Chapter Text
Bellamy
Wells looked from Bellamy to Clarke, noting how both of them were blushing. Clarke was averting her eyes, while Bellamy looked as if he’d just been beamed by a 2x4.
“Now, Boss,” Wells said, “you know I wouldn’t corrupt anyone. Especially someone as sweet and innocent as our Clarke here.”
Clarke sent a death glare Wells’ way, who just smiled, clearly enjoying the obvious sexual tension between the two of them. Bellamy suddenly seemed to realize he was just standing in the kitchen, staring at the poor girl.
‘God, she looks terrified. Pull it together, Blake! The girl needs support, not someone drooling over her.’ Bellamy cleared his throat, then carefully stepped closer, making sure his movements were slow and deliberate.
“You must be Miss Jones. I’m Bellamy Blake, owner of Skyheart. We spoke on the phone,” he said, keeping his voice soft and gentle. Clarke still didn’t look up, but she gave a slight nod.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Blake,” Clarke said quietly. “Thank you again for hiring me.”
“It’s just Bellamy, please,” he said, smiling. “Or Boss, but that’s a name everyone’s just started calling me, not a name I picked out for myself.” Clarke smiled slightly, still staring at the floor.
“Well, technically none of us picked out the names we’re called,” she said. There was a slight pause, then both Wells and Bellamy started laughing.
‘Jesus, even his laugh is amazing,’ Clarke thought. ‘I’m so screwed. I need to avoid this man like the plague.’
‘God, she’s beautiful, funny, and clearly smart. I just have no idea how to help her be less afraid,” Bellamy thought, watching Clarke wring her hands together. ‘And I have to help her.’
“Boss,” Wells said, picking up on the tension, “I haven’t given Clarke a tour of the big house yet. You wanna show her around while I finish dinner?” Bellamy looked over at Clarke, who met his eyes briefly before looking away.
“I don’t want to take up your time, sir,” Clarke said, backing away slightly.
“It’s not a problem at all,” Bellamy replied quickly. “Besides, I came in here early to meet you before the Hurricane arrives.” Wells grinned, pulling yet another pie out of his four industrial ovens.
“Yeah, you better give Clarke a heads-up about the Hurricane or they might scare her to death,” Wells called out as he set the pie down on the counter a ways from where Bellamy and Clarke were talking.
“I’m guessing we’re not talking about some freak weather anomaly?” Clarke asked. “I feel like I would have heard about hurricanes in Montana.” Wells and Bellamy both laughed.
“No, the Hurricane is our not-so-affectionate nickname for the hungry hands,” Bellamy said, chuckling.
“Those boys come in every night and demolish the place. I’m not sure they even appreciate the exquisite cuisine I make them.” Wells sniffed loudly, pretending he was stopping himself from crying. “All my hard work, slaving away in front of these hot stoves, and no one even cares. No one says thank you. Just inhale and bail.” Clarke couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she said, her voice teasing. “I promise to faithfully thank you after every meal.” Wells dramatically bent back, holding the back of his hand to his forehead like he was swooning.
“Where have you been all my life?” Wells asked melodramatically. “Once you tire of these ill-mannered gluttons, we’ll run away together and I’ll finally open up my French pastry shop.”
“The one you’ve been threatening to open for years?” Bellamy had a twinkle in his eye as he looked at Wells.
“I was just waiting for the right partner, someone with class and sophistication,” Wells replied haughtily. “Is it my fault it took so long to find her? Now go, my doves, explore away! I need to finish my latest culinary masterpiece.” He turned back to the three pots on the stove. Clarke had no idea what was in them, but it smelled delicious. Bellamy gave her a sweet smile and gestured to the rest of the house.
“Shall we?” he asked. Clarke looked up at him, finally giving him a little smile and hesitantly nodded.
“Okay, well, you’ve obviously seen the kitchen. It used to be less Master Chef quality, but Wells can be rather picky.”
“Your momma loved the changes just as much as I did!” Wells called out from the kitchen, not bothering to turn around. Bellamy chuckled.
“That is very true. Now we have our dining room over here.” He pointed to the room that housed three long, wooden tables. There was probably enough room to fit over fifty people. “It used to actually be nice, smaller tables, more intimate. Somewhere my family could sit and enjoy dinner and the hands could still fit everywhere. After my folks...”. Bellamy trailed off, staring at the room but not really seeing it, clearly lost in some past memory. After a moment he shook his head and smiled at Clarke again.
“Sorry,” Bellamy said. “Anyway, when I took over, we added twenty jobs, so we basically just turned this room into a mess hall.” He started to walk away, then noticed Clarke wasn’t following him. She was staring at the tables with wide eyes, her face pale.
“You all right, angel?” Both Bellamy and Clarke gave a slight jump at the word “angel”.
‘Well, that just slipped out,’ he thought, glancing at Clarke worriedly. ‘It fits her, but I’m not sure I should be calling her anything other than Clarke.’
‘“Angel”?’ she thought, glancing at Bellamy, then quickly looking away. “No one’s ever called me that before. I’m just racking up nicknames, what with “hon” and “sugar”, now “angel”.’ She cleared her throat, obviously flustered.
“Um, I was just,” Clarke paused before continuing. “Well, I was just wondering how many people actually work here. On the phone, you mentioned ‘some hands’, but never really specified.” Bellamy grinned, shoving his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans.
“Total’s 53. Well, 54, now that you’re here. We have one of the biggest work crews around,” he stated proudly.
The color drained completely from Clarke’s face and she stuck out a hand to grab the back of a chair as she wobbled slightly. Bellamy frowned, moving over to her.
“Hey, hey, it’s all right, angel. These boys might be loud, but they’d never hurt you. No one on this ranch would,” he said gently. Clarke shook her head slightly, staring blankly at the room before turning to Bellamy with a tight smile on her face.
“Of course, Mr. Blake,” Clarke said in a monotone voice. “I, uh, I know, um, I know I’m safe here.” She was clearly lying and Bellamy wanted to reassure her some more, but a loud jumble of noise started forming at the front of the house. Clarke swung around quickly, staring at the front door, before running back to the kitchen.
‘Shit,’ Bellamy thought. ‘Now she’s terrified and I can’t do a damn thing about it right now.’ He started toward the kitchen, intending to follow her, but the loud bang of the front door opening stopped him as a crowd of loud, hungry men descended on the house.
‘Shit.’
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