Chapter Text
It's on today’s front page again. The top trending article in the social feeds—
MISSING WOMAN FOUND AFTER NINE WEEKS OF SEARCH
Another victim gets located; her unclothed body fished out from a river as wide as the Hudson. No murder weapon, no fingerprints and no witnesses. The cops announce that they have the best task force working to track down this monster. That’s what they said when the first girl was uncovered—
—and yet, here they are.
Almost fifteen bodies later with no substantial leads.
They are convinced it’s the same guy. A highly elusive serial killer that lures his targets in. The cause of death varies from strangulation to a gruesome head wound from something sharp, something of coated steel. Nails, possibly. On the victims, he leaves behind just hints of his psychotic handiwork (or his calling card, as one would assume.) Convoluted traces of drugs in their system. Significant ligature marks on their hands and feet. In some cases, the stage of decomposition was so advanced that cause of death remained inconclusive.
And he appears to have a type: blondes.
Seems to like them young, too. Real young.
“Maybe the killer’s a female,” a deep, silky tone catches her attention. “Shouldn’t be sexist in this day and age, don’t you think?”
Rey Johnson, substitute personal assistant to Amilyn Holdo, the Global Head of the Private Wealth Management division, looks up from her phone. Her heart skips a beat because there he is again, leaning over her desk as if they have a close affiliation. As if they already have some kind of rapport with each other.
Slanting his head, Benjamin Organa-Skywalker Solo smiles down at her. “Hey, how you doing?”
God, he’s fucking sexy, she thinks.
“Hello, Mr. Solo,” she sheepishly returns a smile. “I’m fine, thank you. Amilyn's not in right now. Anything I can help you with? Or you could leave a message, and I’ll pass it on?”
As Ben handles the most exclusive corporate clients for the Hosnian Prime Banking Group, he often shares referrals to Amilyn for potential new customers—a side benefit of his networking with CEOs and executive level individuals. Not to mention she’s also heard office gossip about his well-connected Organa-Skywalker family that owns one of the biggest media conglomerates in the world. A rather big fish around here, she gathers. Rumour has it that working with Hosnian Prime is just a casual pastime for him until he takes the reins of his family’s empire.
He clicks his tongue. “Not a problem. I’ll drop her an email.” Then, he hands over a thick stack of paperwork. “Get these to her, too. Group Treasury amended Article 6.” He drums his—very, very distractingly large—fingers on her desk, ticking off whatever mental checklist he has. “Oh, yeah. The client we had lunch with the other day? Good to go. The lawyers will kickstart ISDA negotiations.”
“Sure thing.” She gestures at the documents. “Though, next time you can just tell me to pick these from the printers.”
“Why?”
“Saves you the trouble of coming over.”
He looks at her for a second too long. “Maybe I enjoy seeing your pretty face.”
She blinks up at him. Did she just hear that right?
“You look nice today,” he continues cooly, giving her another once-over.
“Oh, um…” She curiously eyes her bargain corner blouse and hand-me down pencil skirt from her roommate. “Thank you?”
“Got a date?”
She shakes her head. "Nah."
“That’s a shame.” He gives a playful pout that makes her salivate. "Is your special someone not giving you the attention you deserve?”
Her face grows hot. What's he up to? “Sure, if I had someone.”
“Oh? I didn’t know you’re single.” Something strange crosses his features. “That’s interesting.”
She rolls her eyes. “How is my non-existent love life interesting?”
“Lucky for me, then.”
Rey stares at him, wondering if she's misheard again. “I don’t get it.”
He props himself closer, so much closer to her that she could count his beauty marks across his face. She notices how plush his pretty mouth is, the colour of his deep-set eyes which are a heady mix of amber and honey whisky, and how perfectly set his waves of obsidian hair are. His haircare routine must be insane! And his aftershave smells bloody good, too.
“I’d like to take you out to dinner tomorrow.”
What?
Her pulse instantly soars. “Dinner?”
“Ever been to La Takodana? Amazing fusion dishes. They make some pretty mean cocktails, if that's your thing.”
La Ristorante Takodana? No fucking way. She could barely get a reservation for Amilyn and her husband for months now. He must be fucking joking if he’s just casually offering to take her to the most sought-after restaurants in the city within the next twenty-four hours. Or maybe he’s planning on taking her for dinner next year? She’s heard loony stories about him being quite a stickler for advance planning…
She giggles nervously. “Now I definitely know you’re kidding. You can’t just—”
“I can.”
Still smiling, his heavy gaze riveted her to the seat till she realises he’s waiting for an answer. Somehow, she gets the feeling he’s not going to leave until she says yes.
She snorts. “Who’d you kill to skip the queue?”
He gives her a huge, striking grin. “Oh, you have no idea.”
Honestly, she doesn’t understand why he’s asking her out. They run in different social circles. She’s pretty much a nobody from nowhere. Plus, she’s been made to believe that he has a penchant for women that are, well, not like her. Beautiful supermodels. Elegant heiresses. Celebrities. The latest arm candy about town.
Again, not her .
Since joining the company over six months ago, she’s only seen him a couple of times. In the first few instances, he doesn’t even notice her, going directly to Amilyn’s room and straight back out to the elevators once he’s done. Which is fine, really, because what could she possibly say to interest a man who champions a business that gets raging boners from huge funding drawdowns and market volatility? It’s only after the eighth meeting that he finally looks at her, stopping by her desk to introduce himself. She could have laughed—who here hasn't heard of Ben Solo?
Still, she did enough to play it cool. It soon turned into an exhilarating ritual where he makes a point to exchange flirtatious remarks—all tame, of course. And truthfully, she enjoys his attentions, too.
Today is the thirteenth time she's seeing him.
Something feels strange, and she’s not sure what it is.
“But—” She tries to string her words carefully. “Why are—I mean, why would you…?”
“Too sudden?”
She nods quietly, still a little shy and bewildered to figure out what the hell is really going on.
“I’d like to get to know you, Rey. Been wanting to take you out somewhere nice so we can spend time together.”
This must be a dream. Yes—some beautiful, crazy and otherworldly fantasy where someone like him tells someone like her that he’s thought about her for a long time. She’s not sure how Amilyn would feel about her assistant messing around with a senior co-worker, but…
No. This is fucking insane. He is fucking insane.
Alarm bells should go off that only creepy old guys will ask a girl her age out. Red flags. Warning signs. They should go off. And yet—
“So?” He’s practically crooning. “Come on, it’ll be fun. I can be the perfect gentleman.”
“This isn’t some bet you made with your big boys' club to see if I’ll say yes, right?”
He pulls a face at her comment. “I’m not some caveman, you know. Time’s too precious to be wasted on juvenile bullshit.”
While she knows that to be true because she’s heard others on the floor talk about him like he’s some boy genius with an outrageous IQ, there’s still a bubbling sense of trepidation within her. Every cell in her body says this guy is a no-go, to be smart about it and stay the fuck away.
So, why can’t she?
She nods slowly. “Okay, tomorrow’s good.”
When his lip curls in response, it twists something incredibly hot and inappropriate at her gut. Instinctively, her legs press together to ease the pressure.
“It’s a Saturday, yeah? Let’s say 7 p.m., and I’ll pick you up on the way. Where do you stay?”
Her skin prickles. Amilyn has made passing comments on Ben's taste for luxury cars more than once. And thus, she’s not sure if she’s ready for the Tico sisters to see this guy roll up in his ridiculous Bentley or Maybach at their three-bedroom apartment's dingy neighbourhood. Although, what does Ben Solo expect from a girl with her salary in a city where she's competing against flaky college kids with über rich parents as rental guarantors? Not much hopefully.
“I—well, is it okay if I meet you there instead?”
“You sure?”
“Uh-huh. I might’ve to do a few things before, so that’ll work out better.”
“As you wish." He whips out his cellphone. “What’s your number?”
“Oh, that’s okay. I can get yours from the department's org chart.”
His eyes darken. “I don’t use my work phone for personal matters.”
“You have a second phone, hey?”
He only smiles and something kicks Rey in the belly again, but she can’t help herself. Not with him, at least. Almost as if there’s something else guiding her movements as they exchange numbers.
“Perfect." He licks his lips. “Look forward to seeing you, Rey.”
“Ah, yes. Looking forward to it as well, Mr. Solo.”
Just as he starts to leave, he looks over his shoulder. “You better start getting used to calling me Ben.”
After he steps into the elevator, she goes red when he catches her still gazing at him. She wants to dive below her desk as he winks back, giving her a wave with an uncanny wiggle of his fingers. For a split second, it reminds her of those circus clowns, beckoning at kids to come closer for a balloon.
Once he’s out of sight, Rey snatches up her phone.
F-F-F-F-FU-FUC-FUCK! she hears her mind shriek.
She scrambles to change her ludicrous profile photo of a tiny kitten swimming in a milkshake. She flips through her gallery so hastily that she’s dizzy by the time she selects another shot—a picture of her and the Tico sisters going hiking last month. Safe, subtle and not screaming for attention. Or looking like an unappealing dork, she supposes.
She blasts out a text to Rose immediately after.
Saturday comes too soon. The weather has reached the chillier levels of mid autumn, so Rey tears apart her entire closet, searching for something warm, but cute to wear. She decides to pair a long-sleeved chiffon dress that falls below her knees with one of her taupe pumps. Maybe she’ll beg Paige for a loan on a fawn trench coat to appear a bit more grown-up.
“Just bring it back exactly as it is, honey,” Paige shakes her head. “You’re looking pretty. Hot date?”
“I—I guess you could say so?”
“Right. Should I put the chain on the door, or you’re still coming home tonight?”
Rey’s cheeks bloom a gorgeous crimson. “Of course I’m coming back!”
“Just checking. Never seen you so dressed up before, so I thought he's someone special.”
🔪
The restaurant is exceedingly nice, the kind that’s really posh with a subtle hint of homey interior. And he’s managed to get a booking in less than a day! Guess it really does pay to be extremely well-known with a shit ton of money, she decides. He’s as handsome as ever, too, dressed in a black Oxford shirt with equally dark trousers and a grey woollen coat.
True to his word, he’s a gentleman.
Maybe a bit old-fashioned if she wants to be pedantic. He holds the doors open. Helps to take her coat. Pulls out her chair. Doesn't laugh when she frowns at the absurdly pretentious menu, doesn’t look smug when the server baffles her with a long list of wine, doesn’t scoff when she didn’t know the difference between an antipasti and an amuse-bouche.
She wants him to make a mistake.
To slip-up so she’ll remember that most men suck, and there’s no way anyone can be this dreamy—this perfect for her.
“Hey, how old are you?” Ben finally asks during dessert.
Rey freezes, the spoon holding her sorbet stopping in mid-air. She’s fully aware he’s effectively ten years her senior—comes with the perks of looking up his profile whenever she's preparing presentation materials for Amilyn. He's got to be, like, thirty? Thirty-one? The Google searches were most definitely her "Ben Solo Instruction Manual." But is he having a sudden panic attack that she might be too young for him?
“Turning twenty in a couple of months.”
In a year, actually. But a little lie now won't hurt.
“So, you’re basically still a teenager?” He seems deeply amused. “Good thing we didn’t order wine, huh? Guess we’ll take a rain check on the cocktails.”
She laughs. “It sounds awful when you put it that way.” Lowering her voice, she leans forward. “I’ve obviously drunk before, though.”
“Haven’t we all?” He grins, the pointy ends of his incisors gleaming beneath the dining lights. “I’m pretty good at mixing drinks myself. We can head to my place after, if you’d like?”
There are distant bells going off in Rey’s head again. She taps her fingers on her thighs, nibbling on her lip as she weighs out her decision. She barely knows him. But maybe he’s just looking for some harmless company tonight, really. He probably wouldn’t try anything, especially when they work in the same office and he’s obviously got a reputation to uphold.
Would he?
But the point is, she didn’t meet him through some dubious dating app.
No chances of him turning into some freak murderer.
“No pressure, Rey. The night's still young.”
“You mean—in case this dinner ends badly and we never want to see each other again?” she teases.
“I highly doubt that.” He tilts his head, studying her. “So—how did such a sweet, young thing like yourself end up working for us? You’re much younger than the last one Amilyn brought in.”
“Well…" She almost sighs. “This job isn’t fixed for the moment. The other assistant is on maternity leave for a year, so I’m just temping until she comes back.”
“Ah, so you were referred in by an agency?”
“Uh-huh. Didn’t have the financial support for college, so I did a course for executive secretarial roles. Stayed unemployed for a couple of months before I got this placement. Amilyn was concerned about my age, but I think she hired me because it's not permanent.” Rey shrugs before adding on, “Probably felt sorry for me, too.”
“What about your parents? No other family?”
“No. I grew up in the foster system.”
And she isn't keen to say any more than that.
“Staying alone, then?”
“I have roommates,” she tells him. “Some childhood girlfriends I’ve made over the years. Rose is a saint—gonna apply for medical school, obviously, while juggling hospital volunteer work. And Paige—her older sister—manages most of the rent.” She quietly picks at the tablecloth. “They’re pretty flexible, so I just supplement where I can.”
“Your job is nothing to be ashamed of, Rey.” He takes a slow sip from his drinking glass. “And having a family isn’t all that great.”
“That’s a dumb thing to say,” she snaps before she can help herself. “Only those who don't know what it’s like to lose something will say shit like that.”
His lips twitch with a tinge of mirth. “My bad, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
She pauses. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”
“That’s fine." He leans back in the chair, his broad-shouldered arms folding across his chest. “No one was really around while I was growing up, so I guess they made up for the absence by giving me whatever I wanted.” He chuckles, a rough sound that makes her goosebumps pop. “Although, I suppose they cared for me in their own way. Cleaning the mess whenever I fucked up.”
“You? Causing trouble?” Rey shakes her head. “Can’t imagine. Aren't you, like, Prince Charming at work? You're probably a top choice for anyone who's into guys.”
His expression tells her he's not crazy about that label.
“I wasn’t an easy child to deal with, Rey,” he explains. “Created a lot of problems for my parents in boarding school.” He runs a hand through his hair before propping a fist below his jaw. “I was also too tall. Too odd looking. Girls didn’t pay attention to me back then.” He flashes her a dark smile. “Even now, I don’t think I’ve gotten any easier to manage.”
She clumsily chortles at his statement, finishing the last scoop of sorbet into her mouth.
Rich kid problems, really.
Ben was right, though. The food is absolutely delicious, and while she isn’t a fussy eater, she has adequate appreciation for the efforts placed into embellishing fine-dining dishes. Or duping customers into paying more than its actual worth. She wonders if it’d be all right to make a throwaway remark to Amilyn about how this restaurant does, in fact, live up to the hype. Though, that may attract some questions on how she, Miss Personal Assistant Rey Johnson, succeeded in getting a table of her own.
Bad idea, she decides.
Keeping her mouth shut sounds way smarter.
“You’re stunning, by the way,” his voice cuts through her thoughts. “Like…you’re very beautiful.”
“Oh.” Rey’s hand awkwardly reaches for her nape, rubbing it to ease the nerves. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. S—”
“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head, a playful timbre in his voice. “What did I say yesterday?”
Her face flushes. “Thank you, Ben.”
She might have imagined it, but his palm seemingly grips the armrest of his chair. Abruptly so. His eyes narrow while he lifts the other hand to brush a thumb along his lower lip, clearly musing on something—something she’s not privy to—as he gives her a long, appraising glance.
“What?” She blinks in surprise. “Do I have something on my face?”
Reaching into her purse, she pulls out a pocket mirror to check. Shit, she thinks, noticing splotches of dried pasta sauce at the corner of her mouth, already crusty. She grimaces, pulling out a facial wipe to dab the stain away. Fucking humiliating. He probably thinks she’s a bottomless dumpster with terrible table manners—
—but when she looks up, he’s in the same position.
Quiet and unmoving.
Still staring.
“Ben? Are you okay?”
This seems to jolt him awake from the daze. “Sorry. Let’s get the check.”
There’s a short silence between them after they get into his chauffeur-driven Bentley, travelling through the city as she marvels at the beautiful lights that illuminate the skyline. Although, at the back of her mind, she’s wondering what the fuck she’s hoping to achieve with this—going for ridiculously fancy dinners, and sitting in an equally fancy car to go for a drive around the town with Ben Solo.
You’re in way over your head, Rey chides herself.
Truth to be told, it’s an internal struggle for her. Always. Because on one hand, she knows better than to get herself invested in something that’s bound to end in tears. But on the other, she wonders why she can't have nice things in life, too. Just a small taste, even if it won’t last.
Even if it isn’t real.
“Rey.”
“Hmm?” she hums, turning to look at him—
—and her eyelids flutter close when he draws her into a kiss.
His mouth is gentle against hers, one hand weaving into her hair while the other pulls at her waist to drag her closer. His tongue nudges against the seam of her lips before she lets him in, caressing the inside of her mouth until something warm coils inside her. Throughout the kiss, he runs a hand up and down her back, occasionally giving her hip a squeeze.
Oof, she thinks.
He really knows how to kiss a girl, doesn’t he?
She's so fucked, honestly. Not to mention the scent that rolls off him is incredibly musky and masculine. He’s got all the qualities to be a world-class predator, luring in whoever he wants with such ease. And Rey is just the oblivious game, chasing the sweet treat he dangles before her.
Finally, he breaks the kiss, his eyes searching her face for a moment. “Do you mind if I book us into a hotel instead?”
Her pulse throbs in her ears. “W-What? Aren’t we going to have drinks at your—”
“If you come home with me, I’ll never let you leave.”
Rey is, quite frankly, baffled by the turn of events. She isn’t normally like this. Making out on the first date. Letting someone she hardly knows touch her so sensually. And now, she’s on the verge of having sex with him in some random hotel room. He clearly isn’t a person who wastes time in holding back, and she’s not unwitting enough to pretend she doesn’t know what he’s looking for.
Because that’s what all this is about, isn’t it?
He wants to fuck her.
God, she thinks. She doesn’t get flustered by boys easily, and yet, look at her now. But he’s not a boy, is he? the little voice in her head sneers. He’s a real man. Calm. Mature. Provides enough space for her to try, but still so purposeful in the way he does it. The past ones she's been with have always been unsure, having the same energy as an excited puppy that dug up a forbidden treat.
And maybe she’s a little lonely, too. Hardly finding anyone she gets an instant connection with, let alone an attraction.
What she’s experiencing now with him—it feels rare.
He starts to trail kisses along the slope of her neck. Every fibre in her body wants this—to just say yes and let them have one night together, and they’ll go back to being strangers in the office. That’s what he probably wants, anyway. Some hot young fling or whatnot. And hasn't he been sweet like he promised, too? That's all she wanted out of tonight, isn't it? A lovely dinner date, and any fooling around after is a bonus.
Though—
Will he still want her if she tells him she’s a virgin?
“I’m waiting…” he murmurs, gentle but persistent. The way he brushes his lips across her skin—it drains every rational thought from her senses.
Was she saving to have her first time with someone special?
Maybe.
But she supposes life’s a little unpredictable. She can’t deny that while he may not be the special someone right now, he’ll know what to do. No more weird fumbling in the dark. She could just look back one day and say she hooked up with some hot, older guy who was obscenely bougie and it was so dumb and reckless but she was young and it was all crazy and just another way to figure herself out.
And it’s Ben fucking Solo, really. She could do a lot worse.
“Okay," she sighs, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. “Let’s get a room.”