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lilhemmo · 6 years

Text

More Creamer Please || l.h.

Summary: Luke is a famous CEO and you work for a magazine that makes money off of his late nights and poor decisions. You try your hardest to keep him out of the bad spotlight, but your boss has other ideas.

Rated: T+ (language, i believe, and also a relatively sensual situation but NO smut) Word Count: 14.2k (holy schmokes batman!!!) MASTERLIST | WATTPAD | ASK BOX

October

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and hot ink are the status quo at Explicit Critique Weekly.

You landed an internship at Explicit Critique six years ago, straight out of high school. Back then you were just a local journalist for your school newspaper, but your aunt pulled some strings and managed to work you into the mix at the magazine.

The sound of your heels against the tile floor brings everyone’s attention. You smile and hand out the assignments, taking your own and plopping it on your desk.

The wheels of your chair squeak as you turn to look at your assistant-slash-intern, “Arielle, I’m going to go get myself a cup of coffee, would you like for me to grab you one?”

She looks at you nervous, tucking her dark curls behind her ear, “A-Aren’t I supposed to be the one getting you coffee?”

You snort and shake your head, standing back to your feet, “I want you to learn to write, not be shoved into a stereotype.” You push your chair in and walk to the coffee bar, shouting over your shoulder, “But I better hear those keys clacking!”

Arielle ducks her head back into her computer screen, fingertips flying across the keys. You chuckle to yourself as you walk to the coffee bar and pour the two of you each a cup.

Pouring creamer in your cup is interrupted by a certain someone speaking a little too profoundly about their newest topic.

“I got Mitchell to grab a few shots of him last night,” Kyle grins, showing the photos to whoever it is standing next to him. “The piece is going to expose him to filth, I swear.”

“As if the last five ‘exposés’ you did on Luke Hemmings weren’t going to ‘expose him to filth’,” you snort, stirring the creamer into your coffee. You chuckle and shake your head, “Kyle, you really should find another Forbes playboy to focus on. This whole Hemmings crap is just getting old.”

“That’s not what my followers are saying,” Kyle smirks as he drops his left eye in a wink. He shrugs, “You’re just the business section, honey, what do you know about gossip?”

You roll your eyes, “I know most of it is a load of crap.”

“Hemmings is just as bad as I make him out to be,” Kyle sighs, “and you know it.”

“I actually-”

“Whatever,” he holds his hand up in your direction. “Go back to your numbers.”

You sigh and shake your head, looking over at the intern standing next to Kyle, “Dylan, don’t let him taint you, sweetheart.”

Kyle scoffs and pulls the intern toward his office, murmuring something about Luke Hemmings. You turn and walk back to your desk with the coffee cups in your hands, ready to face the day with a double shot of caffeine and a smile.

January

“Excuse me?” you look up to see your editor standing in the doorway of your office.

You smile, pushing your glasses on top of your head. You put the cup of coffee you hold delicately in your hands down to rest against your desk, “Hey, Laura.” You nod at the paperwork in her hands, “I see you got to read my article.”

“Yes,” she sighs, shaking her head as she thumbs through the pages. She makes eye contact with you, “And I’m not publishing it.”

“Why not?” you stand to your feet. “It’s a good piece! You know I wouldn’t give it to you if I didn’t think it was worth publishing.”

“It’s not that,” Laura sighs and steps toward your desk. She lays the paperwork on top of your keyboard, “The gossip column is writing about his spiraling social life and the fashion page is discussing how the leopard print shirt and painted nails absolutely do not work in his favor.”

“So?” you tilt your head in confusion. You cross your arms over your chest and lean your hip into your desk, “I don’t see the problem.”

“I don’t want Explicit to have conflicting views, darling,” she explains as if you’re a simpleton. “If you’re talking about how charitable and giving Luke Hemmings is being, it’s going to seem contradictory to what Kyle and Sabrina are saying.”

“So, Hemmings can’t be an eccentrically dressed philanthropist?” You laugh, covering your mouth after the sound escapes. “You guys didn’t drag Jeff Goldblum through the mud, and I swear I saw Sabrina praising Harry Styles for painting his fingernails that one time.”

Laura sighs and drums her fingers against her forearm, looking anywhere but at you. You groan, rubbing your hands over your eyes, “I just don’t understand the personal vendetta this magazine has for Luke Hemmings.”

“Oh honey, it has nothing to do with a ‘vendetta’,” she smiles and pushes her hair out of her face. “Luke Hemmings is creating his own scandals, I don’t even have to fabricate anything - and it’s making us money. Subscription numbers spike every time we plaster him drunk on the cover, and single sales are through the roof any time he’s with another girl.”

“This is why I couldn’t stand that week you made me write the gossip column in an attempt to ‘culture me’.”” You run your fingers through your hair. There’s a sour feeling in your stomach and you know its origin. You look across at Laura, “It’s a good piece, Laura. He’s doing a good thing for the community.”

“Talk about it another week, after this recent redhead fling dies down, okay?” She winks at you before turning and walking out of your office, clearly leaving you no choice in the matter.

“Okay,” you sigh, sitting back down in your chair and kicking up your feet. You look down at the words on your paper, “Last minute topic about Dave Ramsey, here we go.”

March

The panel goes much smoother than you ever imagined. Arielle is taking perfect notes and you are ready for the questioning part to come up so you can ask about the recent foundation set up for the minority students in struggling neighborhoods.

“All right,” Ben Hemmings smiles, taking his seat with his brothers, “we’ll take your questions now.”

Every hand in the room shoots straight up and you bide your time, knowing that you’ll catch them in the middle of something and ask your own questions in due time.

“Ashley?” Ben nods, leaning against the arm of his chair.

The mocha-skinned reporter from your rival Pretty People Magazine stands to her feet and rattles a question off from her notepad. You notice the way the youngest of the brothers curls his lip at the inquiry, shifting in his seat.

Another few questions are asked and you recognize Kyle’s name called. You roll your eyes and look down the aisle as he rattles off his question: “So, Luke, is it true that you’ve spent half of your interest and distribution in the company on your new house in Beverly Hills?”

You can’t help it as it slips out: “If you knew anything you’d know where most of that interest went.”

Luke seems to pick up on your comment, his light brow quirking as he stares at you. You can’t tell if his focus is cold or just calculating. He sits forward, lacing his hands together as he leans toward the microphone in front of him.

“What does that mean?”

He’s fighting a smirk and you can tell. You take a deep breath and your skin crawls as you realize everyone is watching you closely.

“I’m referencing the A Child Succeeds When We Meet Their Needs foundation you recently, well, founded,” you chuckle, tapping your pen against the notepad in your hands. You try your hardest not to kick over the thermos filled to the brim with caramel coffee. You bite your lip, “That was actually what I was going to ask you about.”

Luke raises a brow and leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and looking relatively amused. He chuckles, “Ask away.”

April

“You’re all the same!” he blurts, pushing a camera out of his way. His middle finger raises and you sigh at the sight; you can practically smell the liquor on his breath from feet away.

The humanity in you wants to leave him alone, but the reporter in you wants to ask him a million questions. You let the reporter win out, and you step forward.

“Luke?” you call out to him, hoping he hears your voice over the other rambunctious journalists and paparazzi. “Hey, uh, can I talk to you?”

He rolls his eyes and pushes past you, the lights blinding his eyes as he makes his way out of the club.

“Hey!” you shout at him, trying to keep your strides in line with his own. “I was trying to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” he turns on his heel and you get a glimpse of his irises behind the sunglasses. His blue eyes are rimmed in red and the whites are bloodshot. “Everyone is talking at me,” he pushes his fingertip into your collarbone, “but I ain’t talkin’ back to ‘em.”

With that, he turns and leaves.

The next day, there’s a photo with him in your face, hand near your throat, the caption titling: Luke Hemmings, Millionaire Menace?

You sigh, reading the headline of your own magazine.

In the lower corner, a bright yellow star is filled with white text: “Get the exclusive from our very own reporter!”

There’s not enough caffeine and creamer to fix this.

You’re not sure what brought you to the Hemmings Co. building so late that night.

“Thank you,” you turn and hand some cash to the taxi driver. “Keep the change.”

He thanks you and drives away, the yellow car blending into the streets easily. You sigh and force yourself up the steps, holding onto the railing to steady yourself. If you weren’t a seasoned journalist, you wouldn’t have noticed the various paparazzi stationed in random locations on the lawn and in their vehicles.

“Hello,” a front desk agent greets you. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” you nod, trying to formulate some sort of lie in your head to tell this woman. You cough, covering your mouth with your hand, as you clutch your cold coffee in the other, “I, uh, I have a meeting with Luke.”

The way her brow cocks upward would make you laugh if you weren’t so disheveled. You take a deep breath and she turns her attention to her computer, clicking and tapping away.

“Well, I don’t see an appointment on his calendar,” she forces her lips into a smile. Her eyes lock with yours and you swear she can see right through you, “I can get in touch with Mr. Hemmings if you would like and reschedule?”

“No, no,” you shake your head, leaning up on the countertop. “See, I wanted to apologize for what the Explicit said in our last article and he told me to come here. I just figured he’d put it on his calendar.”

The secretary stares at you blankly and after a moment she speaks up again, “Okay. Let me just get in touch with Mr. Hemmings and let him know you’re here.”

You nod to her but your heart is racing because you know as soon as she calls Luke, he’ll tell her the truth and you’ll be pushed away. The lie you told her was a partial truth – you did come here to apologize.

Your eyes skim the room as she picks up her phone and dials an extension, waiting on the rings to go through. You manage to find the legend to the levels of the building, noting that the CEO office is on level twelve.

As the secretary’s back is turned to you, you pluck yourself away from the counter and rush to an elevator. You watch her eyes connect with yours as the elevator doors shut and the number twelve flashes at the top of your lift.

The ride up to his floor is excruciatingly slow. Your palms are sweating and you pray that your blazer hides your armpits long enough for you to get in and get out.

The elevator opens and you come face-to-face with Luke Hemmings.

“Oh, God,” he groans, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. “What the fu-Why are you here?!”

You bite your lip, trying your best not to cower away from him. You sigh, taking a step forward, “Look, I just want to apologize for the other day, all right?”

“A-Apo-apologize?” he wheezes, covering his mouth. “After that exposé your stupid magazine did on me, I’ll be lucky if my brothers ever want me to have a seat at the table again.”

“That’s what I’m here about!” you edge into the conversation, stepping out of the elevator before it closes you back inside. You grunt, tugging on your hair, “I didn’t give them any of those quotes, and they ran it without checking with me first.”

Luke rolls his eyes, “I don’t know how you work for them.”

He tuts, adding before you can butt in, “And I don’t know how you are always drinking coffee. Stuff is s’bitter.”

“I-I, uh,” you’re taken aback by his comment about your caffeine addiction. You recover, “I’ve been there for a long time,” you shrug, crossing your arms. “Laura means well.”

“Means well?” he spits, throwing his head back in laughter. You feel a pang on your heart but you try to push it to the side. He snorts, “People who mean well don’t talk about the ‘floozies’ that I bring home from the bar.”

“I-I,” you swallow and he chuckles again. Luke nods at you, crossing his arms over his chest, “Exactly. No words for me, huh? That’s a first for you, isn’t it darling?”

“Look,” you find your confidence, taking a step forward so you’re close to him now. “I came here to apologize, not be verbally assaulted. I’m-”

“That’s ironic coming from you, princess,” Luke raises a brow, tilting his body downward so he’s standing over you. “I walk out those doors and I’m verbally assaulted. Doesn’t feel so great, does it?”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, frustration building up like smoke in your lungs. “That’s all I came here to say.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, both staring one another down with your arms crossed over your bodies.

“Then you can leave,” he breaks the quiet, his jaw muscle quivering with tension.

You grit your teeth together, “You’re not going to accept my apology?”

“Apology pending,” his nostrils flare.

Luke leans forward and for some reason you’re wondering if he’s going to kiss you. His hand brushes by your elbow and just as you swear he’s going to grip you and push you against the elevator, kissing the apologies straight out of your lungs, he presses the button to call for the elevator.

You find your eyes unable to focus on any one part of his body and the cologne in the air is making you dizzy.

He snaps his fingers and your cheeks turn cherry red, “Like what you see, darling?”

“Pig,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Hey, you’re the one checking me out,” he throws his hands in the air in defense. “I was just the one noticing things. Kind of like a journalist. Except,” he tilts his head downward for dramatic effect, “I only tell the truth.”

You feel the heat of tears pressing against the backs of your eyelids, and so you turn around and avoid making eye contact at all costs. The elevator makes a sound as the doors slide open and you force yourself to walk away without making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat one final time, hoping that your words make it through his thick skull.

There’s something in his crystalline eyes that you can’t quite make out as anything other than puzzlement.

You don’t have time to ask him as the elevator doors close between your bodies, separating you once again.

May

The first thing you wanted to do was to get even, to act on your feelings.

You wanted to write your very own expose about how Luke Hemmings is exactly who everyone thinks he is.

And then you find out he donated half a million dollars to cancer research, and your heart softens.

You stick steady on your course, reporting about the Hemmings Co. charitable foundations and donations. You talk about the stock prices and the business meetings. You discuss other things too, of course, such as Apple and Samsung. You make sure to keep the rumors that you’re practically drooling over Luke Hemmings at bay.

You would never drool over Luke.

You’re not sure where your obvious overall care for the man comes from. Surely it’s because he’s a good person and he gives people houses and money and jobs. There’s no chance that it’s because he has nice hair and pretty eyes and full lips.

Never.

The summer passes and you go to concerts with your friends and you attend lectures with your coworkers. You throw a barbecue at your house and your family and friends all come. You go watch baseball games with Arielle and eat your weight in soft pretzels.

You’re still standing up for Luke in your own way, whether it’s battling Kyle at the coffee station or slipping in a snide comment as Laura turns out of your office. You make sure that enough gets published that ensures his entire public relationship isn’t tarnished.

Things are finally getting normal again when you’re sent on a mission to a familiar address.

October

When Luke answers the door to his office after closing time, he surely doesn’t expect to see you there.

“Hi,” you choke out the word, anxiety eating you alive as you step forward into his office.

He grits his teeth, “And tell me why I shouldn’t just kick you out?”

“Because you’re a nice person?” you muse, smiling as you run your fingertip over his mahogany countertop.

And for some reason Luke comes to the realization that you do genuinely believe he’s a nice person.

Luke’s fingertips leave the door handle and he muses over the fact that you’re here, months after the first incident where you crawled your way up to his floor.

You’re bundled up in a sweater and a scarf, the beanie atop your head ruffling your hair in a way that he actually thinks is cute. You look so warm and soft and he tears his mind away from examining your outfit to glare into your eyes.

“Why are you here?” he questions, chewing on his lower lip as he walks around to sit at his desk.

You take a deep breath, “Uh, well, Laura wants me to do a segment on you and your brothers, how it is working with family and all that.”

“You couldn’t have spoken with the Robertson twins?” he snorts, picking up some sort of trinket and passing it back and forth between his hands. “They’re women, wouldn’t it be more interesting to write about them?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. “But Laura, you know, is just so smitten with you three.”

“Pretty sure she tried to seduce Jack at our last Christmas party,” Luke muses, chewing on the inside skin of his lip.

You can’t help but snort at the mention of Laura and the word seduce in the same sentence.

“Look,” you put your hands up, “I know you’re not my biggest fan. I’m sorry for all of that, but I’m strictly here on business. No apologies, no nonsense, no trying to trap you in an elevator.”

“I don’t know what it is about you that just sets me on edge,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair as he stands back to his feet. Luke paces between his desk and the doorway, his fingertips aching to twist the door handle and throw you out.

You notice how uncomfortable he is, and no matter how badly you want to get this story for Laura, you find yourself standing to your feet.

“Tell your assistant I’m sorry for messing with her again,” you pull on the inside of your cheek with your teeth. You take a step toward the door, clutching your thermos to your chest like a lifeline.

Luke smiles sadly down at you, “Thank you for understanding. I-I just don’t-“

He grunts, looking down at his hand.

“Wh-What?” you ask.

Luke groans, leaning his back against the door as he slides down to sit on the floor, “Not again.”

“’Not again’, what?” you question him, anxiety blooming in your chest. You reach forward and snatch the door handle only to be met with resistance by the handle itself. “Luke Hemmings, you better not be-”

“Trust me, princess,” he chuckles, “I don’t want to be stuck alone in a room with you.”

“Then what is this?”

Luke sighs, “The cleaning ladies will come by on Fridays and sometimes they’ll lock me in.”

You rub your free hand over your face, your other still holding onto your coffee thermos tightly. You grunt, “Well, this is just great. Here I was, trying to leave so I didn’t make you uncomfortable, and the universe is laughing at me.”

“The universe keeps pushing us together,” he laughs, kicking his feet against the rug. He looks up at you, a childlike quality in his blue eyes, “So, I guess since we’re here you should ask me your questions.”

You bite on your lip because the idea sounds so tempting, but something else also sounds kind of tempting.

“You keep whiskey in that locker back there?” you ask him, tiptoeing around to the back of his desk.

“Is that your first question?” he jokes, standing to his full height.

You shake your head, leaning your hip against his desk. “No, but I don’t want to be a journalist right now.”

“Oh really?” Luke chuffs, picking up his keys off of his desk and plucking a small silver one from the mix. “You’re seriously not going to take advantage of having me literally locked in a room with you to ask me questions?”

You shake your head, pursing your lips. He laughs again, shoving the key into the safe and pulling out an expensive-looking bottle of whiskey.

“I call them truth shots,” you explain, sitting cross-legged on his rug, the fancy chairs pushed out of the way.

Luke leans his lanky body against the front edge of the desk, his legs sprawled out in front of him. You have two shot glasses stationed in front of your bodies, both full with whiskey.

“Truth shots?” he raises a brow, running his fingertip over the rim of the glass. “Explain.”

“One person asks the other a question,” you nod, careful to watch for his expressions. “And if the person doesn’t want to answer, they take a shot instead.”

“You try’na get me drunk, darling?” he asks you, picking up the glass. “Because I know how to hold my liquor.”

You roll your eyes and pick up your glass too, “Oh, Hemmings, you have met your match.”

“I’ll ask the first question,” Luke nods, sitting up a little straighter. “Why did you become a journalist?”

“Easy,” you huff through your nose, rubbing your thumb around the shot glass. “I was lied to my whole life. My dad was cheating on my mom, my aunt was hiding the fact that she was an alcoholic, my little sister was depressed and never told me…You name it, I went through it. I was tired of being lied to, I just wanted to find the truth.”

“Wow,” he breathes the word.

You shrug, looking down into the amber liquid in your glass, “My turn. Who do you consider to be your hero?”

“My mom,” he doesn’t hesitate.

“When she was growing up, my mom didn’t have a lot. She met my dad and got lucky she married a billionaire, but she never lets me and my brothers forget her roots.” Luke smiles reminiscently, his gaze in a far-off place. “She drove us through the neighborhood where she grew up and it was rough. There were bullet holes in people’s doors and bars over people’s windows.”

Luke sighs, looking up at you. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that you didn’t think you would see bared so soon.

You volley questions back and forth. Easy ones, of course, like favorite color and favorite singer. You take a shot once because you don’t want to tell him you had a Justin Bieber phase, and he takes a shot because he doesn’t want to admit that he wants to get his nose pierced.

Eventually, the both of you are buzzed just enough that you don’t realize how close to one another you’re sitting, your alcohol-ridden breath mingling as you laugh alongside one another.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asks, turning to look at you.

Without hesitation, you tip the glass back to your lips, guzzling the shot before you have time to think.

“No, no, seriously,” he laughs, nudging you with his shoulder. Luke’s speech is slurred as he smiles at you, “You’re telling me you haven’t had a boyfriend before?”

“I have,” You manage. You grab the bottle of whiskey and pour yourself another shot. “I was with him in college. Then I wasn’t.”

You plunge the whiskey down your throat, wishing it would hit your veins first and make you forget about this conversation.

Luke reaches over and grasps you by the wrist, his fingers warm to the touch as he grips your skin. He looks at you and it’s like a little heartbreak is captured in his blue irises,” Was he a douche? Oh my God, did he touch you?”

You laugh, shaking your head, “No, no, but he touched someone else.”

It slipped too quickly past your loose lips, the alcohol dimming your sense of privacy.

“I’m sorry,” Luke goes quiet.

You can’t help it when you look up at him, holding his gaze with your own. He’s so captivating with his freckles and tanned skin. You want to reach up and push a blonde curl out of his eyes so you can look at him completely.

“Just another lie,” you shrug, “by then I was used to them. But I wasn’t going to let it happen again.”

“Men are pigs,” he swallows, picking up his own glass and tipping the shot backward.

“My turn,” you pick at your jeans. You force yourself to keep your eyes off of him because he has this electricity that is pulling you in and it’s frightening. “If you could pick a different career, what would you choose?”

“I’d be in a band,” he answers immediately, slamming his palm down on the rug. “I’d want to travel the world and sing and not have the responsibilities like I do now.”

You cock your eyebrow and stand to your feet, digging in your pocket for your phone. Thankfully you’d charged it while you were at work, so it’s almost at full battery. You pull up your music app and start up a playlist.

“What are you doing?” he laughs at an octave higher than his normal voice. It’s almost a giggle, really.

You smirk, “We’re gonna sing!”

“You’re crazy,” Luke mutters as he shakes his head. “You’re absolutely nuts.”

“C’mon,” you prod him, “have a little fun! There’s no one watching us.”

“That’s what you think,” he murmurs as he studies the whiskey left in his shot glass. Luke rolls his eyes, tipping the cup back, “Ah, what the hell.”

You giggle and grab him by the hand, yanking him up to dance with you to some crazy song that comes on the station.

You two dance and sing along to pop hits and oldies songs. You find out that he’s a fan of Blink-182 and Forever the Sickest Kids. He finds out that you know every word to Stacey’s Mom and Living On A Prayer.

After an ad plays, a slow song comes on and there’s a settling of awkward tension that lays over the top of you like a suffocating blanket.

You stutter, but he’s swift to grab you up in a gentle hold, pulling you close as the music continues. Luke pulls on your arms so you are wrapped around his neck, your thumbs brushing against the curls at the nape of his neck. His hands settle on your waist and in order to keep from looking at him too many times, you duck your head under his chin to rest on his pectoral.

It’s all so serene as Luke hums the words to the song, his cheek against your temple as you feel the vibrato of his voice in his chest. The night sky is settling outside, pitch black save for the stars glistening in the distance. You wonder if maybe this was fate, that this was supposed to happen. Maybe you were always going to get drunk and slow dance with Luke Hemmings in his corporate office.

Fate is a fickle thing, you know.

“You’re not what I expected,” he blurts, his thumbs brushing gently over your hip bones.

You can’t look at him because you know you’ll break down into tears or kiss him, so instead you respond with your head still tucked against his chest. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean that I wanted to hate you so badly from day one just because you were a nosy reporter,” he explains quietly, careful not to break the moment. Luke sighs and you feel it rustle your hair at the crown of your head, “Yet here you are, being this endearing, caring little annoyance and I can’t help it when I think that you’re smart and kind and generous. I’ve read your articles, I know you’re not as terrible as the people you work for and with.”

Luke holds you tighter and you can hear the song coming to an end but it doesn’t matter because he’s still talking. “I expected you to be some nosy person who wanted to get into my pants and my personal life, but you’re not like that at all. You’re genuine, I dunno.”

The song ends and something must be wrong with you because you lean back to look him in the eyes, your hands withdrawing and pressing against his neck. You smile and look all over his face, taking in his freckles and the red on his cheeks and the blue of his eyes.

“You’re not what I expected either,” you bite your lip, pushing his hair out of his face. “Here I thought you were some billionaire playboy but really you’re just a kindhearted philanthropist whose been taken advantage of one too many times.”

“God, you’re not making this easy on me,” he mutters, his eyes fluttering all over your face. “I’m drunk and you’re drunk and I really wan’to kiss your pretty mouth.”

“Are you going soft on me, Hemmings?” you ask him as he pulls you tighter against his body, your chests aligned with one another as you watch him fight the instincts in his body.

He noses your cheek, breathing out gently over your skin and sending a shuddering of goosebumps over your flesh. He makes it to the juncture where your jaw meets your neck just under your ear and you hear his gravelly voice whisper, “It’s Luke, honey. You can call me Lu.”

The first kiss he graces you with isn’t on your mouth, but on your neck instead. It’s open-mouthed and hot and you can’t help it when your legs shake

Your grip on his hair tightens and you swear he lets out a sound of his own at the sensation. His name comes tumbling from your lips because you just can’t help it as his mouth travels back up your jaw to your chin. He presses a sweet, gentle kiss there before hesitating over your mouth.

If it didn’t feel like the moment was so delicate, you would shatter it and kiss him square on the lips right then. Instead, you let him guide you with his hands around your waist and his scent in your nose. You feel his soul touching yours and it’s like the stardust outside has reached in and grabbed the two of you.

“I dunno know what it is about you,” he whispers, his mouth ghosting over your own, “but I wanna kiss you until I can’t breathe.”

You smirk and go to say something smart, but it’s lost in your chest as he claims your lips with his. It’s a forceful but gentle kiss, his assertion obvious but also his kindness apparent. Your hands roam from his hair to his chest to his shoulders, trying your hardest to take all of him in.

Luke’s hands slip under your sweater and the heat from his fingers is unbearable to the point you swear he’s searing himself into you. Your teeth are clashing and your lips are bruising as he kisses you fiercely. You’re thankful you kicked off your shoes hours ago, or else you’d be throwing them across the room right now as he leads you back to the couch.

He leans you back and breaks the kiss long enough to look in your eyes and see the fear that is settled far back but still there.

Luke shakes his head, “No, no, darlin’. ‘m not gonna do that to you. I jus’ wanna kiss you.”

“Okay,” you nod, gripping his cheeks again to bring him down on top of you.

And just like that, you’re pinned beneath Luke Hemmings with your bodies entangled as the stars set the perfect scene above you.

He pulls away from you after moments, his chest heaving, “I got extra clothes if you wanna change.”

Minutes later and you’re changed into a pair of Luke’s sweats and an old Stanford long sleeve. It dwarfs you, thanks to his size, but you find comfort in the oasis of his fabric. You wrap your hands up in the sleeves and notice he changed into something else too.

“Couch pulls out into a bed, if you want to sleep,” he nods. “I got snacks, we can eat something, but it’s like past midnight.”

All of a sudden you’re yawning, covering it up with your palms. You laugh at yourself, embarrassed and trying to hide the obvious blush on your cheeks.

“S’cute,” you hear him mumble as he pulls on a stray lock of your hair endearingly. “Can’t believe I wanted to hate your guts.”

“Can’t believe you thought you could,” you joke with him, tugging him back down with your hand in his hair to kiss him on the mouth one more time. It lasts longer than you thought, and you can feel his hands wrap around your thighs.

You squeak as he picks you up, wrapping you around his torso. He’s smiling against your mouth as he walks you back to the couch-turned-bed, trying his hardest to place you down gently.

You both get situated and it’s fascinating how he wants to rest his head on your chest and have your hands in his hair. You love the way his arm wraps around your waist and his lips part for lyrics and melodies.

And then you wake up.

At first you’re confused, the events of last night unable to be recalled at such an early time in the morning with such a terrible headache.

You want to grunt and stand to your feet, but you can’t.

You’re currently trapped in a pair of arms too lanky to untangle on your own. Your cheek is pressed into his chest, his leg traipsed over you and his chin digging into the top of your head.

“Shh,” he groans, burying his nose into your neck as he resituates himself. “Not yet.”

“Lu,” you sigh, hating the smell of your morning breath already. “It’s morning.”

“Yeah, I know sweet’art,” he grumbles, his voice gravelly with sleep. If you weren’t so worried about what was going to happen next, you’d revel in the delicious sound and ask him to sing you back to sleep. He huffs, “Don’t wanna get up yet. Hungover.”

“So am I, you lump,” you push on him, your emotions and insecurities getting the better of you.

You manage to untangle yourself from him and stand to your feet, the shirt and sweats even bigger on you now that the fabric has stretched while you were rolling around in your sleep.

When Luke sits up, rubbing on his eyes, you swear your heart skips a beat and you forget how to breathe.

In the morning, with his hair ruffled from sleep and his cheeks puffy from where he was squished under you, he looks so childlike and innocent. It’s hard to believe that this man was walking home a redhead just the other night from a bar.

“I’ll walk you out,” he mumbles, pulling his hair back into a bun as he grabs his jacket and your neatly folded clothes off the top of his counter.

You shake your head, “A-Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Luke laughs, “There’s a back way, I’ll make sure no one sees you.”

Promises are nice, you think, but the truth isn’t.

The front page of Explicit Critique Weekly the next day is the two of you standing too close together and laughing like no one is watching.

“Laura!” you snap, slamming her door shut.

“Excuse me,” she stands to her feet, hands on her desk.

Your knuckles are pale as you clutch onto the paper with your face plastered across the front. Tears threaten to collect in your eyes but you refuse, your anger overwhelming your betrayal.

“I can’t believe you tossed out my heartfelt piece about Luke’s new foundation to do this,” you seethe, slamming the magazine down on her desk.

She tuts, “I’m well aware of what the headlines read, darling.”

“You’ve gone way too far this time, Laura,” you tell her, shaking your head. You know your cheeks are dark with humiliation, the heat is settling into your stomach. You grind your teeth together and you feel the muscles in your jaw twitch with the tension. “He was being kind to me and walking me out to my car after I practically snuck into his office.”

“Well, if only I had known it was a clandestine affair,” Laura smirks, tapping a bright red nail against her chin. “That would’ve been even more juicy of a read.”

“I can’t believe you!” you shout, throwing your hands up in the air.

She rolls her eyes, turning her expression much more serious, “I can’t believe you,” she sneers. “No wonder you try to glorify that bastard. You’re always defending him and talking about all the good he’s done. It’s because you’re his slut on the side.”

“No, Laura, it’s because no one else will!” you argue, feeling your eyes bulge in their sockets.

“Because it doesn’t make money,” Laura scoffs. She takes a deep breath and exhales, “The only way this magazine makes money is through scandal and gossip. Even the fashion column talks about how one person looks better than another.”

She steps around from behind her desk and tucks a piece of stray hair behind your ear, “The quicker you realize doting on billionaire playboys won’t make money, or help you with your pathetic love life, please come talk to me again.”

A tear slips over the top of your lash line, dripping down your cheek. Laura goes so far as to catch it with her thumb, a sinister smile on her face as she pulls her hand away from you.

Something in her words catches you, though, and you can’t help wondering if maybe it was just the whiskey that made Luke kiss you and hold you. Maybe he never really meant it, and it was only out of happenstance that he managed to put up with you for an extended period of time.

“Do you know what I could do to you, dear?” she asks you, tilting her head as if she’s some kind of therapist trying to get you to answer your own questions.

You feel your chest constrict as she leans closer to you, “I could run you through in one article, darling. I could take away your credibility, all your years of schooling and hard work. No one at any other paper or magazine would take you. You couldn’t even anonymously write the funny pages.”

She looks down at you with disgust, as if you are the ant under her boot, “I suggest you let this Luke Hemmings is a hero thing go to rest. Before you lose everything.”

The thought of having to move back home because you’re broke and unemployed scares you more than the thought of usurping Laura and posting something anyways.

So, instead of standing up and slapping her like you so desperately want to, you nod and your lip quivers when you answer, “Okay.”

“Okay!” she claps like a child who has gotten her way. Laura giggles, “Now, sweetheart, go write me a masterpiece.”

And so you turn, walking out of her office with disdain in your heart and the twinkle gone from your eye.

April

The next six months are torture.

You’re stuck writing about Apple and Google and Nike and Dick’s Sporting Goods. You’re told what to write and when to write it, and you swear it isn’t even that good. You still receive your salary, so at least your home life doesn’t change, but you’re no longer offering to get Arielle coffee and donuts. You don’t even say anything to Kyle as he traipses through the office slamming Luke Hemmings’ name.

Luke doesn’t try to contact you either. You know he has your phone number, and he knows where you work. If he really wanted to talk, he would have by now. You’ve come to the terrifying conclusion that what the two of you shared was a brief moment out of desperation. Nothing more, nothing less.

The realization that you shared bits and pieces of your personal life with that man makes you hate him even more. How could he let you bare your soul like that and then let you sit and rot while you wait for him to make the next move?

“Are you okay?” Arielle asks you one day, pushing a cup of coffee toward your desk.

You nod, looking up from your piece. You force a smile, “Yes, I’m fine. How’s your article coming?”

“Stock prices,” she grimaces, “so exciting.”

You purse your lips and turn back to your computer screen. Arielle looks at you for a moment, trying her hardest to understand what’s going on, but mimics your actions and returns to her work.

It’s Friday and normally you would be worried all weekend over what you were going to write next, but you just honestly don’t care.

Instead of calling for a cab, you walk home and find yourself distracted by the neon lights of a bar up the streets. Alcohol usually isn’t your coping mechanism, but tonight it may as well be.

You step into the doors and watch as guys gather around a pool table and girls sit at the bar, joking with the bartender. You sigh and find your way to the tabletop bar, knocking your fist against it to get the bartender’s attention.

He’s tall, rather handsome with his tanned skin and dark hair. He’s got tattoos running up and down his arms and a few on his hands. He smirks at you, “Looks like it’s been a long week. What can I get you?”

“Whatever you feel like making,” you respond, twisting yourself in the bar stool.

He nods and turns around to the bar and pours you a shot of something. You reach around and hold the shot glass between your fingers, tipping it back against your lips and downing it without hesitation.

“Open a tab,” you put your credit card down on the counter and push it with your empty glass towards him. You gulp, tasting the alcohol at the back of your throat, “And I’ll take another one of those.”

He nods, smiling down at you sadly. He pours you another shot and slides your credit card under the table, “I guess if you’re going to be here for a while I may as well introduce myself.” He puts his hand out to shake yours, but you’re too busy downing the drink.

You slam the glass back down on the table and smile lazily across the bar at him. You shake his hand and he’s warm and inviting in a way a bartender shouldn’t be, “My name is Calum.”

You respond with your name and he takes the empty shot glass back from you to pour you another. You rest your head against your arms as he attends to the other people at the bar.

The alcohol rushes to your head, making you slightly dizzy. Even so, you’d rather feel dizzy than whatever the mixture of regret and betrayal are swirling around in your belly. The alcohol mixes with your blood and you look up at the television to try and take your mind off of the disdain you feel.

“Hey!” you hear Calum shout. You don’t look away from the music video playing on the television to pay attention to whoever he’s talking to.

The seat next to you squeaks and you see Calum coming your way so you tap the bar again. He chuckles and goes to pull the bottle of alcohol out from behind the counter when the person next to you offers to buy your shot.

“Thanks, man,” you shake your head, running a hand through your hair. You’re so thankful it was casual Friday at work because you look a lot less stuffy than normal in your jeans and flowy shirt. “Best part of my week.”

“Sounds like it,” he responds and something about his dialect sounds familiar so you look up just as Calum puts two drinks in front of you.

“U-uh, I,” you stutter, putting your hands over your eyes.

Luke chuckles, picking up his drink and downing some of it. He purses his lips and sucks in a breath through his teeth, “Hadn’t heard from you in a while. Fancy you’re in here. I thought you only drank coffee.”

“Y-yeah,” you bite down on your lip and you wonder if he’s feeling the same anxious bubbles in his stomach that you are.

Something spirits in you and you sit up straight, “Wait, wait, wait – hadn’t heard from me in a while?!”

Luke’s laugh echoes in the bar and you find yourself embarrassed, but push through it anyway because you can’t let him win.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” he tips his drink back and casually takes a sip.

You grit your teeth and look him directly in the eyes, “Uh, you had just as many chances as I did to reach out to me, and you didn’t take it.”

“Touché,” he raises a brow, “because you could’ve reached out to me too, princess, but you didn’t.”

Your mouth goes dry because you want to fire back something sassy, but you’re unable to because he’s right.

“Yeah,” he smirks, finishing off his drink and passing it across the bar as a silent request to Calum to fill up his cup. “But it’s okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” you ask in return.

Luke licks his lips and it takes him a moment to respond, but he turns in his seat to face you, lounging back with his legs spread, “It was just another interview for you, I get it. You got your bit, your piece, and then you were done.”

“Hey,” your voice is obviously displaying how offended you are. You reach out and grab him by the bicep as he tries to swivel away so he doesn’t have to look at you anymore.

Luke yanks his arm away from you, “No, you’re not going to exploit me and expect me not to get upset.”

“Luke.” You force yourself to keep the emotion from spilling out on your cheeks. Your voice is thick, “That’s not what that was.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he spits, his eyes hard as he looks across the bar at you.

You tilt your head back to hold the tears in your ducts. You lick your lips and take a deep breath before facing him again, “I was afraid, okay? I was scared that you were just acting all vulnerable because you were drunk.”

You sigh and run your hands over your face, desperately wishing you were somewhere else where you didn’t have to confront your feelings, “I know I’m just a reporter to you, I didn’t want to kid myself.”

Moments pass and you know he’s looking at you because you can see him in your peripherals, but you can’t find it within you to keep on speaking. Why should you make a fool out of yourself while he looks on and judges you?

“A nosy reporter, you mean.”

His tone is serious but you can hear the smirk in his voice. You want to reach across the bar and slap him, but something about his annoying sense of humor is endearing and instead you catch yourself smiling.

Luke’s hand reaches across the space between you and he presses his palm to your knee. The warmth from his touch is intoxicating and you’re brought back to all those months ago when you were pressed against his body with your mouth on his.

“Just because I was drunk doesn’t mean I wasn’t honest,” Luke smiles sheepishly at you. He leans back in his seat, retracting his hand from you, “All right, so what’s up?”

It takes you a moment, but then you’re comfortable and you pick your drink back up, sipping on the liquor.

“Yeah, I’m at an all time low you could say,” you swallow, touching the rim of your glass. The heat on your cheeks is embarrassing, and you can feel a thickness settling in the back of your throat as you think about the last few months. “When one trades vanilla creamer out for vodka, I guess it’s noticeable.”

“I’m listening,” he leans back in his seat, tipping back the drink against his lips.

“Cal has been keeping me stocked,” you laugh nervously, trying your hardest to ignore the warm way his gaze feels on your skin. “So it may not be the most cognitive rant you’ve ever heard.”

Luke smiles at you and it is soft, his golden curls and bright blue eyes inviting. “Drunk words, sober thoughts.”

“Truth,” you hiccup, picking up your shot glass. In order to talk to him, you’re going to have to have a little bigger of a buzz than you already feel in your veins.

He looks at you as you throw the shot back and swallow it in one gulp. His eyes are alight with amusement and he can’t help it when he laughs under his breath at you.

And then, you’re spilling your guts.

You tell him about how you’ve clawed your way up serving coffee to your superiors and writing paragraphs when you were allowed to. You tell him how you put in endless hours of overtime and begged Laura to give you a column in the paper. You tell him how you put yourself through school and classes and it still feels like it hasn’t paid off.

You toss another two shots back before you finally tell him about Laura.

“I’ve been trying so hard to write these pieces about the Hemmings Foundation and the donations you have made,” you wave your hands around in front of your body. You shake your head, swallowing so you don’t start crying as all the emotions pile up in your soul. “And instead of taking what I’ve written and rolling with it, she twists it or tosses it because it isn’t scandalous enough.”

Calum brings you a glass of water and you sip on it, thankful that Luke made you eat an appetizer about a half hour ago. The alcohol swirls in your stomach, mixing with your emotions and making you sick.

“And then she turns my apology to you into some stupid story about how we were secretly having sex behind the bushes,” you tip the water glass back. You wonder if you could drown yourself in it.

Your finger runs over the rim of your cup, “I confronted her about it, you know,” you chuckle drily. “I shouted at her and reamed her up and down about how terrible she’s treated you, exploiting your personal life for dimes.”

You look up at him, finally brave enough to look him in the eyes. You purse your lips, “She told me she’d fire me if I kept writing. She told me she’d ruin my reputation and make it so no one would hire me.”

Luke’s forehead is creased, his tanned skin wrinkled between his brows. His blue eyes are crystal clear, hand stationary on the glass on the countertop. He’s focused on you intently, his eyes never leaving your face as you speak.

There’s a long silence and you feel as if you’ve overstayed your welcome, complaining about your life to the point where he doesn’t want to listen anymore.

“I’d hire you,” he blurts, breaking the silence.

“Wh-What?” you stutter, leaning forward to be sure you heard him correctly.

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat. Running his hands through his hair causes the curls to separate and you wonder what it would feel like to touch his hair for a fleeting moment.

“I’d hire you,” Luke repeats, his tone serious. He reaches out and puts his free hand against your fingers resting on the back of your chair. “You obviously care about what you do, and you’re good at it. I’ve read your stuff. Somehow you make general business-related topics seem at least a little more interesting than normal.”

You can’t find words to speak, your throat closing up. Luke chuckles at the obvious surprise in your eyes, “I’m being serious. We’re looking at expanding Hemmings Co. to include a news section, both paper and electronic. We want to converge into social media and whatnot. I think you’d be perfect to head the department.”

“I’m working at the paper that slanders you,” you look up at him in distrust and confusion, “and you want to hire me to be on your team?”

“That’s what I said,” he laughs, tugging on your thumb. “You obviously don’t want to drag my name through the mud.”

“No,” you shake your head, emotions running high, sticking in your throat. You swallow and look up at him, tears in your eyes. “I think you can be a bit of a playboy, but I don’t care about that.”

“You don’t?” he questions.

Luke’s hand is suddenly hot on yours, the pads of his fingertips searing into your skin. His smile hurts your soul, seeing it this close and so genuine.

“N-No,” you manage to stutter out. “It’s your personal life.”

He smirks, pulling his lip into the bite of his teeth as his eyes graze over your body. He settles back on your eyes, holding contact so tense you feel a literal rope between the two of you.

“Most of the time I just end up walking out of a place with a girl at the same time,” he tells you, leaning back and retracting his touch. Suddenly you feel cold.

Luke picks at the knee of his jeans, a light tint of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “Sometimes I get ambushed by someone on the way out of wherever I’m going. I usually don’t even know who they are.”

Something in your heart pulls and you find yourself biting your lip to keep the words you want to say tucked into your chest.

“Pretty sure my brothers hate me,” he chuckles but it’s hollow. “I’m always making a mess for the company. Public scandals that aren’t really anything and fashion disasters.”

You rest your palm on his knee, “Hey, not everyone feels that way about you.”

“Yeah,” his throat bobs as he looks at you. There’s a distant warmth in his eyes, shrouded by a cold exterior. “There’s a small percentage that don’t.”

“I’m going to fix that,” you tell him, sitting up straighter in your seat. “I’ll take that job offer. Let me turn in my notice and then I’m all yours.”

“All mine?” he echoes with a laugh. “I like the sound of that.”

May

As you pack up your things at your desk, you hear Laura’s voice screeching through the office. You’re pretty sure you hear your name somewhere in the mix.

“Yes?” you ask innocently, looking up at her from your seat.

You’ve never seen Laura so heated, but this is probably the first time her magazine has been exploited.

“You know what,” she seethes, her cheeks bright red in anger and embarrassment. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it’s time to tell the truth, Laura,” you tell her, putting the top on your box. You shut down your computer and stand to your feet, “I’m sick and tired of you getting to dictate other people’s lives for the benefit of your wallet. A benefit you don’t even share with your hardworking employees.”

You put your box on the countertop, looking down at the copy of this week’s magazine laid out on your desk.

The headline reads: Laura Jennings – The Truth Behind The Lies

“How did you do this?” she asks, spitting the words through her teeth.

You lean back against your desk, picking up the copy to thumb through it. You laugh to yourself, the sound wry as it splits your lips, “I, uh, I stayed late last night like I always do. I waited until everything was finalized and then I re-finalized it, with the truth this time.”

You stand to your full height, your nose close to her forehead, “I’m sick and tired of you bullying people to better your bank account. You don’t get to control me anymore, Laura. I finally got to post my truth, and now I’m leaving.”

“Of course you’re leaving!” she shouts, shoving the issue into your arms. “As if anyone will ever hire you ever again, you ignorant child!”

“I actually already have a job,” your smile is smug as you think about the blonde who is going to change your life. You pick up the box of your things and hold it securely in your grasp, “And I wouldn’t be worried about me, Laura. I might start worrying about you.”

Instead of sitting around and continuing to argue with your now ex-boss, you kick your rolling chair under your desk and start toward the elevator. Your heels clack against the tile and its such a satisfying sound as you walk away.

“Who is it?” she asks, her voice carrying across the suite.

You hit the elevator button as she bellows the question again.

As you step into the elevator, you look her dead in the eyes, clutching your beloved thermos, “Hemmings Corporation. Head of the news branch.”

“Head of the-”

The last thing you see as the elevator doors close is the bewildered expression on Laura’s face as she tries to lunge after you, and it gives you such a sense of satisfaction it should be a sin.

As you’re on the way out of the building, you pull your phone out of your pocket and text the one person you thought you’d never even have the privilege to have their number.

i did it!!!

You fidget on the way to your car, the parking lot a walk away from the front doors. You’re surprised when your phone buzzes moments after.

that was quick lol

You’re trying to type out a response when another message buzzes your phone.

it’s still kind of early. you want to grab breakfast?

You can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips as you type out: of course!!! where at?

He texts you the address of a quaint diner in the downtown area and you find yourself there about twenty minutes later. You brush off the front of your skirt, trying to busy your hands as this new reality that is your life settles in like a rock in the pit of your stomach.

You push open the doors and Luke’s frame is tall in the bench seat. The whole diner is a throwback, a stereotypical movie diner finished off with checkered linoleum and cherry red booths. The bar advertises for milkshakes and pie and you feel like you’ve been sent through a time machine.

“Wow,” you manage as you sit down, bouncing a little in the booth. You laugh, “This place is great!”

“I know, right?” he smirks over his cup of coffee. He pushes another cup toward you, creamer and sugar crowded next to the porcelain cup. “Figured you’d already have the jitters, so I got you decaf.”

“I figured you’d take me somewhere that they drink champagne for breakfast,” you jest, trying to brush off the fact that he ordered you something and understands you. “A-And eat those little pastry things that make you look dainty when you eat them,” you joke, settling into the seat.

He shakes his head, his curls bouncing as he does so. He nods towards the man behind the counter, “Yeah, I figured I may as well show this place some love.”

“Why’s that?” you ask as the waiter steps forward, flipping his book over.

“Oh,” Luke grins, “’Cause I own it.”

You’re left feeling a little embarrassed but mostly surprised as Luke orders his breakfast. The waiter nods and addresses him by his first name, so it’s obvious that Luke frequents here.

You order a waffle and a side of fruit. The waiter nods in your direction and thanks Luke before walking back to the kitchen to put your order in with the cook.

Before too long you have him snorting into his cup of coffee, “You what?!”

“Yeah,” you laugh, sitting back in satisfaction.

“No way,” he shakes his head, steadying his cup on the table. “There’s no way you hacked the Explicit. Are you kidding me?”

“No,” you laugh again, falling forward to the tabletop. You can’t help the stitches in your side as you giggle at the expression his face is tugged into.

“Yeah, I’m totally glad you’re working for me now,” he smirks as the waiter brings the food to the table. “Laura wasn’t using you to your full potential anyway. Always figured you could do better.”

“Really?” you ask, interested. You raise your brows, “What makes you think that?”

He stabs his food and starts stuffing it into his mouth very un-CEO-like and you can’t help but smile. Sometimes you forget that he’s a normal person too, what with the way the media paints him. You figured you’d meet him here and he’d be wearing a stuffy suit and tie, but instead he’s surprised you in a flowy shirt and black skinny jeans.

“You’re always so well-articulated and you ask intelligent questions, I dunno,” he backs himself up, shying away from you. He puts his cup to his mouth to try and distract from the sudden fondness in his tone.

“W-Was that a,” you cup your hand around the shell of your ear, “compliment?”

Luke sneers and kicks your shin under the table, “Shuddup.”

Things just start there.

January

Eight months later and you’ve been with Hemmings Co. for long enough to get their social media branch up and running and their news page updated daily with stock information and Luke makes sure there’s a section in the Hemmings Edition magazine for your business column.

You’re running around in a pencil skirt and pumps when you almost bump into someone.

“Jennifer, honey, please make sure to send your article off to Samantha for proofreading before posting this time, okay? And Jake, ple-oof!”

The papers in your hands go flying everywhere and you’re glad you have digital copies of literally everything because there’s no way you’ll ever get that back in order.

“I’m sorry, I’m looking for, uh,” and he spits out your name in a laugh and you can’t help yourself as smack him on the arm.

“Lu,” you grunt, stuffing your papers back against your chest. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” he laughs as he helps you retrieve your work, “I figured I’d see how you were doing. Maybe you wanted to get lunch? Grab a cup of coffee? It’s only twelve, I know you haven’t hit your limit for the day.”

And it seems that the two of you are always spending time together now, and people are starting to take notice.

Of course, the Explicit has been trying to spin the two of you ever since your big blow up at the magazine. Their following has died down after your expose on Laura and you can’t lie and say you don’t get at least a little satisfaction from it.

Luke is always surprising you in the office, claiming he wants to make sure everything is going as good as you promised him it would be. He laughs every time he sees you clutching a cup of coffee. He swears that caffeine runs in your veins instead of O-negative.

Every time you show up to work the next morning, no matter what time, the fridge is stocked with every type of creamer you’ve ever admitted to liking. French vanilla, caramel, mocha.

One time when you’re at his house, you’re getting ready for a company party when you notice he takes an interest in one of your many makeup bags.

“You like it?” you ask him, blending out your foundation down your neck.

“What is it?” he asks, cocking his head as he tilts the bottle of liquid eyeshadow up into the light. He inspects it dutifully, “It’s all glittery.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, powdering your face. You nod at him, “You can swatch it.”

“Swatch?” Luke responds incredulously. He chuckles, “Darlin’, I don’t even know what that means.”

“I can tell.” You reach across and pluck the little bottle from his hands, unscrewing it and swiping the applicator across the inside of his wrists. It’s a pastel purple color with micro-glitters of blue and pink running throughout it.

“You ever use it?” he asks, marveling at the color as he shifts his hand back and forth under the light.

You’re swiping on the rest of your powder products as you answer him, “Not often, no. I don’t go to a lot of events where I would need it.”

“What do you use it for?”

You want to look at him as if to ask if he’s serious, but the tone in his voice tells you that he’s nothing but.

“You put it on your eyes,” you answer him. Luke unscrews the bottle himself this time, swiping a little more onto his fingertip and he rubs it back and forth against his index and thumb. He chuckles, “That’s weird.”

“You wanna try it?” you question, biting your lip as you glance at him in the mirror.

Luke looks up at you with hesitance obvious in his irises, the blue there turning almost gray in color. Instead of letting him continue to revel in the question, you grab the little tube of eyeshadow from his palm and lean down, cradling his neck in your hands.

You can’t get a good angle on his face and so you settle down so you’re sitting forward-facing on his lap, your knees on either side of his hips. You run your thumb over his cheek and rest it against his temple, holding him steady as you run the applicator over his eyelid.

The tension between the two of you isn’t palpable until you pull away from him, your face a mere few inches from his. You swear you see his throat bob as his breathing hitches.

The sudden revelation that you’re straddling your boss hits you like a wave and you pull yourself away from him, standing to your feet.

“There,” you grin, swallowing thickly.

You look down at him, the glitter from the shadow hardly showing up until he steps in the light. He’s blushing, you swear, but you’re not going to say anything as he examines himself in the mirror.

The two of you attend the party together but you end up separated before the night grows dark.

You find him later at the bar with what looks like claw marks on his temples and a bruise across the line of his jaw bone. He’s tipping back what looks to be like whiskey and he flinches when you grab his bicep to get his attention.

“Shi-Warn a guy!” he snaps at you, pulling his arm away from you.

“Lu,” you call out gently to him, pushing his hair back from his temple to get a good look at the marks on his face. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, turning his face so you can’t see him directly anymore and he downs the rest of his glass. He taps the bar and the man behind the counter pours him another glass over melting ice cubes.

Luke chuffs, “Go enjoy your party, honey, we’re here because of you.”

“Hey,” you tug on his bar stool so he’s facing you. “We’re not-”

“Yeah we are,” he interrupts you with a cold expression hiding something. He snorts, “This party is literally thrown because of your department, so go have fun.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you tell him, your voice quiet. You try your hardest to look him in the eyes, but he’s not paying you any mind. “Will you please tell me what’s wrong?”

“I could just fire you for being annoying,” Luke retorts. His words alone shake you to the core but it’s the fact that Luke is the one saying them that brings tears to your eyes. He snorts, “Never liked reporters.”

“Journalist,” you mutter, wiping under your eyes.

“Whatever.” Luke rolls his eyes and touches the glass to his lips.

You turn to go back with your coworkers when you see a group of bigger guys standing off in the distance looking between the two of you and laughing. You look down and see one of them with what looks like dirt under his fingernails when you make the connection.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you seethe, looking back and forth between Luke and the men about twenty feet away.

Instead of listening to Luke’s self-loathing projected as sarcastic jabs, you stomp toward the men and poke your index finger right in the middle of the biggest one’s chest.

“Listen here, you archaic bigot,” you plunge your fingernail further into the plane of his pectorals, “I don’t care how many hours a day you spend at the gym or how many people you’re going to take home from this party. It’s 2018 for crying out loud, woman up and quit being a bully.”

“Woman up?” he mocks you, grabbing you by the wrist. “Listen, miss, I’ll be nice since you seem to be with the fairy sitting at the bar, bu-”

The resounding sound of a slap echoes in the room.

“You listen to me,” you grab him by his collar, restraining yourself enough not to gouge his eyes out right here, right now. “That man at the bar has more understanding of what it means to be respectful and caring and honest than you ever will – which are all traits that make up a man if you ask me.”

You release him and shake your head, “So, as far as I can see, he’s more man than you’ll ever be. But, just in case, I can check for you.”

Before he can ask you what you mean, you jerk your ankle skyward and kick him between the legs.

He squeals and topples to the ground, his friends leaning over his shoulder as he curses at you. You smile, crossing your arms over your chest, “Well, that answers that. Have a nice night.”

You pass the bar and grab Luke by the arm, snatching him up out of his seat and bringing him outside to wait for an Uber.

You don’t talk until you get back to Luke’s house.

Your lips part in the promise of speech when you hear the first whimper fall from his mouth.

“Hey,” you call out to him, rushing over to his side. Your hands cradle his head as he sinks down to the floor. You fall with him, steadier and guiding. His cheek presses into your stomach and you feel his tears seep into the fabric of your dress.

“Shh,” you hush him, running your hands through his hair.

Luke’s hands clasp around your body, his frame quivering as he cries into your clothes. You whisper into his ear and hold him tight, waiting for him to stitch himself back together.

“It doesn’t matter what I do,” he whispers, voice broken, “I’m not good enough for anybody.”

“Don’t say that,” you press your cheek against the top of his head.

Luke sniffles, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of your calves, “I’m not emotional enough for the paparazzi, I’m too emotional for everyone else, I’m not organized enough for Ben and Jack, and I’m not a good enough leader for the company. I’m either too much, or not enough, I don’t know how to be in between.”

“Hey,” you repeat, softer this time. You gently tug on his chin with your thumb and index finger, forcing him to face you.

Your hands drift to his hair, “You are so kind and so strong, Lu. You help families in need and put on a brave face at work. You help people find their passion – look what you did for me!”

“Coincidence,” he sniffs, rubbing under his nose.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” you snap, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks to collect the tears. “You allowed me to explore my heart and I found a good place for it to take root. You do that for people every day. You provide them with the resources to do what they’ve always wanted.”

You chuckle, “You’re a good person with a bad publicity rating. You just get caught at the wrong times, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, standing to his feet and pushing away from you. “I shouldn’t be unloading all my life drama on you.”

“No, no, no, hey, I’m here for you,” you reach up to press your hand to his pectoral, needing to feel him for some reason. You need to know that you’re still connected by the soul. “Just because you like to wear glitter and paint your nails doesn’t mean you’re less of a man. You’re just being honest with yourself and who you truly are.”

“You’re the only person who sees it that way,” he lets his hand cover yours against his chest, his lungs expanding as he takes in a deep breath. He blows it out, a curl flopping against his forehead.

“I’m not,” you insist, shaking your head with a grin on your face. You shake your head and hold him tight, trying to piece him back together if he’ll let you.

You tilt your head up, looking him in the eyes as your hands find purchase on his shoulder blades, “I know you. And I know how wonderful you really are.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he whispers, his eyes swimming around your face, unable to concentrate. He pushes a lock of your hair away from your face, framing your cheek with his palm.

“It’s not about deserve, Luke,” you smile, leaning into his touch.

He chuckles, leaning down and nudging your nose with his in a way that makes your heart bruise your chest, “I guess I should be happy then, because I know I won’t ever do enough to deserve you in my life.”

And with that, he kisses you.

Luke holds you tight, his teeth grazing over your lip as he grips your hips with his fingers. The moan he elicits from you shakes your throat and he grunts in response, his forehead knocking into yours as he tries to get closer.

“C’mere,” he mutters, grabbing at your thighs.

You push yourself up and he hoists you into his arms, wrapping you around his torso as he walks you to wherever he wants. You really don’t care at this point, the only thing you’re focused on is the way his hands feel on your body and how his lips capture yours.

“God, you’re perfect,” Luke whispers when he finally gets you to his bedroom. He’s laid you back, touching your cheeks as he straddles your waist.

You reach up and brush your thumb over his eyebrow, collecting some of the stray glitter from earlier. You smile and gently graze the scratches on his temples. You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes from the memory of the guys at the bar.

“I think you’re beautiful,” you find yourself mumbling, your cheeks bright red from the admission. Your rub your thumb over his lower lip, and he catches it between his teeth. Luke bites it playfully before releasing it, running his nose over your jugular.

He smirks against your skin, his body heating yours as he murmurs, “Tried to look pretty for ya’, sweetheart.”

Before you can retort with something smart, he’s sunk his teeth into your shoulder, pulling on the skin with his mouth. You gasp, gripping his shoulders with a ferocity you didn’t know you had.

Somehow you push the loose button up off of his shoulders so you can feel him for real now, and it’s lovely getting to touch his skin like this. Luke is warm and muscled, the planes of his back and chest easy to explore as you touch the dips in his muscles and the freckles on his skin.

“Shh,” he mumbles as another sound emits from your throat. Luke nudges his nose over the spot that is pulsing bright red on your shoulder. He playfully flicks his tongue against it, causing your body to convulse at the feeling.

You groan and roll your head back, your legs aching as he slowly runs his thumb over your bottom lip. He kisses up your jaw to your mouth, and you can’t stand it as he plays with your lips, nipping and licking them.

“C’mere,” you almost growl, tugging him by the hair and holding him close. You can’t help it when you suck his bottom lip between your teeth and press your tongue against his teeth. Your every sense is filled to the brim with Luke, and you’re not sure you want it to end.

And it doesn’t end.

February

You and Luke are together for fourteen months when he asks you on another coffee date.

“Coffee isn’t the only thing I like, you know,” you tell him, holding onto his hand as he walks you down the sidewalk. It’s freezing cold in the February air, snow on the sidewalks as you kick it out of your way. You’re careful not to slip on the ice.

“I know,” he kisses your temple, his hand warm in your grasp. “But this one is special.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, “Did I forget a date or something? It’s not our anniversary. I know it isn’t your mom’s birthday, and it’s not Petunia’s-”

“So instead of bringing up my birthday, you bring up both my mother and my dog?” he asks you incredulously, staring down at you. His breath clouds like a fog around his lips.

You nod, “They’re the two most important people in your life.”

“Next to you,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You roll your eyes and lean your head against his bicep, “Cheeseball.”

It takes another ten minutes and you swear you can’t feel your nose but Luke is so excited to visit this new coffee joint that you don’t make a fuss out of it.

“All right, we’re here!” he smiles, taking a deep breath. “I really hope you like it.”

You look up at the coffee shop on a corner block, the deep wooden exterior nothing if not inviting. The lighting inside looks warm, and there are benches on the outside that are lined with people.

“Luke, we’re never going to get in,” you find yourself whining. You pout, “We can just go to Starbucks.”

“Oh, they’ll let us in,” he smirks.

You kick up a brow, “You’re not going to pull the Luke Hemmings, CEO card, are you?”

“No, not necessarily,” he shrugs, but there’s still an underlying grin and you suddenly feel like you’re left out of a rather big joke.

“Not necessarily?” you ask, your forehead crinkling.

Luke chuckles and you watch as his hands fidget in his pockets as he turns to face you. He points up at the sign hanging on the side of the building, lit up with pale lights. He grins, “Read it.”

“MORE CREAMER PLEASE,” you do as you’re told. You squint your eyes because there’s something else under the title. “A Luke Hemmings and…oh my God.”

Your name is on the sign.

Luke bites his lip before taking a step toward you. There are people pushing around him, desperately trying to get into the coffee shop or around to their destination. There are cars on the street, honking loudly and dismissing passersby. There are horns honking and store bells ringing.

Somehow, the only thing you can focus on is Luke.

“I know I’m not great at telling you how I feel.” He’s obviously nervous as he fidgets with his hands in front of him. “But I want you to know that I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you because you’re simultaneously the most amazing and most annoying person I know.”

You go to open your mouth, but he stops you, “You’re only annoying because you’re the farthest thing from what I should have, but you’re the only one I want. You’re a damn journalist for crying out loud. Your very existence gets on my nerves, but here I am, loving you anyway.”

“Lu,” you whisper, breathing his name through the thick emotions that cloud your vision.

“Honey, you’re all I’ve ever wanted,” he reaches out and grabs your hands. “I want what we have to be eternal, whether that means we get married and have a million babies and travel the world, or that we stay just the two of us cooped up in our house in each other’s company.”

Luke chuckles and catches a tear as it glistens down your cheek, “I want this to be the start of the rest of our lives.”

“Luke, I don’t even know how to run a coffee shop,” you blurt, laughing after you realize what you’ve said.

“Is that the only thing you took from that big, long confession?” he rolls his eyes, but the fondness shines through. Luke shakes his head anyway, “Don’t worry, it’s just your name on the sign. I have a manager in place, but you have final say on anything you want or don’t want.”

You’re laughing together and he pulls you forward to kiss you on the lips. Your hands wind into his hair underneath his beanie and you can’t stop smiling as you’re kissing him.

“I know it’s no shiny ring,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, “but I figure it’s a start.”

“Much better than a shiny ring,” you grin, looking up at the store that has your names on it. It’s like an omen, that you’ll be working together on whatever life throws at you. You laugh, “You know how much I love coffee.”

You lean up to kiss his cheek, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filtering through the air, “Lu,” you call gently, pulling his attention back to you, “I love you too, by the way.”

“Oh, good,” he breathes out the apprehension building up in his chest. You watch as he fidgets with his hands, “I was worried there for a minute. You know, I have this shiny ring here and I just figured that maybe you didn’t want it, you know, since you said you loved coffee so much-”

You look down at his hands, shocked at the velvet box he’s holding in his shaky hands.

And then you’re kissing again, regardless of who is watching.

Spoiler alert: the shiny ring is nice.

a/n: i hope you guys loves it!!!!

tag list: @calumurrica @bananashemmo @cxddlyash @morningfears @hamleggs @rexorangecounty @just-another-photo-filter @youto-believein @cakeslolita @h0tsos @lukeskisses @calummix @teasedalou @hiorheybitch @lukes-curls @lukesbaby @theh3aven @cucumberinmyass @lolmemequeen @sweetcherryharry @sugarcoatedlu @cal-king @lavieenbananabread @fakebech @cherryp-ie @5sos-ficssmut @happiestluke @casanovacal @lmao5sosimagines @hemmomfg

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