sentence that started with the words ‘I think it might be better if…’?”
Her hands were on her hips, and her eyes were still narrowed in anger, but her voice was starting to return to a pitch suitable for humans rather than dogs. Spike relaxed his posture somewhat, realizing that the worst of the storm had passed.
“I just thought that maybe it might be easier for both of us, considering what happened, if—“
“What?” She challenged him. “It might be better if what? If you sent me off to work in some remote branch of your office so you don’t have to, what, see me? Remember what we did? Something like that?”
All the defensiveness drained out of Spike. She was right; that was exactly what he had been about to suggest. “I just thought it might be better for you if—“
Wrong words.
“Well, isn’t that so fucking nice. You thought it would be better for me…” Buffy’s shoulders squared as she stalked over to where Spike was standing, stopping mere inches from his nose as she glared up at him, “If you shipped me off to some office where I don’t have the same opportunities that I’d have here, the same resources, the same anything.
“Can I tell you, just for a moment, how SICK I am of people making decisions for me? My whole life, everybody’s always known better than me, made choices for me, done what they thought would be in my best interest. But nobody ever asked what Buffy wanted. And so, for the first time in my life, I started making choices. I abandon my old house, my old neighborhood, my old LIFE to take a chance with some strange situation.
“And so of course it blows up in my face!” Buffy backed away from Spike, her voice slowly getting quieter, eerie calm, talking to herself more than she was to Spike. “Because that’s what Buffy’s life does. It blows up in her face.”
Spike remained quiet, waiting.
“I gave up EVERYTHING for this opportunity. I get here, and find out that my new boss is the guy I just spent four days screwing the crap out of? The guy that I paid for sex?” Her voice was starting to trail off. “The guy who’s standing there, emotionless, watching crazy-girl-he’s-seen-naked rant her brains out in his office…”
Her arms fell to her sides, limp, all the fight gone out of her as she tried to blink away the tears of anger and embarrassment that were forming.
* * *
Spike stared at the tiny blonde standing in front of him.
It was the word ‘emotionless’ that had keyed him in.
Suddenly he realized what the vase-heaving had been about.
“Is that what you think, luv? You think I don’t care? That you didn’t affect me?”
Buffy stared down at her hands, her avoidance of his question giving Spike all the confirmation he needed.
Silently he backed away from her, crossing behind his desk to retrieve his suit jacket from where he had carefully draped it over the back of his chair. Slipping a hand inside the breast pocket, he retrieved the monogrammed silver cigarette case and, flipping it open, held it wordlessly out to her.
Curious, she reached over and took it from his hand.
There, nestled in the velvet lining were eleven Dunhills, and—ohhh!
The twelfth space was occupied by half of one black lacquered chopstick, broken perfectly to fit inside the case. Buffy stood, running her finger over the gold Chinese character inlaid on it.
“Haven’t been able to think of anything but.”
She stared for a moment longer. “Do you know what this character means?”
Spike shrugged, curious. “Dunno, pet, just figured it was a pretty bauble you picked up somewhere.”
“It means ‘patience.’” She refocused on his face. “If I affected you so much, why did you want to send me away?”
He moved closer, tipping her chin up towards him. “Didn’t want to send you away… just figured you weren’t the kind of girl who’d want to be doin’ the boss.”
She breathed deeply, inhaling the familiar smell of all that was Wil—Spike, and curled one hand against his chest.
“Isn’t that my decision to make?” The question was half-joking and half-serious, but her point was well-taken.
He nodded, hypnotized by her lips as he leaned closer. “That was my favorite vase, you know.”
She gave an impish, unrepentant smile. “You deserved it.”
He grinned, and then sobered. “This isn’t gonna to be easy, you know? I mean, sodding Rule Number Three notwithstanding, all the human resources policies we’d be violatin’…”
She pulled him closer, refusing to back down. “Nothing worth having is ever easy.”
He smirked at her, his voice taking on a throaty purr. “Is that it, pet? You plannin’ on having me?”
“Down, boy,” she pulled herself away slightly when he moved his hands down to the swell of her hips, and smiled despite herself when he pouted slightly.
“No having of me then?” He sounded like a petulant child denied his favorite toy.
“Spike.” He dropped his joking expression at her tone and focused on what she was saying. “We already know we’re good at that. We have to figure out if we’re good at… the rest of it.”
“The rest of it?” He searched her face with his eyes for a second and then, finding what he was looking for, let his features met into a smile as he pulled her close. “As you wish.”
He kissed her. Slowly, softly, and perfectly. It was everything they had started on The Island and more. It had no boundaries and no expiration dates.
Buffy pulled him closer, threading her fingers through his hair, knocking some of the curls loose. They kissed until they reluctantly had to come up for air. Spike growled and pulled back finally, smoothing the errant curls as he pressed his forehead against hers, both of them breathing slowly and deeply.
“So what now, luv?”
“Dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes, dinner,” she confirmed. “You’re taking me out to eat. Somewhere nice.” She grinned at him, brushing one more kiss against his lips. “I’m starving, and we have to have a real first date at some point. Some place that has steak, preferably. I’m in need of steakage.”
“And then…” he prompted, “after there’s steak…?”
Buffy grinned and laced her fingers through his. “We’ll figure that out… after.”
A full-blown grin spread across Spike’s features, and he looked more in that moment like the William that she had first met one month ago.
He stole another light kiss and then grabbed his jacket, towing her after him with slightly more eagerness than he normally would have considered manly.
The door swung shut behind them, and Spike’s email account chimed, unheard, in the empty office. “One new message.”
My boy,
Sometimes what we want and what we need are the same thing. Besides, I’ve never known you to follow a rule you didn’t want to in the entire time I’ve known you.
~A
*The End*
A/N: “Of all the gin joints in all the towns…” is from Casablanca (1942).
A/N2: Hints from Heloise is a collection of advice columns from the early 60s on such things as food, travel, and general household maintenance. Think ‘Dear Abby’ meets ‘Ladies Home Journal.’
A/N3: “As you wish” is from The Princess Bride (1987). It’s one of my favoritest movies of all time, plus it features a ridiculously hot blond rogue who goes to the ends of the earth for the woman he loves. Hmmm… wonder why I like that?
FINAL NOTES: I wanted to thank everyone who has read and reviewed, because knowing people were enjoying this truly did encourage me to keep expanding the story. A very, VERY special thank you to my beautiful beta, Mari: You took a chance on me as a writer, and you truly helped shape this. You weren’t just a proofreader, you were an editor who coached me through the hard parts and showed me how to do this more skillfully—I just can’t thank you enough! *hugs*
Lastly: I’m considering writing another fic, something that starts in canon, S6, and goes AU after “After Life.” However, it will be longer, much darker in the beginning, and the smut will be slow to arrive. Any interest?
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