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"Oh wow, a dream. Of unicorns?"
Thomas' face was nowhere to be seen in the office the next day.
When asked about it, Lizzie Stark answered with a simple glare, "Dunno."
Irene had never felt more agitated by a secretary. She had never thrown a punch before, and she was not planning to if it weren't for the short-haired woman. Michael, who was watching the whole exchange, chuckled before interfering. "Irene, can you help me with these?"
Taking deep breaths of her own, Irene loosened her fingers before marching towards Michael's desk, "Hmm, what is it?"
The caramel haired boy sighed frustratedly, "Tommy had me recounting all the expenditures we've had for the last two years. I've only done one, can you help with the rest? Said he wanted to evaluate the company's spendings."
Irene does understand where Michael was coming from. The emphasis on revaluation did not go unnoticed by her. She knew what it's like to be overworked by the patriarch of the Shelby family; why not help those in need. Irene Grosvenor was feeling gracious today.
The heiress smiled widely as she took no less than five folders from Michael – who has been nothing but pleasant to Irene, "You're lucky I used to excel in calculus, Mikey."
The peripherals of Irene's eyes caught Izzie Stark rolling her eyes. And the heiress relinquished at the fact that she had irritated the secretary. Her French heels clanked as she walked back to her, well, Thomas', office. Sparing Lizzie Stark another sneer before closing the door behind her.
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Long after Michael and the employees had gone to the comforts of their warm and cosy homes, Irene was still immersed in her work. No wonder Michael was irked by the assignment; counting a year's worth of expenditures was terrible enough. Let alone two. Thomas Shelby was indeed something else.
The heiress was stretching her arms and legs when she heard the main entrance doors open and close. Long and fast strides were heard afterwards, the clanking of shoes accompanying it. Somehow, Irene knew that Thomas Shelby has entered the building. Her Thomas-sensor, bare with her here, has been in the works since those building doors opened.
Hence, she did not turn when the Thomas' office doors were banged open. "Ah, Mr Shelby."
It took a while before the patriarch answered, which made the heiress quite puzzled as she can clearly feel his eyes burn through the back of her dress, "You're here."
The heiress turned slowly before smiling mischievously, "Yeah, that's what working means."
Thomas blinked at the sarcasm, "Right."
He moved to take off his coat with such grace and finesse you never knew a crime boss would possess. In the spirit of being gracious today, Irene asked something only closest to her would get. "Where were you, boss?"
Mr Shelby's movements halted mid-air; he blinked as his head cocked backwards in surprise, "Nowhere any of your business."
Irene did not expect the answer would be cutting, nor did she not expect her feelings to get hurt so much. Alas, she tried to veil it by smiling brightly. Ear-to-ear kind of smile, "Well, I'll go home then."
"No."
This time, it was the heiress' turn to cock her head back in shock, "Excuse me?"
"You've got lots of work you haven't done, right?" Mr Shelby calmly quipped while taking a cigarette out of his pocket. Irene hurriedly grabbed the lighter on his desk and blazed up the slow killing machine in between his lips. She was too close now not to smell the scent of aftershave and burnt whiskey. It did not help when her eyes drifted from his cerulean eyes then down to those pillows of lips.
Her family and friends would be weirded out by her state at the moment, as she fumbles with the lighter and awkwardly sets it atop Thomas' desk. Irene, the ever so confident and cold heiress, is feeling hot all over. "I – uh, I finished all my work today."
"The labour union case?"
"Done."
"The investment thing with Alfie?"
"Concluded, sent the file back with my sister."
"John's new files?"
"Ready and on your desk."
"What about the asset acquirement from Lucky Luciano?"
"I have contacted him through your number, and he asks to speak only to you, Th – I mean, Mr Shelby."
"Huh." The patriarch sat down on his leather chair and leaned back. If her eyes are not mistaking her, Irene saw a glint of proudness on Thomas Shelby's consistently stony face. She tapped her fingers mindlessly as the silence in the room fills in. Waiting for her boss' instructions. Now that was a sentence she'd never expected to hear.
Gosh, say something already.
Irene's sepia orbs lifted slowly. Painfully dragging from the bottom of Mr Shelby's fancy Italian shoes to his unbuttoned shirt to the oddly chopped hair. Her eyes seemed to take their time on the soft chest hairs peeking out of his shirt. The coiling muscles underneath it as he lifted his arm to pluck the cigarette from in between his lips also did not go unnoticed. The apples of Irene's cheeks went red when she snapped her head toward the fireplace.
"Sit with me." Was the sentence she heard before her panicked face whips back to Mr Shelby. Oh. My. Sweet. Lord. Up. In. Heaven.
Thomas didn't seem to be goofing at all. His cigarette lit up as he sunk his cheek in to inhale it. Once again, Irene was enamoured by the sheer beautifulness of Thomas Shelby. She didn't blink for thirty seconds before realising she was probably a moment away from fainting due to her body's rapidly increasing temperature.
"Sit," Thomas ordered by simply motioning to her usual seat in front of him. Irene nodded gingerly as she contemplated why she was very compliant to her boss's words these days. The heiress happily asked before sitting down, "Do you want me to make you some tea, Mr Shelby?"
Irene did not know what came over her to offer her heathen boss some tea, but the corners of Mr Shelby's lips seemed to lift up slightly. Indicating the crime lord was somewhat amused. What's with this man? Has he never been offered tea?
"How'd ye manage to do that?" Thomas pointed at the Grosvenor lady with his halfway-done cigarette.
Irene tilted her head sideways, "Do what?"
"Smiling all the fucking time." Maybe she was taken aback by the cursing, or perhaps she was offended by the question. But Irene Grosvenor was also a bit puzzled by the inquiry, isn't manifesting felicity a good thing?
Or exhibiting kindness.
The gang-leader-in-redemption seemed to notice the heiress' hard thinking. He chuckled lowly to himself before stubbing his cigarette. The tobacco smell still on the air and on the tip of his fingers. He clasped his hand together on his desk, "Yes, Your Highness, I'd like some tea."
Without another word - or maybe Irene just didn't know what to say to not make this any more tricky – she scurried to the little bar near the windows. Showcasing some of the most potent alcohols and, of course, tea. Her hands moved delicately as she dropped some tea leaves in the pot.
What Irene Grosvenor didn't notice was the sapphire eyes staring at her intently. Studying her; taking mental notes. Every slight movement and fidget was being recorded by Thomas Shelby's super brain.
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The water took longer than expected to boil.
But it didn't stop the boss-employee duo from having a toasty cuppa. The tray clattered slightly when Irene puts it on top of Thomas' desk. She sat down before the smell of delicious tea enters her nose. The heiress smiled, "Don't you just love it? The smell of tea."
Thomas Shelby did not respond. His eyes fixated on her. Irene cleared her throat as she poured the brown liquid on to his and her cup, careful not to spill. "My granny and mama have always said the essence of womanhood is not when a girl gets married. It's when she can brew the perfect tea."
She did not know why she shared that rather personal detail about her family.
The heiress smiled as she recalled her, mama, and Lady Gower, her feisty granny. "That tea determines a girl's success when being judged in front of the queen. Or be a weapon in dire times; as in declaring war or making peace,"
"Milk or sugar, Mr Shelby?"
"Milk." The gang leader croaked. Irene had expected this from a man like Thomas, a man who is not keen on sweetness. She paused, pouring the milk mid-air, "Might I suggest something?"
Thomas's eyes never left hers as he nodded. Irene then poured a little more milk before taking one sugar cube and plopped it into the steaming tea. Stirring it cautiously; careful not to make the slightest clink. She pushed the cup towards her boss before making her own. An extra cube of sugar was added this time.
Mr Shelby watched her curiously as if he was watching some kind of a rare breed of bird. Exotic and scarce. He then stared at his tea, himself unfamiliar with this odd formula of component ratio.
The eldest daughter of the Grosvenor clan seemed to notice Thomas' puzzlement, "My granny would frown every time I make my tea like this, saying it's very unladylike and peculiar. But I like it, so I guess there's nothing she can do about it."
There was something about Her Highness Lady Irene being rebellious that sets Thomas's mind on a rampage. Wilder than before.
Even if that rebellion was about something as simple as tea.
He found her more ravishing than ever.
When the heiress stopped stirring, both of them lifted their cup at the same time. The now warm enough liquid sliding down their tongues and oesophagi.
As much as Thomas hates to admit it, it was the most delicious cup of tea he's ever tasted. And that includes the ones Polly had made in the past.
"Why are you here so late?" Was the question that made Irene lift her face from the pore-opening steam of the tea. She blinked, "Oh, Michael needed some help."
Thomas lifted an eyebrow, "Help?"
"Yes, with the recounting and all that." She set her cup down, setting her attention back to the man sitting in front of her. Who seemed to have mustered up an aggravated look.
The blue eyes across her brown ones rolled themselves, "He doesn't need help. Not from you."
Um- "What's that supposed to mean, boss?"
"Let someone else help him. Lizzie can help." Thomas was now a bit displeased. Of course, he did not know why he was so annoyed by the idea of Michael getting aid from his lawyer, but it certainly was not on his bucket list.
The idea of his lawyer and Polly's son fraternising under the cloak of the night made the Shelby patriarch recoil. It's very unprofessional to frolic with an accountant. He might not have caught them now, but the future?
"Well, you might have not noticed this, but Lizzie Stark is not much of a counter." Irene chuckled slightly. The chuckle was cut short by the slamming of a teacup on a saucer. "Just do what I say."
The brown-eyed girl scoffed, "You're unreasonable."
The man in front of her took a deep breath. Right, how does he explain this irrational feeling?
"I have been getting a dream."
"Oh wow, a dream. Of unicorns?" The heiress was met with a glare.
"Of a black cat. Polly might have said it was nothing, but it's not nothing to me. I can feel it. Something is brewing, and it's heading towards me family." Thomas pulled on his hair as his head tilted back.
The swallow was not unnoticed by Irene as she stared at his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
Alright, stop being alarmingly odd, Irene.
"And with the Italians... I can't have anyone out of my grasp. Now, you might not do it; but Michael could very easily sell information coming out of your pretty little mouth."
He called my mouth pretty. The heiress shook her head violently. "Michael would never do that. He's your family, your blood."
Irene can now physically see the raw problems and emotions this establishment has offered resting on Mr Shelby's shoulders. The weight of it weighing him mentally; maybe that's why he would look so restless in the morning. The gift of thinking turns out can be a curse too.
She notices the dark bags under his eyes now, the slightly bloodshot eyes, the wrinkle on Thomas' forehead. He might not show it on his face – due to having to appear tough all the time -, but a couple of hours and a cup of tea later seemed to set her boss loose. Maybe that's all he needed; a cuppa every day.
A little distressing.
"I don't take that possibility, Your Highness."