Our love couldn't go wrong

Chapter One :

TW for implied domestic violence

"Hey, Court, can I speak to you real quick? It won't take too long." Ian's voice is quieter than usual as he places a gentle hand on her shoulder, before leading them both into his office. She flinches at the sound of the door closing behind them, swiftly moving to take a seat in the chair her boss gestures to.

She doesn't like this.

It's quiet, too quiet, and she can hear the buzz of her coworkers outside getting ready to go home, laughing with each other and exchanging their plans for the evening. She can feel her heart beating too fast, clammy hands starting to shake already. She watches anxiously as Ian seems to try and find the words to say to her; he seems on edge, too, which does nothing to ease her anxiety. She's starting to spiral and she knows it. It doesn't even take a split second for her mind to start going over anything and everything she's done recently that could explain him wanting to have a word with her - and in private, at that - but, then again, what if it's something she hasn't done? "Are you gonna fire me?" The words come out before she even tries to be logical about this situation, already dreading the response, "I'd get it if you wanted to, I-I know that I can be a lot, and I've not exactly been doing my best work recently, interaction's gone down on main and, um, we-we've had to change the filming schedule because I had to take some time off, but I can do better. I promise. I-I can work on new material, I can be funnier, I won't take any more time off; please, Ian, you know how much I love this job."

Under any other circumstance, she thinks she'd laugh at the way his face drops, how quick he is to interrupt her as he all but throws himself back in his chair, holding his forehead with his hand. "Shit. No. Fucking hell, Courtney, of course not. I'd never fire you, jeez."

"Well why else would you call me into your office at the end of the day?" She doesn't mean to snap at him. It's not his fault that she's an absolute mess and she almost wishes that he'd fire her, instead of giving her that dreaded look of pity he is right now. The tears are quick to prick her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall. Her nails dig into the flesh of her palm in a pathetic attempt to quell her nerves, scanning his face for any signs of anger, "Sorry. God, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that - I didn't mean it like that. I-I just, um, I'd understand if you wanted to fire me. Maybe you should, I'm a wreck. I'm sorry. I'm...yeah, sorry."

"I just wanted to ask if everything's okay? You could come to me if it wasn't, you know that, right? I'm here for you, not just as your boss, but as your friend, too. You're important to me."

She doesn't mean to burst into tears in her boss's office at 5pm on a Thursday evening, but then again, who'd have planned that? Yet here she is, slamming a hand over her mouth as she sobs and drawing her knees up to her chest. She knows this is only going to worry him further, but the more she tries to stop herself crying, the harder she cries. She can't breathe. Each sob catches in the back of her throat in a hiccup, chest rising and falling too fast to let her catch a breath. She can't breathe and she's just broke down in front of her boss and she's so screwed and how is she going to expla-"Hey, it's okay, it's gonna be okay. Do you want me to grab someone to come help; maybe Olivia, or Shayne, or Damien? No?" Ian's voice pulls her from her thoughts at the same time that he pulls her from the chair and into his arms, grip firm but gentle. She's quick to shake her head at his offers, though, that nagging voice in her head reminding her how much of a burden she is, how selfish she is. She shouldn't have done this.

"I'm fine," she gasps, in between sobs, "I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry."

That's enough for him to at least loosen his grip on her as he leans back to look her in the eyes. It's too much for her to handle. She can't deal with sympathy right now; she doesn't deserve it. And so, she runs. She bolts out of his office, not even bothering to shut the door on her way out, and rummages through her desk to grab her car keys and her phone. The rest of her stuff can wait until tomorrow, as can the next conversation she knows is coming. Maybe she can get away with saying she's on her period. Hormones, and all that shit.