Fic: Calculation, Articulation, Manipulation (Edward Carmichael/Astoria Greengrass)
Title: Calculation, Articulation, Manipulation
Author: goeungurl
Characters: Edward Carmichael/Astoria Greengrass
Prompt number: 157
Word Count: 1566
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Edward drops in to visit Astoria at work. What could he want this time? Or more importantly, how is he going to get it?
Disclaimer: The world is J.K. Rowling's, I just play in it occasionally.
Author’s Notes: As always, thank you to my genius and awesome beta who can kick your beta's ass. Thank you, darling, for encouraging, reassuring, and cheerleading. Also, props to the prompter for an awesome prompt and her Astoria who I tried to come close to but did not reach. Hope you don't mind! And of course, finally, thank you to the wise, ever-patient, and ever-kind mods who make this such a great fest to participate in.
Calculation, Articulation, Manipulation
Calculation. Articulation. Manipulation.
That was what Edward Carmichael, V was known for. That was what he was good at. That was how he made his money, kept his money. Knowing what to say, when to say, and how to say it.
Calculation.
"Diane."
"Still fifty-seven minutes, boss."
"Well, I have a floo call at eleven so when--"
"--When it becomes 11:03, not a minute before, not a minute after, send the flowers."
"I've trained you well."
"Or maybe I have better things to do this morning than listening to your bullshit."
"Hey! It's not bullshit. I've carefully and meticulously calculated this delivery. When you send the owl at 11:03, it will take the owl eight minutes to get to the gallery. That will give the assistant four minutes to finish filing whichever nail she was filing and take the flowers to Astoria's office. That puts us at 11:15. Since Astoria has her morning floo call with Dubai, she needs something bright to greet her when it ends between 11:20 and 11:30. I'm assuming it will be closer to 11:20 since the Dubai people were out late last--Hello, Diane! Did you tune me out?" Edward demanded, snapping his fingers in front of Diane whose quill was flying across multiple parchments.
"Oh, I'm sorry. You were still speaking. I thought I already mentioned that I had other things to do this morning than listen to you babble on," she said, flashing her boss a winning smile.
"I don't know why I keep you around," he muttered, heading back to his office. “And I don’t babble. I artfully articulate.”
"It's because I'm the only one who doesn't have you committed after seeing just how much you calculate and manipulate people," she called to his back. "I've got too much on you."
"11:03!" was his only response.
Calculation.
Manipulation.
Instead of coming inside as he normally would, Edward paused and leaned against the doorframe of her office. Astoria Greengrass was sitting on the corner of her office desk, her favorite perch. Dressed as the ever consumate art gallery director, Her blouse was white chiffon that tied at the shoulder with delicate silk ribbons, exposing tiny bit of skin whenever she moved a certain way. No doubt she was well aware of the pretty picture she made in her red pencil skirt and white blouse against the backdrop of the white walls and glass fixtures in her office.
"Thank Diane for the flowers for me, will you?" Astoria said, without looking up from the clipboard in her hands.
"How'd you know it was me?" Edward asked, eyes noting her red lips that perfectly matched her skirt. All deliberate.
"11:55, exactly 5 minutes before lunch? After you, I mean Diane, sent flowers this morning?" she explained matter-of-factly, putting down her clipboard and smoothing her hair over her shoulders. "Who else could it be? You're not the only one who can calculate, you know."
Edward made his way into the office and lightly kissed her cheeks. If he stood a hair too close, lingered a split second too long, it went unacknowledged. Instead, Edward offered her his hand. “Well then, maybe I’ve met my match.”
She accepted his hand and descended from her perch. Having kicked off her heels earlier, she had to lightly stand on her toes to return the greeting. If that meant holding onto his sinewy arms a moment longer than necessary, it was also diplomatically dismissed.
Greetings aside, she detached herself under the premise of looking for her heels on the far side of her desk. It was definitely not to get away from the smell of his distracting cologne. “You say that, my would-be snake, but you and I both know that you don’t mean it.”
“And why wouldn’t I mean it? I know you well enough.” He said it like it was a fact. Inarguable. Truth. She watched as he wordlessly and deliberately put a box on the chair next to him. A box with a bow. A Louboutin box with a bow. "I even knew that you would be searching for your shoes this morning and brought you an alternative."
She thought about arguing back that she searched for her shoes every morning as she always went barefoot in the privacy of her office. He would simply point out that only a rare few people were privy to that fact, and even fewer who had actually seen it. She would argue back that in fact, Edward had only known this because as her "boss," he insisted he was entitled to drop in announced and made a habit of doing so. Often. But he would inevitably turn her argument against her and say it was just further proof of how close they were. Which was true--they were close, and it was the only reason he was able to waltz into her office without waiting for clearance from her secretary. It just wasn't true that she was his match. At least, not that he would admit. Not that either of them would admit. Since it wasn't true, of course.
Seeing as she lost the argument in her head, Astoria chose not to speak and make it a reality. Instead she merely sighed lightly and held out her hand. "Fine. Let's see them."
As much as she enjoyed his attentions, she knew that he likely wanted something from her. If not today, than tomorrow. There was always something. But unlike his other tarts, she refused to give into his demands immediately. She demanded to be wooed. Persuaded.
And if that included flowers, wining, and dining, all the better.
He lightly patted the chair next to him. She pursed her lips and shook her head. She had already lost one argument to him, she wasn't about to lose another one. Whether he sensed her stubbornness surfacing or that she had deliberately put a desk between them, he picked up the box. But instead of handing it to her, he walked around to her side of the desk, slowly undoing the ribbon as he walked.
He stood behind her and leaned over to place the box in front of her on the desk. "Hand delivered and unwrapped, just for you."
She felt his breath on her cheek but refused to turn her head. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about his scent that assaulted her senses. "But unwrapping is the best part."
"Sorry, I'm used to untying any ribbon I see,” she heard him apologize. She was suddenly very conscious of the silk ribbons that were holding up her blouse.
“How spoiled of you,” she retorted. “Go distract yourself and stop annoying me,” she said as she pushed him in the direction of her glass cabinet in the corner where she kept a bottle of single malt scotch--or rather, where she kept the bottle of single malt scotch he had left insisting all proper offices needed one.
She snapped her eyes away from his and brought her focus on the box. She opened the lid to see a classic pair of black Louboutins with the red bottoms. Beautiful, but an interesting choice for Edward. His style for gifts tended towards the more unique and stylish.
"I remembered your heel broken the last time you wore those to the dinner party with the barristers," Edward explained as he poured himself a glass. "You mentioned it is a wardrobe staple. It was the least I could do."
"Oh, you mean the dinner party that I swore never to attend again," she murmured, brows furrowing at the memory of a certain overweight Mr. Guller with sweaty fingers. Her heel had broken when she had turned too quickly to avoid his advances.
Edward had seen the entire scene unfolding while engaged in a conversation from across the room but had been unable to extract himself. Thankfully, he had made it to her side in time to help her catch her balance and right herself.
Without a word, he picked her up in his arms and carried her outside before apparating to her flat. Once he had made sure she was without injury, he promptly left before she could even ask if he wanted tea. She didn't hear from him that night, but the Wizarding Legal Times’ main headline the next morning was how V, Inc. was moving law firms as of that morning. The reporter had concluded that if V, Inc. was leaving so suddenly, whatever the unknown reason may be, the firm’s other clients were surely soon to follow, most likely by the end of the week. As for Mr. Guller, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know of his whereabouts. Rumor was that he had been caught by Aurors for trying to selling day-old copies of the Daily Prophet on the Muggle tube.
"Now, now, love, no need to be so hasty. That was a one-off incident. This new firm has been meticulously and thoroughly trained on how to properly behave in the presence of a lady while slightly inebriated."
So that's what he wanted. Her attendance. Of all the events he asked her to, this was the one that she hated the most. They were so plebian. Part of her contract stated that she was free from such obligations. She had made sure of it. But yet, Edward persisted. Insisted, in fact, that her presence was necessary with the number of contracts she dealt with on a daily basis.
Manipulation.
Astoria avoided answering as she tried on the shoes. Perfect fit, of course. She was not surprised--this was Edward after all, her would-be snake who had negotiated with the Sorting Hat because with the political climate of the time, he thought it would be easier to network if he was a neutral “Ravenclaw.”
He could easily charm some woman to become his, but yet he never did. Astoria and Pansy each had their options as to why not and it was occasionally debated over lunch--dread of commitment and fear of love were the two most popular--but they never brought it up with Edward. There was no reason to make his head any bigger than it already was. He would be too pleased to know they were even thinking about him during lunch.
Heels clicking on the floor, she joined Edward as he offered her a half a finger. He even knew she didn’t prefer scotch--especially before noon. She took a sip before tilting her head to the side to study him. “Edward, why don’t you find some lovely bird and settle down? A regular on your arm, charm your clients, cook you dinner... It would also keep you from annoying Pansy or I as much, you know.”
“Why would I want to do that when I can always hire someone?”
“Because, Edward, when it comes down to it, while a career is wonderful, you can't curl up with it on a cold night.”
“So why can’t I keep you around for that? Are you available to settle down?”
Her eyes widened at his question. Never before had it--whatever it was between them-- been addressed so directly. It wasn’t time yet. He knew that. She knew that. Then why was he asking? Why was he articulating this at this moment?
Articulation.
Her eyes widened in alarm before narrowing once she realized his ploy. She wasn’t about to answer his question, and he knew that. His mouth quirked into a smug smile as the realization blossomed on her face. He knew that she realized his ploy, and he didn’t care because he also knew that he was going to get his way. Damn it.
“Fine, I’ll go to your bloody happy hour,” she grit out with a glare. “But I want these same shoes as peep-toes as well. And you're buying lunch, boss.”
"Deal." He smiled and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
Calculation. Manipulation. Articulation. Worked every time.
Author: goeungurl
Characters: Edward Carmichael/Astoria Greengrass
Prompt number: 157
Word Count: 1566
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Edward drops in to visit Astoria at work. What could he want this time? Or more importantly, how is he going to get it?
Disclaimer: The world is J.K. Rowling's, I just play in it occasionally.
Author’s Notes: As always, thank you to my genius and awesome beta who can kick your beta's ass. Thank you, darling, for encouraging, reassuring, and cheerleading. Also, props to the prompter for an awesome prompt and her Astoria who I tried to come close to but did not reach. Hope you don't mind! And of course, finally, thank you to the wise, ever-patient, and ever-kind mods who make this such a great fest to participate in.
Calculation, Articulation, Manipulation
Calculation. Articulation. Manipulation.
That was what Edward Carmichael, V was known for. That was what he was good at. That was how he made his money, kept his money. Knowing what to say, when to say, and how to say it.
Calculation.
"Diane."
"Still fifty-seven minutes, boss."
"Well, I have a floo call at eleven so when--"
"--When it becomes 11:03, not a minute before, not a minute after, send the flowers."
"I've trained you well."
"Or maybe I have better things to do this morning than listening to your bullshit."
"Hey! It's not bullshit. I've carefully and meticulously calculated this delivery. When you send the owl at 11:03, it will take the owl eight minutes to get to the gallery. That will give the assistant four minutes to finish filing whichever nail she was filing and take the flowers to Astoria's office. That puts us at 11:15. Since Astoria has her morning floo call with Dubai, she needs something bright to greet her when it ends between 11:20 and 11:30. I'm assuming it will be closer to 11:20 since the Dubai people were out late last--Hello, Diane! Did you tune me out?" Edward demanded, snapping his fingers in front of Diane whose quill was flying across multiple parchments.
"Oh, I'm sorry. You were still speaking. I thought I already mentioned that I had other things to do this morning than listen to you babble on," she said, flashing her boss a winning smile.
"I don't know why I keep you around," he muttered, heading back to his office. “And I don’t babble. I artfully articulate.”
"It's because I'm the only one who doesn't have you committed after seeing just how much you calculate and manipulate people," she called to his back. "I've got too much on you."
"11:03!" was his only response.
Calculation.
Manipulation.
Instead of coming inside as he normally would, Edward paused and leaned against the doorframe of her office. Astoria Greengrass was sitting on the corner of her office desk, her favorite perch. Dressed as the ever consumate art gallery director, Her blouse was white chiffon that tied at the shoulder with delicate silk ribbons, exposing tiny bit of skin whenever she moved a certain way. No doubt she was well aware of the pretty picture she made in her red pencil skirt and white blouse against the backdrop of the white walls and glass fixtures in her office.
"Thank Diane for the flowers for me, will you?" Astoria said, without looking up from the clipboard in her hands.
"How'd you know it was me?" Edward asked, eyes noting her red lips that perfectly matched her skirt. All deliberate.
"11:55, exactly 5 minutes before lunch? After you, I mean Diane, sent flowers this morning?" she explained matter-of-factly, putting down her clipboard and smoothing her hair over her shoulders. "Who else could it be? You're not the only one who can calculate, you know."
Edward made his way into the office and lightly kissed her cheeks. If he stood a hair too close, lingered a split second too long, it went unacknowledged. Instead, Edward offered her his hand. “Well then, maybe I’ve met my match.”
She accepted his hand and descended from her perch. Having kicked off her heels earlier, she had to lightly stand on her toes to return the greeting. If that meant holding onto his sinewy arms a moment longer than necessary, it was also diplomatically dismissed.
Greetings aside, she detached herself under the premise of looking for her heels on the far side of her desk. It was definitely not to get away from the smell of his distracting cologne. “You say that, my would-be snake, but you and I both know that you don’t mean it.”
“And why wouldn’t I mean it? I know you well enough.” He said it like it was a fact. Inarguable. Truth. She watched as he wordlessly and deliberately put a box on the chair next to him. A box with a bow. A Louboutin box with a bow. "I even knew that you would be searching for your shoes this morning and brought you an alternative."
She thought about arguing back that she searched for her shoes every morning as she always went barefoot in the privacy of her office. He would simply point out that only a rare few people were privy to that fact, and even fewer who had actually seen it. She would argue back that in fact, Edward had only known this because as her "boss," he insisted he was entitled to drop in announced and made a habit of doing so. Often. But he would inevitably turn her argument against her and say it was just further proof of how close they were. Which was true--they were close, and it was the only reason he was able to waltz into her office without waiting for clearance from her secretary. It just wasn't true that she was his match. At least, not that he would admit. Not that either of them would admit. Since it wasn't true, of course.
Seeing as she lost the argument in her head, Astoria chose not to speak and make it a reality. Instead she merely sighed lightly and held out her hand. "Fine. Let's see them."
As much as she enjoyed his attentions, she knew that he likely wanted something from her. If not today, than tomorrow. There was always something. But unlike his other tarts, she refused to give into his demands immediately. She demanded to be wooed. Persuaded.
And if that included flowers, wining, and dining, all the better.
He lightly patted the chair next to him. She pursed her lips and shook her head. She had already lost one argument to him, she wasn't about to lose another one. Whether he sensed her stubbornness surfacing or that she had deliberately put a desk between them, he picked up the box. But instead of handing it to her, he walked around to her side of the desk, slowly undoing the ribbon as he walked.
He stood behind her and leaned over to place the box in front of her on the desk. "Hand delivered and unwrapped, just for you."
She felt his breath on her cheek but refused to turn her head. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about his scent that assaulted her senses. "But unwrapping is the best part."
"Sorry, I'm used to untying any ribbon I see,” she heard him apologize. She was suddenly very conscious of the silk ribbons that were holding up her blouse.
“How spoiled of you,” she retorted. “Go distract yourself and stop annoying me,” she said as she pushed him in the direction of her glass cabinet in the corner where she kept a bottle of single malt scotch--or rather, where she kept the bottle of single malt scotch he had left insisting all proper offices needed one.
She snapped her eyes away from his and brought her focus on the box. She opened the lid to see a classic pair of black Louboutins with the red bottoms. Beautiful, but an interesting choice for Edward. His style for gifts tended towards the more unique and stylish.
"I remembered your heel broken the last time you wore those to the dinner party with the barristers," Edward explained as he poured himself a glass. "You mentioned it is a wardrobe staple. It was the least I could do."
"Oh, you mean the dinner party that I swore never to attend again," she murmured, brows furrowing at the memory of a certain overweight Mr. Guller with sweaty fingers. Her heel had broken when she had turned too quickly to avoid his advances.
Edward had seen the entire scene unfolding while engaged in a conversation from across the room but had been unable to extract himself. Thankfully, he had made it to her side in time to help her catch her balance and right herself.
Without a word, he picked her up in his arms and carried her outside before apparating to her flat. Once he had made sure she was without injury, he promptly left before she could even ask if he wanted tea. She didn't hear from him that night, but the Wizarding Legal Times’ main headline the next morning was how V, Inc. was moving law firms as of that morning. The reporter had concluded that if V, Inc. was leaving so suddenly, whatever the unknown reason may be, the firm’s other clients were surely soon to follow, most likely by the end of the week. As for Mr. Guller, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know of his whereabouts. Rumor was that he had been caught by Aurors for trying to selling day-old copies of the Daily Prophet on the Muggle tube.
"Now, now, love, no need to be so hasty. That was a one-off incident. This new firm has been meticulously and thoroughly trained on how to properly behave in the presence of a lady while slightly inebriated."
So that's what he wanted. Her attendance. Of all the events he asked her to, this was the one that she hated the most. They were so plebian. Part of her contract stated that she was free from such obligations. She had made sure of it. But yet, Edward persisted. Insisted, in fact, that her presence was necessary with the number of contracts she dealt with on a daily basis.
Manipulation.
Astoria avoided answering as she tried on the shoes. Perfect fit, of course. She was not surprised--this was Edward after all, her would-be snake who had negotiated with the Sorting Hat because with the political climate of the time, he thought it would be easier to network if he was a neutral “Ravenclaw.”
He could easily charm some woman to become his, but yet he never did. Astoria and Pansy each had their options as to why not and it was occasionally debated over lunch--dread of commitment and fear of love were the two most popular--but they never brought it up with Edward. There was no reason to make his head any bigger than it already was. He would be too pleased to know they were even thinking about him during lunch.
Heels clicking on the floor, she joined Edward as he offered her a half a finger. He even knew she didn’t prefer scotch--especially before noon. She took a sip before tilting her head to the side to study him. “Edward, why don’t you find some lovely bird and settle down? A regular on your arm, charm your clients, cook you dinner... It would also keep you from annoying Pansy or I as much, you know.”
“Why would I want to do that when I can always hire someone?”
“Because, Edward, when it comes down to it, while a career is wonderful, you can't curl up with it on a cold night.”
“So why can’t I keep you around for that? Are you available to settle down?”
Her eyes widened at his question. Never before had it--whatever it was between them-- been addressed so directly. It wasn’t time yet. He knew that. She knew that. Then why was he asking? Why was he articulating this at this moment?
Articulation.
Her eyes widened in alarm before narrowing once she realized his ploy. She wasn’t about to answer his question, and he knew that. His mouth quirked into a smug smile as the realization blossomed on her face. He knew that she realized his ploy, and he didn’t care because he also knew that he was going to get his way. Damn it.
“Fine, I’ll go to your bloody happy hour,” she grit out with a glare. “But I want these same shoes as peep-toes as well. And you're buying lunch, boss.”
"Deal." He smiled and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
Calculation. Manipulation. Articulation. Worked every time.