A Very Good Place To Start

Cinco

One glance at the frantic man clad in a black aviator jacket and a frown are what it takes for the people to hop off of the elevator. They are already almost always on the bad side of the other half of this firm. They have no plans to anger the other half as well.

He forcefully presses the buttons to the executive floor but the lift couldn't seem to go fast enough. When the unmistakable ding finally rings, he pushes off the wall and makes a dash to the executive suite.

The floor is empty, even her secretary isn't around. It's not even five in the afternoon which is why it is unusual. It would usually be buzzing. He makes a beeline to the double doors and without second thought, pushes the panel. He steps in, ready to call for her.

Then, he sees her and he releases a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. Relief floods him and he begins to calm down upon knowing that at least she is still in one piece.

She is sitting on the floor, by the couch whose back is facing the door. She doesn't see him. He wonders if she's heard him come in but he supposes she hadn't. If she's in such a state of disarray, she wouldn't have. She's like that, she blocks out everything.

Sighing, he goes around the couch and he gets the chance to look at her. She is still in her office clothes although her blazer is haphazardly strewn on one of the loveseats. Her heels are thrown somewhere else. Her hair is disheveled.

She probably noticed his presence at last when she turned to glare at him. He would have thought she's angry if hadn't seen her through varying states of distress growing up.

His eyes land on the coffee table and sees a bottle of Belvedere and he knows exactly how she is feeling even if she acts all mad. It's their thing after all– vodka and misery. This particular liquor is their thing. It's practically comfort food at this point but... in spirit, that is.

Sighing, he divests himself of his jacket, throws it at the same loveseat where she's placed her blazer, and grabs the glass she's put on the table to drink from it.

"You started without me," he says quietly as he settles beside her on the floor. He takes a gulp and silently winces at the burn down his throat before placing the glass back to the table. He turns to her and asks softly. "What happened?"

He doesn't bother to ask her whether she's okay or not. She is obviously not. But she doesn't say anything, just remains quiet and unmoving, eyes staring blankly at the Makati skyline before them as the sun is beginning to set.

He looks around, tries to look for a clue as to what is distressing her and then his eyes fall on a stack of folders on her desk. He stands up momentarily and checks on the documents. He finds out then.

A notice of bidding failure. She lost a bid for a big ticket project. He immediately closes the folder and returns to her.

He doesn't say anything. He knows her well enough to know she's not going to talk anyway. So he does what he's always done, just as he's always had– he lets her know she isn't alone.

She will come to terms with how she is feeling but she will not be alone while she does. He is there. He has always been there. He will always be there.

She catches the musky scent of cedar and pine as he settles back down beside her on the floor. She swallows a huge lump that has formed in her throat. She does not want to cry. For god sake, she's an adult. She shouldn't be crying. But with Ian around, she's never been able to suppress what she feels. His presence has an uncanny way of comforting her and having her pour out all of her disappointments. He is there and she knows that it's okay to feel. She will feel and it's okay, and when she is ready, he will be there– to listen and to whisk her away from the troublesome world.