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fellowshippers2004-02-27 05:32 pm
tiniowien.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-02-27 05:32 pm
'Another Day At The Office' V/O. G.
Title: Another Day At The Office.
Author: Melissa
E-mail: dr_dana_mulder42@yahoo.com
Website: http//:www.livejournal.com/users/tiniowien
Summary: Robin Baum's secretary is caught up in events she doesn't fully understand.
Pairing: V/O
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: I do not claim to know anything about the sexual preferences of Orlando Bloom or Viggo Mortensen. This is a product of my imagination. Nothing more, nothing less.
Feedback: Is devoured. please?
Notes: I don't think this is a POV that's ever been done before. A weird little fic that came to me in the early hours of one morning. Can you tell?
Even the smallest person can help change the course of the future, as it's so famously said.
~*~
"No. No way! I don't believ-- you're out of your fucking mind!"
I sigh and none too elegantly stick a finger in one ear, continuing to write with my other hand. And my friends wonder why I never discuss my job with them. Another day, another superstar flouncing and throwing their weight around, locked in a battle they're doomed to lose behind the closed dors to my left. I've never yet seen anyone, no matter how famous, win an argument with my boss. She just steamrolls right over them. Take Russell Crowe last month. Now *there's* a man with an ego twice the size of that inflated head of his. Came barging right in when I was talking to Robin, demanding her full attention and treating me like a coffee girl. God, I may be the secretary but I worked damn hard to get this job. Still some actors still treat me like I'm nothing more than an insect. A fly. A well-informed fly, but a fly nonetheless.
But being a fly on the wall has it's advantages in a job such as this one. Not that I need to be on the wall inside Robin's office at the present moment. I can hear extremely well from my desk outside, Orlando's making enough of a racket.
Yes. Orlando Bloom. Robin's latest acquisition and currently the crown jewel in her tiara of Hollywood stars. Which is probably why she's letting him yell at her right now. Temper tantrums are not normally tolerated in Robin Baum's presence.
There's a moment of silence and I remove my finger, not bothering to pause in my drafts of this term's contracts. Which is why when the door is thrown open and slams against the wall I jump about three feet into the air.
Orlando storms out as the door swings shut behind him. Seemingly oblivious to my presence (a very common occurrence with celebrities, believe me) he jams one hand into the pocket of his jeans and runs the other roughly through his hair. He's certainly a looker, and I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he paces the room like a caged tiger. Round and round and round (I'm getting dizzy at this point) until he spirals himself into such a small circle that he pulls himself up, stopping short and lashing out at the dustbin with his foot, "Fuck!"
Tension radiates off him in thick waves, but there's something else there under all his anger... with a shock I realise it's genuine distress. Which is what prompts me to clear my throat, "Mr Bloom? Uh... Can I get you something?" Yes, I can play the part of a coffee girl when it suits, I just don't like people telling me to do so.
He starts and looks to me as if only noticing me for the first time (which he probably is). God, his eyes are beautiful. He was sporting sunglasses -big, gaudy 60s style ones- when he arrived, but now they're hooked into the collar of the dark shirt he's wearing.
I give myself a mental slap and tell myself to stop gawking. He still hasn't answered my question; he's just standing there looking extremely lost, so I repeat myself, "Is there anything you'd like?"
He doesn't react for a moment, and I'm beginning to wonder if all he does is stand around and look pretty to get where he wants (not that he'd get any complaints doing just that) 'cause he doesn't appear to be all that big on actually talking... When he suddenly frowns, looks to the closed doors to Robin's office then strides over to me, leaning down to place both palms on my desk, "Do you have a mobile phone?"
I lean back a fraction, despite every nerve in my body screaming at me to lean *towards* him, "Excuse me?"
His tone is frustrated, "Do you have a cell phone? If so, can I borrow it? I need to call... someone."
"This is highly unprofessional..." I'm already automatically about to say no, but the look in his eyes cuts me off. They're desperate, and he pushes off the desk with a sigh, his eyes shutting in a painful grimace.
Calling myself an idiot, I click my fingers at him and he opens his eyes to find me digging through my handbag on the corner of my desk. Coming up with my cell, I shove it into his hand, "Here. Just make it quick."
He smiles warmly, "Thank you," and immediately punches in a number, lifting the phone to his ear and pointing to the side room to my right with the other hand, "Is that free?"
I nod and he opens the door, slipping inside. As it snaps shut I catch a few words, "Hey. It's me. Look, I--"
Four minutes later he emerges, looking no less worried but far calmer than before. Whoever was on the other end of the phone obviously had a soothing effect. Glancing again to the doors of Robin's office, he walks quickly to me and hands me back my phone, "Thanks, uh..."
"Chantelle," I offer. "You know, most people just ask for my number, not the whole phone."
He chuckles, "Yeah. Well I'm not most people." In a second though, he's back to being serious, and he bites his bottom lip, "Look... I have to meet someone. If Robin comes looking for me can you hold her? Keep her away from the conference room? I'll only be twenty minutes. Can you help me out?"
He gives me a hopeful look. No, I tell myself. Absolutely not. Don't be an idiot. You could lose your job for this. You're a professional...
"I can give you fifteen. She'll start searching after that."
With a relieved grin, he spins and dashes out of the room and down the hall, descending the stairs rapidly. I shake my head. I must be insane.
Not thirty seconds after Orlando leaves, Robin pushes the door open. "Right. Have we had time to cool do-- Chantelle? Where's Orlando?"
I look up from where I'm currently feeding paper into the tray on the photocopier and offer my sweetest smile, "I don't know. He said he had to clear his head. I think he went for a walk along the floor. He looked upset," I venture. "Is everything okay?"
Looking to me, Robin nods curtly, "Yes. Nothing to worry about."
It certainly didn't sound like nothing to me, but I keep my mouth shut and press print on the photocopier. As the minutes tick by the only sound is the steady thrum of the machine in front of me. Robin checks and re-checks her watch, and I find myself sneaking glances too. He's been gone far too long now. Robin advances on me, "Where is he? This is ridiculous. Which way did he go?"
"Upstairs." is my immediate response, and I let out a sigh of relief when she turns and heads down the hall and punches for the elevator.
Shit. What if she runs into someone who saw him head downstairs? She'll find him in an instant. We only have two conference rooms and they're both on the ground level.
Fuck. My stomach tightens. I start down the hallway, half of me wanting to just dive back to my desk and forget just how much hell is going to erupt if she finds him. I'm not a fool. I know whomever the 'someone' he's meeting is a person he's not supposed to talk to.
Stars are only allowed to associate with certain people in their working weeks. I should know. I draw up the lists. All part and parcel of being a superstar, baby. Eat here. Be seen here. Only talk to these people. Real glamorous.
So that narrows the field as to who it could be that Orlando is risking an ass-kicking to see right now. I run the list through my head as I take the stairs like he did, firstly making sure that the elevator numbers indicate that robin is going up... Good.
Walking quickly down to the ground floor, I have to wonder that on earth would possess him to meet his friend now.
Pushing open the first set of double doors on the floor, a quick scan of the room tells me that there's nobody in residence. It must be the second room then. God, Robin is going to fire my ass and I'll be working behind the counter at McDonalds within the week. I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is coming along the hall, then slide the door open.
At first it looks like there's no one there. The only light is coming through the vertical blinds on the windows on the far wall. They cut like blades across the otherwise dim room. I'm about to close the door, sneak back upstairs and deny any knowledge of meeting any Orlando Bloom, when I hear rustling. Squinting, I can make out the mop of curly hair that got me into this trouble in the first place. I go to call to him when I realise what he's doing.
He's wrapped up in the arms of someone else half-hidden in the shadows in the corner of the room. I try to run through the list of off-limits people he's got, but it's only when snatches of the conversation drift towards me that I recognise the voice.
"...to be missed if you don't go back." Soft, gentle.
"I don't care." Angry, petulant.
"I can go and talk to her if you want..."
"No! God, that'd just make it worse. No. I'm going to tell her straight out. I won't do it. I'm not marrying her. I don't love her... I love you. Fuck her. She can just go and write up some damage control. S'what she's good at. Serves her right. Releasing this bullshit scheme without even telling me first."
I watch in stunned silence as Viggo Mortensen takes Orlando's face in his hands and dips his head to kiss him. Orlando whimpers softly and latches onto him like a lifeline, his hands gripping Viggo's arms as if he wants to climb inside the other man. "Hate this," he mumbles between needy kisses, "Hate having to play this game by her rules."
That brings me back to my senses. Without hesitating any longer, I step back out and knock brusquely on the hard wood of the door, waiting a second before entering. When I do, the scene is vastly different. Orlando and Viggo are standing a discreet distance part, Viggo wiping a hand quickly over his mouth, and Orlando looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
I decide ignorance is the best card to play, so I nod, "Mr Mortensen," before turning to Orlando. "You're missed." I stress, opening the door and motioning for him to come with me.
"Oh, right. Thanks." he smiles quickly and turns to Viggo, who nods, "I'll support whatever decision you make."
Orlando dips his head in agreeance and walks past him, and it could have been the dim light but I'm sure he gave his hand a squeeze on the way by.
I practically shove Orlando up the stairs as he exits, then remember and turn back. "Will you be okay, Mr Morte..."
But he's already gone, the slight 'snick' of a closing door the only sign of his previous presence.
Smiling to myself, I'm brought back with a jolt and follow Orlando's path quickly up the stairs. By the time I get back, Orlando and Robin aren't there, but he door to my Boss' office is closed, so no prizes for guessing where they are.
I sit down and take a few deep breaths to calm myself down. My nerves are on fire, and my hands are shaking when I turn to the computer to type. I've never done anything this reckless in my life.
I'm still trying to get my fingers working when Orlando re-emerges half an hour later looking like a new man, Robin following at his heels like a bristling terrier. It's quite the amazing sight.
As he passes he mouths a silent 'thank you' before walking down the hall towards the elevators.
Robin stops at the doorway and leans her hand against the frame as if gathering her composure, before swivelling to face me.
"Chantelle. Call Ms Bosworth's agent. Have him meet me tonight. We have to find a way out of this mess. Oh, and pull Orlando out of the Empire Awards. We can't have him attending now."
I just nod mutely and pick up the phone. Another day at the office.
~*~
The End.
Author: Melissa
E-mail: dr_dana_mulder42@yahoo.com
Website: http//:www.livejournal.com/users/tiniowien
Summary: Robin Baum's secretary is caught up in events she doesn't fully understand.
Pairing: V/O
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: I do not claim to know anything about the sexual preferences of Orlando Bloom or Viggo Mortensen. This is a product of my imagination. Nothing more, nothing less.
Feedback: Is devoured. please?
Notes: I don't think this is a POV that's ever been done before. A weird little fic that came to me in the early hours of one morning. Can you tell?
Even the smallest person can help change the course of the future, as it's so famously said.
~*~
"No. No way! I don't believ-- you're out of your fucking mind!"
I sigh and none too elegantly stick a finger in one ear, continuing to write with my other hand. And my friends wonder why I never discuss my job with them. Another day, another superstar flouncing and throwing their weight around, locked in a battle they're doomed to lose behind the closed dors to my left. I've never yet seen anyone, no matter how famous, win an argument with my boss. She just steamrolls right over them. Take Russell Crowe last month. Now *there's* a man with an ego twice the size of that inflated head of his. Came barging right in when I was talking to Robin, demanding her full attention and treating me like a coffee girl. God, I may be the secretary but I worked damn hard to get this job. Still some actors still treat me like I'm nothing more than an insect. A fly. A well-informed fly, but a fly nonetheless.
But being a fly on the wall has it's advantages in a job such as this one. Not that I need to be on the wall inside Robin's office at the present moment. I can hear extremely well from my desk outside, Orlando's making enough of a racket.
Yes. Orlando Bloom. Robin's latest acquisition and currently the crown jewel in her tiara of Hollywood stars. Which is probably why she's letting him yell at her right now. Temper tantrums are not normally tolerated in Robin Baum's presence.
There's a moment of silence and I remove my finger, not bothering to pause in my drafts of this term's contracts. Which is why when the door is thrown open and slams against the wall I jump about three feet into the air.
Orlando storms out as the door swings shut behind him. Seemingly oblivious to my presence (a very common occurrence with celebrities, believe me) he jams one hand into the pocket of his jeans and runs the other roughly through his hair. He's certainly a looker, and I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he paces the room like a caged tiger. Round and round and round (I'm getting dizzy at this point) until he spirals himself into such a small circle that he pulls himself up, stopping short and lashing out at the dustbin with his foot, "Fuck!"
Tension radiates off him in thick waves, but there's something else there under all his anger... with a shock I realise it's genuine distress. Which is what prompts me to clear my throat, "Mr Bloom? Uh... Can I get you something?" Yes, I can play the part of a coffee girl when it suits, I just don't like people telling me to do so.
He starts and looks to me as if only noticing me for the first time (which he probably is). God, his eyes are beautiful. He was sporting sunglasses -big, gaudy 60s style ones- when he arrived, but now they're hooked into the collar of the dark shirt he's wearing.
I give myself a mental slap and tell myself to stop gawking. He still hasn't answered my question; he's just standing there looking extremely lost, so I repeat myself, "Is there anything you'd like?"
He doesn't react for a moment, and I'm beginning to wonder if all he does is stand around and look pretty to get where he wants (not that he'd get any complaints doing just that) 'cause he doesn't appear to be all that big on actually talking... When he suddenly frowns, looks to the closed doors to Robin's office then strides over to me, leaning down to place both palms on my desk, "Do you have a mobile phone?"
I lean back a fraction, despite every nerve in my body screaming at me to lean *towards* him, "Excuse me?"
His tone is frustrated, "Do you have a cell phone? If so, can I borrow it? I need to call... someone."
"This is highly unprofessional..." I'm already automatically about to say no, but the look in his eyes cuts me off. They're desperate, and he pushes off the desk with a sigh, his eyes shutting in a painful grimace.
Calling myself an idiot, I click my fingers at him and he opens his eyes to find me digging through my handbag on the corner of my desk. Coming up with my cell, I shove it into his hand, "Here. Just make it quick."
He smiles warmly, "Thank you," and immediately punches in a number, lifting the phone to his ear and pointing to the side room to my right with the other hand, "Is that free?"
I nod and he opens the door, slipping inside. As it snaps shut I catch a few words, "Hey. It's me. Look, I--"
Four minutes later he emerges, looking no less worried but far calmer than before. Whoever was on the other end of the phone obviously had a soothing effect. Glancing again to the doors of Robin's office, he walks quickly to me and hands me back my phone, "Thanks, uh..."
"Chantelle," I offer. "You know, most people just ask for my number, not the whole phone."
He chuckles, "Yeah. Well I'm not most people." In a second though, he's back to being serious, and he bites his bottom lip, "Look... I have to meet someone. If Robin comes looking for me can you hold her? Keep her away from the conference room? I'll only be twenty minutes. Can you help me out?"
He gives me a hopeful look. No, I tell myself. Absolutely not. Don't be an idiot. You could lose your job for this. You're a professional...
"I can give you fifteen. She'll start searching after that."
With a relieved grin, he spins and dashes out of the room and down the hall, descending the stairs rapidly. I shake my head. I must be insane.
Not thirty seconds after Orlando leaves, Robin pushes the door open. "Right. Have we had time to cool do-- Chantelle? Where's Orlando?"
I look up from where I'm currently feeding paper into the tray on the photocopier and offer my sweetest smile, "I don't know. He said he had to clear his head. I think he went for a walk along the floor. He looked upset," I venture. "Is everything okay?"
Looking to me, Robin nods curtly, "Yes. Nothing to worry about."
It certainly didn't sound like nothing to me, but I keep my mouth shut and press print on the photocopier. As the minutes tick by the only sound is the steady thrum of the machine in front of me. Robin checks and re-checks her watch, and I find myself sneaking glances too. He's been gone far too long now. Robin advances on me, "Where is he? This is ridiculous. Which way did he go?"
"Upstairs." is my immediate response, and I let out a sigh of relief when she turns and heads down the hall and punches for the elevator.
Shit. What if she runs into someone who saw him head downstairs? She'll find him in an instant. We only have two conference rooms and they're both on the ground level.
Fuck. My stomach tightens. I start down the hallway, half of me wanting to just dive back to my desk and forget just how much hell is going to erupt if she finds him. I'm not a fool. I know whomever the 'someone' he's meeting is a person he's not supposed to talk to.
Stars are only allowed to associate with certain people in their working weeks. I should know. I draw up the lists. All part and parcel of being a superstar, baby. Eat here. Be seen here. Only talk to these people. Real glamorous.
So that narrows the field as to who it could be that Orlando is risking an ass-kicking to see right now. I run the list through my head as I take the stairs like he did, firstly making sure that the elevator numbers indicate that robin is going up... Good.
Walking quickly down to the ground floor, I have to wonder that on earth would possess him to meet his friend now.
Pushing open the first set of double doors on the floor, a quick scan of the room tells me that there's nobody in residence. It must be the second room then. God, Robin is going to fire my ass and I'll be working behind the counter at McDonalds within the week. I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is coming along the hall, then slide the door open.
At first it looks like there's no one there. The only light is coming through the vertical blinds on the windows on the far wall. They cut like blades across the otherwise dim room. I'm about to close the door, sneak back upstairs and deny any knowledge of meeting any Orlando Bloom, when I hear rustling. Squinting, I can make out the mop of curly hair that got me into this trouble in the first place. I go to call to him when I realise what he's doing.
He's wrapped up in the arms of someone else half-hidden in the shadows in the corner of the room. I try to run through the list of off-limits people he's got, but it's only when snatches of the conversation drift towards me that I recognise the voice.
"...to be missed if you don't go back." Soft, gentle.
"I don't care." Angry, petulant.
"I can go and talk to her if you want..."
"No! God, that'd just make it worse. No. I'm going to tell her straight out. I won't do it. I'm not marrying her. I don't love her... I love you. Fuck her. She can just go and write up some damage control. S'what she's good at. Serves her right. Releasing this bullshit scheme without even telling me first."
I watch in stunned silence as Viggo Mortensen takes Orlando's face in his hands and dips his head to kiss him. Orlando whimpers softly and latches onto him like a lifeline, his hands gripping Viggo's arms as if he wants to climb inside the other man. "Hate this," he mumbles between needy kisses, "Hate having to play this game by her rules."
That brings me back to my senses. Without hesitating any longer, I step back out and knock brusquely on the hard wood of the door, waiting a second before entering. When I do, the scene is vastly different. Orlando and Viggo are standing a discreet distance part, Viggo wiping a hand quickly over his mouth, and Orlando looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
I decide ignorance is the best card to play, so I nod, "Mr Mortensen," before turning to Orlando. "You're missed." I stress, opening the door and motioning for him to come with me.
"Oh, right. Thanks." he smiles quickly and turns to Viggo, who nods, "I'll support whatever decision you make."
Orlando dips his head in agreeance and walks past him, and it could have been the dim light but I'm sure he gave his hand a squeeze on the way by.
I practically shove Orlando up the stairs as he exits, then remember and turn back. "Will you be okay, Mr Morte..."
But he's already gone, the slight 'snick' of a closing door the only sign of his previous presence.
Smiling to myself, I'm brought back with a jolt and follow Orlando's path quickly up the stairs. By the time I get back, Orlando and Robin aren't there, but he door to my Boss' office is closed, so no prizes for guessing where they are.
I sit down and take a few deep breaths to calm myself down. My nerves are on fire, and my hands are shaking when I turn to the computer to type. I've never done anything this reckless in my life.
I'm still trying to get my fingers working when Orlando re-emerges half an hour later looking like a new man, Robin following at his heels like a bristling terrier. It's quite the amazing sight.
As he passes he mouths a silent 'thank you' before walking down the hall towards the elevators.
Robin stops at the doorway and leans her hand against the frame as if gathering her composure, before swivelling to face me.
"Chantelle. Call Ms Bosworth's agent. Have him meet me tonight. We have to find a way out of this mess. Oh, and pull Orlando out of the Empire Awards. We can't have him attending now."
I just nod mutely and pick up the phone. Another day at the office.
~*~
The End.
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Well, ok, this one did. :) Nicely done - your characters were very believable. Me likey.
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Nice job!
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