♡Sweetheart♡ ||Brendon Urie x Reader||

Chapter 13

A voice I had never heard struck my ears. "Oooo, feisty. Just how I like 'em." I turned to eye up the new arrival, a man who appeared to be in his late 50's, and he took the seat in front of me.

"Mr. Myler," Brendon extended a hand, his body language becoming more refined, "it's good to see you. This is [y/n]. She'll be joining us tonight."

The older man looked me up and down, and I suddenly felt very exposed. It would look odd to hide myself, so all I could do was sit there, my hands tensely gripping the fabric of the dress I had been forced into wearing.

"It was what Mr. Brendon wanted you to wear." I remembered Lu's voice in my head when she brought me the formal, frame-fitting dress. It hugged my body tightly, but it was perfect for a business woman, I supposed.

"You've picked yourself out a nice gal, Mr. Urie."

Brendon smiled. "You are very kind, sir, but I am afraid she's not my girlfriend."

"Is that so? Well, then maybe I'll give her a shot," he howled and let out a series of cackles.

While I seemed quite offended, Brendon had to sit and smile politely at him, not saying a word.

"All due respect, Mr. Miley Cyrus, or whatever your name was, but I'm not really looking for a sugar daddy."

He looked taken aback, like he hadn't expected me to shut down his advances. Mr. Myler seemed to be the type of man who aimed for young girls with no self-respect and took advantage of them. It was almost self-explanatory by the many rings he wore on his fingers, his grimy teeth, and multiple handkerchiefs he stored in both his pant pockets and jacket pockets. Who even needed to wipe their hands that often?

"Sir, if you wish for any business deals to be made between us," I saw Brendon pick up his whisky glass and swirl it around, his eyes watching the liquid spin in the cup, "I'm going to have to ask any advances you make on Miss [L/n] to cease."

Mr. Myler grumbled under his breath, but silently complied.

Not much later, two more men and a woman showed up, each greeting the other members of the table.

The one that caught my eye the most was a tall, attractive man not much older than Brendon. Brown hair, yet light eyes, adorned his features, his dark suit causing his blue eye color to pop out. Mr. Weekes.

Now, from what I had gathered, it seemed that Mr. Myler was there to swindle the members of the table into investing in his stock. However, Mr. Weekes, Mr. Huson, and Mrs. Gillan were government employees in the same department as Brendon.

Huson and Gillan were familiar last names. I hadn't quite recalled where I heard them. I brushed it off to avoid working my brain too hard.

"So, Mr. Huson, Mrs. Gillan, I assume you're here on behalf of both yourselves and your spouses." Mr. Weekes spoke, his voice smooth and soft.

Mrs. Gillan snorted. "Yes, someone has to work tonight in my household. I can't risk my job."

"Although," Mr. Huson added, "Neither you nor Mr. Urie would have that issue."

I raised a brow. Sure, Brendon's father had invented whatever they were working on, but had he been that important to the government? With so many people working on it, surely there were better assets: the only real advantage he had was his father, and he didn't even have that anymore.

That also arose questions about Mr. Weekes. Why had he been so important?

Food soon arrived, and Mr. Myler went over the details of his business, giving the wealthy government workers his stats, and negotiating on their shares in the investment.