Post by wordy on Apr 27, 2013 15:40:16 GMT 10
Title: Empire
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1382
Pairing: George Cooper/Roger of Conte
Round/Fight: 1C
Summary: In which Roger is dapper and devious, or so he thinks. Modern!AU.
“We have to sell before the value drops any further,” said Roger, a comforting hand on his cousin’s arm. “Your father knew that before he died. Everything’s been arranged.”
“I know,” said Jonathan. “But it’s been in our family for so long….”
He was trying not to look miserable, and failing. The black suit and tie he wore—still in mourning for his parents—did not make him appear washed-out and pale as it would most people, but Jonathan, Roger reflected irritably, was not ‘most people’.
“Your parents wouldn’t want you to be left with nothing. They loved you. No matter how many generations the company has been under our name, do you really think they’d wanted it more than they did you?”
It was a low blow, considering how much difficulty Lianne had had trying to conceive, but in his current state, Jonathan only took it as heartfelt advice.
The young man cleared his throat, wiped his eyes with a hand, and looked up at Roger with a weak smile. “You’re right, of course. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Roger.”
Once he was down on street level and well away from the Conté building, Roger allowed himself a smile. It really was too easy. Extracting his mobile phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he dialled a number and began heading towards his hotel as he waited for the call to be picked up.
“Tirragen,” he said when the man answered. “I’ve just finished with him. The contract should be signed tomorrow.”
The reply was lost on Roger, whose attention had been snared by a young man seated on a bench some distance ahead: one arm was slung along the back of it, and his foot was resting on the opposite knee. Black jeans fitted him like a glove, and as Roger drew closer he was met with a raised eyebrow and a cocky smile.
“Don’t forget my cut,” Roger said into his phone, then promptly hung up. He could worry about soothing Alex Tirragen’s ruffled feathers tomorrow.
The man on the bench looked him up and down. His hazel eyes gleamed with mischief. “Looking for someone?”
“That depends,” said Roger, adopting a charming smile of his own. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“George,” the man introduced himself, standing and offering his hand. Roger took it, and even that simple physical contact was overpowering, possibly because the man—George—was still smiling at him. He wasn’t conventionally attractive, but that smile was incredible.
“Roger,” he said in return, ending the handshake reluctantly. The two of them fell into step together, George’s arm brushing against his as they walked. It wasn’t Roger’s usual modus operandi to pick up strange men off the street, but it wouldn’t be the first time, either.
He could feel the other man’s eyes on him. “You look familiar,” said George finally. “But we haven’t met before, have we.”
“I’m sure I’d remember,” Roger said.
George laughed. “Yes, I suppose so. Still, I’ve seen your face somewhere before. Are you famous? Wait, no,” he interrupted himself, giving Roger the once over again. “Dressed much too nicely to be a celebrity.”
Roger raised an eyebrow in reply, and was rewarded with another short laugh. He couldn’t help smiling himself; it seemed that this would not be one of the occasions where he would have to deliver a snide rejection. He was rather enjoying himself.
It was a welcome distraction after weeks of dealing with his spoiled cousin.
“Perhaps you’ve seen my photo in the paper,” said Roger. “I have…connections.”
“Businessman?”
“Naturally.” He glanced aside at the other man in time to see him nodding, hands in the pockets of his jeans—a feat he was impressed by, considering how tight they were. It was difficult not to notice.
“You’re one of those Contés,” George said.
“Yes.”
“Wasn’t there a death in the family recently?”
“Two, actually.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” said Roger, stopping abruptly. “In any case, I always come out on top.”
George stood, looking up at the building that cast a shadow over them. It was not the best hotel in the city, but it was the most expensive; for certain things, Roger had learned, appearance was everything.
The expression that George turned on him was appraising, making the back of his neck prickle deliciously.
“So, are we going to test this theory of yours?” George asked him.
“Theory?”
“You said that you always come out on top.” George smiled. “Well, so do I.”
The coffee that the receptionist had waiting for him was hideously weak, but Roger was not exactly in a position to complain. He sipped at it, trying not to wince. This meeting had to go smoothly.
The sound of the conference room door opening made him set his cup back on the glass-topped table and stand, turning to his cousin with a smile.
“Don’t say a word, Roger,” snapped Jonathan, stalking around the table. There was a newspaper in his hand; he threw it down with a growl. “I think you’ve done enough already, don’t you?”
“Jon,” he said, turning on the charm even as he reached for the paper, mind working frantically. “Is something the matter?”
“Not any more. I’d ask you to explain, but I think I’ve already got the gist of the situation.” He nodded at the newspaper that Roger now held in his hands, eyes burning coldly.
Roger unfolded the newspaper and smoothed the crease that ran across the front page.
ROGER CONTÉ SELLS FAMILY SHORT, PROFITS ON UNDER THE TABLE DEAL
He could feel Jonathan’s fury coming across the table at him, as if in waves. But there was little he could do: he felt frozen. Through the shock, he managed to scan the article, each damning word a twist of the knife, the details of his secret deal with Tirragen spread openly across the front page.
His eyes jumped to the byline, already half-knowing what he would find: Investigative Report by George Cooper.
Rage blinding him, Roger crumpled the newspaper in his fist.
“I won’t be signing that contract,” said Jonathan. When Roger raised his eyes to his cousin, the younger man’s attention was focused on something behind him. A moment later, Roger felt two security guards at his back.
The security guards escorted him down to the lobby, and practically threw him out into the street. Roger managed to stumble to a halt without falling down, and straightened, raking a hand through his hair, anger still coursing through him.
When his mobile phone started to vibrate in his pocket, he fumbled it out and almost hurled it at the sidewalk, but something held him back. Looking at the screen, the number was one he didn’t recognise.
“You,” he snarled into the phone.
“You’ve seen the paper, then,” came the cheerful reply. “Not bad, is it?”
Roger clenched his jaw. “This cannot happen to me. It won’t.”
“I could always retract the story,” said George, and damn it, Roger could practically hear him grinning. “I’m sure everything would go back to normal after that.”
“You bastard.”
“I mean, there’d still be the tape,” George continued, “but I don’t really want to part with that.”
Roger put a hand to his head, suddenly exhausted, and completely at a loss. His life was slipping away with each passing second, with every person who read that article. All the rage had seemed to swell within him, and now he only felt fevered with hate, the beginning of a headache forming at his temples.
“You bastard,” he said again. There was no recovering from the article, but at least he could reclaim any other…incriminating evidence that Cooper had compiled. “I want that tape. I can pay.”
“Like I said, Roger, I don’t really want to part with it. I think I’ll just keep it for personal use, if you catch my drift.”
He didn’t know if he hung up, then, or if Cooper did, but Roger let his hand fall from his ear. Fool. How could he have been so stupid? He had been overconfident, and it had brought about his own downfall.
He would have his revenge. If it took months—even years—he would have his revenge upon George Cooper.
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1382
Pairing: George Cooper/Roger of Conte
Round/Fight: 1C
Summary: In which Roger is dapper and devious, or so he thinks. Modern!AU.
“We have to sell before the value drops any further,” said Roger, a comforting hand on his cousin’s arm. “Your father knew that before he died. Everything’s been arranged.”
“I know,” said Jonathan. “But it’s been in our family for so long….”
He was trying not to look miserable, and failing. The black suit and tie he wore—still in mourning for his parents—did not make him appear washed-out and pale as it would most people, but Jonathan, Roger reflected irritably, was not ‘most people’.
“Your parents wouldn’t want you to be left with nothing. They loved you. No matter how many generations the company has been under our name, do you really think they’d wanted it more than they did you?”
It was a low blow, considering how much difficulty Lianne had had trying to conceive, but in his current state, Jonathan only took it as heartfelt advice.
The young man cleared his throat, wiped his eyes with a hand, and looked up at Roger with a weak smile. “You’re right, of course. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Roger.”
***
Once he was down on street level and well away from the Conté building, Roger allowed himself a smile. It really was too easy. Extracting his mobile phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he dialled a number and began heading towards his hotel as he waited for the call to be picked up.
“Tirragen,” he said when the man answered. “I’ve just finished with him. The contract should be signed tomorrow.”
The reply was lost on Roger, whose attention had been snared by a young man seated on a bench some distance ahead: one arm was slung along the back of it, and his foot was resting on the opposite knee. Black jeans fitted him like a glove, and as Roger drew closer he was met with a raised eyebrow and a cocky smile.
“Don’t forget my cut,” Roger said into his phone, then promptly hung up. He could worry about soothing Alex Tirragen’s ruffled feathers tomorrow.
The man on the bench looked him up and down. His hazel eyes gleamed with mischief. “Looking for someone?”
“That depends,” said Roger, adopting a charming smile of his own. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“George,” the man introduced himself, standing and offering his hand. Roger took it, and even that simple physical contact was overpowering, possibly because the man—George—was still smiling at him. He wasn’t conventionally attractive, but that smile was incredible.
“Roger,” he said in return, ending the handshake reluctantly. The two of them fell into step together, George’s arm brushing against his as they walked. It wasn’t Roger’s usual modus operandi to pick up strange men off the street, but it wouldn’t be the first time, either.
He could feel the other man’s eyes on him. “You look familiar,” said George finally. “But we haven’t met before, have we.”
“I’m sure I’d remember,” Roger said.
George laughed. “Yes, I suppose so. Still, I’ve seen your face somewhere before. Are you famous? Wait, no,” he interrupted himself, giving Roger the once over again. “Dressed much too nicely to be a celebrity.”
Roger raised an eyebrow in reply, and was rewarded with another short laugh. He couldn’t help smiling himself; it seemed that this would not be one of the occasions where he would have to deliver a snide rejection. He was rather enjoying himself.
It was a welcome distraction after weeks of dealing with his spoiled cousin.
“Perhaps you’ve seen my photo in the paper,” said Roger. “I have…connections.”
“Businessman?”
“Naturally.” He glanced aside at the other man in time to see him nodding, hands in the pockets of his jeans—a feat he was impressed by, considering how tight they were. It was difficult not to notice.
“You’re one of those Contés,” George said.
“Yes.”
“Wasn’t there a death in the family recently?”
“Two, actually.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” said Roger, stopping abruptly. “In any case, I always come out on top.”
George stood, looking up at the building that cast a shadow over them. It was not the best hotel in the city, but it was the most expensive; for certain things, Roger had learned, appearance was everything.
The expression that George turned on him was appraising, making the back of his neck prickle deliciously.
“So, are we going to test this theory of yours?” George asked him.
“Theory?”
“You said that you always come out on top.” George smiled. “Well, so do I.”
***
The coffee that the receptionist had waiting for him was hideously weak, but Roger was not exactly in a position to complain. He sipped at it, trying not to wince. This meeting had to go smoothly.
The sound of the conference room door opening made him set his cup back on the glass-topped table and stand, turning to his cousin with a smile.
“Don’t say a word, Roger,” snapped Jonathan, stalking around the table. There was a newspaper in his hand; he threw it down with a growl. “I think you’ve done enough already, don’t you?”
“Jon,” he said, turning on the charm even as he reached for the paper, mind working frantically. “Is something the matter?”
“Not any more. I’d ask you to explain, but I think I’ve already got the gist of the situation.” He nodded at the newspaper that Roger now held in his hands, eyes burning coldly.
Roger unfolded the newspaper and smoothed the crease that ran across the front page.
ROGER CONTÉ SELLS FAMILY SHORT, PROFITS ON UNDER THE TABLE DEAL
He could feel Jonathan’s fury coming across the table at him, as if in waves. But there was little he could do: he felt frozen. Through the shock, he managed to scan the article, each damning word a twist of the knife, the details of his secret deal with Tirragen spread openly across the front page.
His eyes jumped to the byline, already half-knowing what he would find: Investigative Report by George Cooper.
Rage blinding him, Roger crumpled the newspaper in his fist.
“I won’t be signing that contract,” said Jonathan. When Roger raised his eyes to his cousin, the younger man’s attention was focused on something behind him. A moment later, Roger felt two security guards at his back.
***
The security guards escorted him down to the lobby, and practically threw him out into the street. Roger managed to stumble to a halt without falling down, and straightened, raking a hand through his hair, anger still coursing through him.
When his mobile phone started to vibrate in his pocket, he fumbled it out and almost hurled it at the sidewalk, but something held him back. Looking at the screen, the number was one he didn’t recognise.
“You,” he snarled into the phone.
“You’ve seen the paper, then,” came the cheerful reply. “Not bad, is it?”
Roger clenched his jaw. “This cannot happen to me. It won’t.”
“I could always retract the story,” said George, and damn it, Roger could practically hear him grinning. “I’m sure everything would go back to normal after that.”
“You bastard.”
“I mean, there’d still be the tape,” George continued, “but I don’t really want to part with that.”
Roger put a hand to his head, suddenly exhausted, and completely at a loss. His life was slipping away with each passing second, with every person who read that article. All the rage had seemed to swell within him, and now he only felt fevered with hate, the beginning of a headache forming at his temples.
“You bastard,” he said again. There was no recovering from the article, but at least he could reclaim any other…incriminating evidence that Cooper had compiled. “I want that tape. I can pay.”
“Like I said, Roger, I don’t really want to part with it. I think I’ll just keep it for personal use, if you catch my drift.”
He didn’t know if he hung up, then, or if Cooper did, but Roger let his hand fall from his ear. Fool. How could he have been so stupid? He had been overconfident, and it had brought about his own downfall.
He would have his revenge. If it took months—even years—he would have his revenge upon George Cooper.