shqvambacu

[shqvambacu]

The Edge Of A Beg | 2 | Jamie Cook

warning: some cursing and that’s it

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I hate how selfish Connor is. I hate that he is always late, and how it always discredits our presentations. I hate that he's not here today and every other day, and how upset it makes me.

Today, the meeting is terrible. I suggest some ideas about the promotion of albums soon to be released, and I earn a few weak smiles. Not only can I lose my job, but the artists we work for could turn against us too. Where have all my bright ideas gone?

It's been a few days since the incident with Jamie, and I haven't seen him since. Usually, I notice him in the hallways, but nothing. Not even a sticky note on my computer screen saying how ugly my dress looks. I can't even slap him for the ugly bruise on my hip. It looked alright on Tuesday night, but there's a gross shade of blue forming on my flesh.

But I'm not focused on him—he's a side detail. I need to call Connor again and beg him to come with me one last time. He will get upset, obviously, but he was the one telling me this crazy idea could work. He won't leave me on my own, not after every effort we've made the past few months. I'll just tell him—

"Take this upstairs."

I stop my temporary mental breakdown to glance up at John, the man harassing me with administrative papers from nine to five. He is standing there with the stack of papers outstretched in my direction, a look that says don't mess with me in his eyes. He still hasn't understood that I'm not his intern anymore and that my job is more valuable than his. I could easily get him fired if I wanted to.

Plus, there are a few colleagues near enough who could do the job, so why is he targeting me again? He could ask anyone in the office.

"What a shame, I was about to leave," I instantly lie, flashing my best fake-disappointed pout.

His voice is throaty and cold. "C'mon, don't tell me you have someone waiting for you out there. They need to sign the papers right now. It's for the committee."

I sigh, ignoring the undertone of his words. Since the announcement of Connor's departure two days ago—some kind of professional trip to Berlin he has been vague about—everyone has seen how it affects me. I spend more time wandering through the cubicles with a vanilla coffee in hand than calling radio stations to promote Bad Girl, the band we've both been assigned to deal with. We haven't even met them anyway, and Connor doesn't seem to realise they could become a big deal. I can easily picture them singing in front of thousands of people. Planning a fictional future is easier than contemplating the present.

It's been ten months since I begged Dad to take me in. I'm not dumb; advertising has always been my thing and I knew I'd do just great, despite what some might say. Presenting projects before crowded rooms don't worry me that much. The only thing that truly worries me is people saying I'm not worth this job. That I don't need it.

Now, if I can't go to the New Year's dinner and all these sacrifices become useless, I'll lose it. I'll probably lose Connor too, but some part of my mind tells me it's fine. After all, working here have some advantages. I just have to find them.

It's fine. Everything is just fine.

That's what I keep repeating to myself as I eventually gather the files and start towards the door, my feet dragging heavily. Somehow, for the stupidest reasons, I'm always checking that a car isn't going to crash into me. I do it even inside the office; that's how much it startled me.

I walk over to the lift just as it is opening to let a handful of people out. I stand inside for less than a minute and the metallic doors slide open again, revealing a long hallway with see-through cubicles, clearly classier than the ones downstairs. Classier than mine for sure. I know nobody could compete with the dead plant and the one picture of my dog on the side of the old computer's screen.

I make my way towards the office at the end of the hallway, the one with a silver inscription on the door. Most of the time, my boss is on the phone. I learnt to do what I need to do and not care about him anymore.

So, I practically collapse into the door as I push it with my shoulder, only realising it was already half-opened when my body stumble awkwardly inside, nearly crashing into somebody's back.

"Shit, sorry," I mutter, getting a hold of myself as the victim swivels around, his blue eyes meeting mine. Falling over him would be a nightmare.

"Already pissed? It's not even ten."

Ignoring him and my boss' look, I set the papers on the desk and step aside.

I should have waited a few more minutes before going. Why didn't I fucking wait?

Jamie sends me a few glances but I focus my attention on the strips on my boss' suit. Another body is standing next to him, but I don't have the guts to look up.

I didn't know he was here today.

"...and promoting them would benefit us more. That's what I care about. Not how it is done. Alright?"

Mumbles of "yeah, yeah" echo in the room, and the grey-haired man repeats a small, "Alright." My eyes snap back up when he calls for my name, as if remembering why I'm here in the first place.

"What's this?"

"Oh," I finally speak up, "something for the committee. I don't know."

Narrowing his eyes at me for a second, my boss finally gives up. "Tour the office yourself. Get it signed by everyone and come back when you're done."

Okay. I'm still an intern to him too.

"Sir, I'm sorry but I'm busy with these—"

"Thank you," he emphasises without even sparing me a glance, shutting me up for good.

I swallow an insult and turn towards the two men waiting there. Alexander shoots me a friendly smile as Jamie wears his usual 'I'm going to ruin your life for fun' look. I want to punch him where it hurts until he stops.

The others in their small group are nice. Polite, even. They always say hello and sometimes one of them stays with me while they wait for the others upstairs. Alexander even paid for my lunch once. Matthew and Nicholas are usually lazing around on their desk chair, their suit jacket open or lacking, cracking a joke when they notice me in their surroundings. We're not close enough to be considered mates, but chatting with them is always nice.

All of that is fun until it's about him.

The teasing was fun at first. I met Jamie when I started working here and he was kind. Funny sometimes. It wasn't rare to find ourselves in the break room at the same time. It was almost as if he did it on purpose, just to get a coffee first and annoy me. He joked about himself and I caught myself laughing with him a few times. I think he got me under some kind of fucked up spell.

Everyone loves him here. I'm not so sure about me. They used to be a little warmer when they ignored my father is their boss.

Back when Connor and I presented our first social media idea in the conference room, I was properly introduced to everyone. It was simple: boosting the band's media until their new album, making them famous on every platform and organising live videos. We'd prepared a few slides to explain the process, all clean and professional. That day, the room was full and completely silent. I saw the welcoming smiles as soon as I stopped talking, cheeks flushing with my heart leaping in my chest. It wasn't stress, perhaps just pride.

I got embarrassed when I felt Connor's protective hand lowering on my back, and that was when I met Jamie's gaze for the first time. He was still a stranger at that time, but I'd seen in his eyes that he was different.

Not like in fairy tales.

More like 'pissing-off-everyone' kind of different, and I was his next target.

I still offered him a small and awkward smile, letting out a long sigh of relief when the door separated me from these people again.

Everything is different now. Some teams have moved upstairs, including the four guys, and they all quite physically changed. I guess I changed too.

Jamie's the one who told the two floors about my supposed kiss with my colleague Evan. Just 'for the joke'. It was so dumb that I called the band he was dealing with during lunch and cancelled all their interviews for the following weeks. One thing I'd learnt pretty early was revenge.

That day, I almost got fired. The next day, it was somehow settled, and I just had some kind of professional warning from my boss who couldn't care less.

Jamie had a look that could have killed me the next few days, and it was reciprocated. Two could play a game, and I wouldn't be the one to let a man get in my way.

Now trudging to the desks on the right, I glance at the dark sky through the window. It's raining again, and I can barely make out the soft golden light of the street lights as the darkness come earlier and earlier each day.

The endless sounds of the phones ringing are stressful.

"You've got summat in your hair."

My head snaps towards the intruder's voice with a stupid accent. I groan internally when I find Jamie coming over beside me, my hand going up in my hair only to find it smooth like usual.

"My bad, it's just a big knot," he adds in a whisper, following me to the first desk.

I roll my eyes, ignoring the sudden urge to throw something, anything at his face. He could at least apologise for what happened in the parking lot. Of course, he won't.

"You cut yours," I simply say, opening the first door of the private offices.

"You like it?"

"No."

I do. To be honest, I liked his old hair too. They were long, almost wavy. Now they are cut short and he shaved, and he looks like a model for some shampoo ad. He doesn't really need my compliments though, so I keep my mouth shut.

"Shame," I hear him mutter.

"Hi," I smile over at the brunette looking up from her computer screen, "can you sign this?"

It's so silent in here. I can't tell if it's relaxing or creepy.

"Hi," she beams, and her smile widens when she notices Jamie, absently twisting her pen between her fingers. "Hi, Jamie. You alright?"

"Yeah. I am," the idiot smiles back, taking in the lack of decoration.

"Me too. All good."

God. "Okay, everyone's good. Can you just sign?" I press, standing closer.

Almost snatching the sheet from her when she's done scribbling what looks like her name above a wave, I thank her quickly and ask the same to the man sitting next to her. I've never seen him before, and he looks old for the team. He doesn't look like he purposefully listens to the music they have to promote.

Luckily he executes without a question. When I turn around, I stumble into Jamie's chest again.

"Can you not stand there?" I hiss, my grip on the papers tightening. They could melt under my fingers, and I wouldn't even notice.

With a closed-lips smile, he shifts to the side and I get out of the space. I do this ridiculous tour of the offices for about an hour, taking my time. When I get to Matthew and the others—the most animated room—I feel a bit lighter.

If someone told me they were only here to play games on their computers or criticise the music, I would totally believe them.

And if I was that mean woman Jamie thinks I am, I would have told someone about it. It's proof that I'm a good human being.

They all look up at me, even Jamie who is back behind his desk. "I need autographs," I joke, wiggling the papers in my hand and handing them to Nicholas first.

The curly-haired man huffs a laugh and grabs a pen on Matthew's desk. "Need a selfie too?"

I shake my head, letting out a small laugh. "I'm fine, thanks."

Nicholas slides the paper over to Matthew and settles further in his rolling chair, looking up at me while his friend reads it.

"How's your band doing?"

"Bad Girls?" I ask, and he nods. "Well, they're trying hard in the punk side of things. But they have a great media presence, so I think we'll manage to get them a wider audience soon. I just wish they would call me themselves. It's a bit lonely from my side, y'know."

Connor's help would be much appreciated.

"No Pity is the best band we've promoted, right Al?" Nicholas' eyes shift to his other mate, typing on his keyboard.

When he hears his surname, Alexander looks up at us, pushing away a strand of hair covering his eyes. "They're amazing. Nice sound and all. It's a shame they've considered taking a break."

"How many followers?" I smile back at him, ready for the challenge. He knows I always ask that, since my bands always have more followers than his.

"What does it matter?" Jamie cuts in, and I want to throw him out of the window the second he speaks. "It's not reality, is it?"

Alexander leans forward to grab the sheet of paper and signs up. An opportunity to stay out of the drama, maybe.

"But you can't deny it helps the bands develop their audience," I reply instantly, annoyed that he interrupted my weekly banter with the people I enjoy the most in here.

"At what cost? We don't need the pointless scandals or whatever happens."

Sensing the debate coming, the three other men resume their work and chat between themselves. Without realising, I've edged closer to Jamie's workspace. His cup of tea is half empty, and there's still his Black Sabbath notebook on the left side of his keyboard. I'm sure it's covered in dust.

"It doesn't happen when you do your job correctly."

Someone whistles behind me. Our gazes lock across the desk, and his expression remains the same. When I think it hardens, I notice his eyes softening almost curiously.

And finally noticing he has taken the sheet and is not doing anything, my eyes narrow at him.

"Can you sign?" I ask, talking to him like a moron.

His luminous eyes widen just a smidge and he lets out a scoff, visibly amused. "Can I?"

"Oh fucking hell, just do it," I sigh in despair, taking another step closer.

Jamie reaches for his pen, looking up at me like he's only waiting for one thing.

"I wanna dropkick you in shark-infested waters and laugh at your face."

I didn't mean to say it out loud, but then I hear Nicholas cackling behind me, followed by Matthew. Alexander's laughter is the loudest.

I bite my tongue to prevent myself from insulting him further. After all, I have no right to disrespect him. I just need to ignore him like all the other flirty singers who try to get something out of me.

He will get bored of it eventually.

With a glance behind me—probably to his friends—Jamie laughs to himself and scribbles down his name and signature. He doesn't even bother to read the whole thing.

He has other things to do, like taking five breaks a day and plaguing the whole building with his presence. Idiot.

After he's done I take the papers again and check that nothing is missing.

Nicholas Edward O'Malley, Jamie Robe- Robert?

I hold back a laugh, and I end up snorting a not so lady-like laugh. I need to write that down somewhere.

Jamie cocks an eyebrow, confused by my sudden amusement. I don't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him again. I've done the mistakes too many times already.

"All good for me, thanks," I smile up at the lads, making my way outside the room and its weird smell, a mix of ink and beer. I'm almost certain they're hiding alcohol in their drawers. It's even surprising they're always assigned the most famous bands.

My amusement doesn't last long though. As soon as I'm back behind my computer screen, my eyes are staring into the void, humming some song stuck in my mind and rocking my rolling chair from side to side.

I see Tommy at his desk, his eyes set on Keira. I know I have to set them up.

Peeling a pink post-it note from the stack—pink is the colour for my romantic projects—I scribble their names down and think about what could bring them together.

When I'm done brainstorming for the first time today, the big event comes back to my mind.

My Dad used to say I was destined for something bigger than an office job, but I still want to prove to him that I'm working here because I can, and I deserve it. I actually like this job and I can picture myself managing a team very well. Last but not least, I could fire Jamie myself. Look deep into his pretty blue eyes and say 'it's over'.

I truly need to find someone who's willing to go and will accept me as their date. I can only think of a few men who don't scare me that much, and who won't get on my nerves.

At 4:58 on Friday, I make my decision.

[shqvambacu]

The Edge Of A Beg, Jamie Cook x OC

My fury and disappointment Collaborate for your enjoyment Can't you see I'm tipping over the edge of a beg? I'm tired and ridiculous, slipping up on every step I tread

An Office AU, in which Charlotte is Jamie's complete opposite. She's rich, arrogant, and especially strong-minded. When her father organises a New Year company dinner and excludes her from going, curiosity takes over. The only solution is finding someone willing to go with her and sneak in discreetly. But what if the one person willing to help is Jamie, her infuriatingly charming colleague? The only thing left to do is learn how to cope with each other.

warnings: angst, forced proximity, enemies as much as coworkers can be, drama, lot of cursing, alcohol, asshole ex background

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#jamiecook #jamiecookfanfiction #arcticmonkeysfanfiction #officeau

[shqvambacu]

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐮'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 🪩

Welcome to my master list!

18+ is the preference here. I mainly write Arctic Monkeys fanfiction, though I'll probably write oneshots of my favs later, for my own enjoyment. Enjoy :)

Arctic Monkeys

Jamie Cook:

The Edge Of A Beg (in progress)

[shqvambacu]

The Edge Of A Beg | 1 | Jamie Cook

warnings: angst, drama cause why not, lot of cursing

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"Are you even listening? I'm not fucking going there!"

"I am listening! It's all I do," I retort back. "I told you I can't go there alone, Connor. I need a date. Who else can I ask?"

"Well, don't go at all," he replies with the smartass tone I hate.

I heave out a sigh, pinching my nose. Most of the time, I strongly consider wrapping my hands around his throat.

Thunder rumbles above my head, as if the Gods agree—or disagree—with me. There isn't much that could make today worse.

"You don't understand—"

"Yeah, you need to show people you matter," he cuts me off, a mix of exhaustion and frustration lacing his words. "I gathered that."

I force myself to brush it off. "Please, come with me. We can stay an hour and leave right after. But I can't take the risk of missing that chance. I've waited too long."

It makes it ten times worse that my father has given clear instructions to the staff. I'm just not admitted at all, no matter the clothes I'll wear or even the people I'll show up with. He wants to avoid any drama related to me. Not like I planned on causing a scene in public or anything. Surely there's a reason; I just want to know why.

A week ago, I learned that the American pole of the firm my father owns is looking for its new boss. I'm his only daughter; surely it will be mine. Still, this New Year's dinner with the entire business is my last chance at getting it. After all, it's practically the only reason why I'm working here.

By infiltrating the firm itself, I'll be able to show I'm worth the job.

How? I don't truly know yet. I just need to find a date for now.

I also discovered that the world of music isn't that bad, but that's something else. Yet, as the days pass, I don't have a single clue on how to handle the matter. Maybe I'll never have the strength to go, and I'll never get to tell him I deserve this position more than anyone else.

"For the last fucking time, I can't," Connor painfully brings me back to our central issue: his complete lack of empathy. "There must be someone at the office willing to sacrifice themselves for you."

"Sacrifice? That's just dinner!"

Silence.

More silence.

I glance down at my screen, only met with the blank picture of my background.

He hung up.

"Asshole!" I whisper-shout—or most likely just shout—and throw my phone in my purse before hiding my eyes behind my damp palms. When I start seeing stars, I drop my hands and take a deep breath. Anyone seeing me through the windows would think me mad. Truly, I'm starting to be.

Realising that standing in the middle of the parking lot with these dark clouds above my head can make this day a definitive curse, I take off my heels, my feet hitting the sharp gravel. The smell of the rain is stronger than this morning, and something about the heavy dampness in the air makes me feel strange. Maybe it's just the phone call weighing on me.

I step off the curb and cross the parking lot, searching for my keys in my bag at the same time. I ignore my phone buzzing the first time. The second time, I pull it out again and aggressively decline the call. There's a text from Connor telling me not to take this the wrong way, and that he'll do his best to come the next time. He still hasn't understood there won't be a second time.

I type a few responses that sound too hostile, erase them and think. Funny how I've looked forward to this day for such a long time that it seems distant now. This notion of time has always captivated me anyway.

Take today. The afternoon was never-ending, and I nearly fell asleep on my desk. The coffee machine was so slow that it felt like I'd lost ten more minutes by standing there than the previous day. I spent an hour writing a single email for the band I'm managing, looking for the perfect words that I know they will ignore.

I count this time meticulously, not to spend another pointless minute here. Work is work, and even though I don't hate it, I don't love it either. It usually takes weeks for me to do what I like the most; match-making in the office. And yet, right now, it only takes a tiny second for me to realise that the sound of tires screeching is aiming at my direction.

When I blink again, a black car slams into me.

Pieces of stone dig into my palms and I just lay there. Not moving, not screaming. Just... lying. I must look so ridiculous, but I can't bring myself to get up. I feel a drop of water on my forehead, and a few others coating my face.

My vision clouds gradually, whether from the tears of fatigue threatening to form or the despair of today. Fate never misses a chance to remind me that nothing is ever easy and that I'm the one who has to pay for people's mistakes. It makes anger boil at the pit of my stomach, just as a wave of pain appears in my whole body—not only my hip.

Before I can fly away or disappear, someone steps out of the car and yells at me.

"What the fuck were you doing there? I could have killed you!"

Forcing my top body to rise from the ground, my hand finds my forehead. With the luck I seem to have lately, of course he has to be here, watching me wipe away some imaginary dust from my cheeks. For a second, I wish my boss had hit me instead. He would have been in a hurry, and maybe he would have given me some days off as an apology. But it's only him, and there's nothing he could do to apologise properly.

Perhaps disappear.

Disorientation turns into a surge of adrenaline. For the first time in a while, my brain proves I still have some survival instincts.

"You dickhead! I was just fucking walking!" I yell back.

Jamie Cook stands here, his eyebrows narrowed together in a stupid frown. As if he was the one sitting on the ground.

His presence frustrates me, like every time he opens his mouth to make some comment about my hair or my clothes. It seems like it's all he's good at—after the promoting of bands, but I wouldn't allow him to get smug about it. Also starting random rumours about my life every time he sees me.

Thankfully his team has moved to the upper floor and I don't have to greet him every morning anymore. I avoid him whenever I can.

The second floor, where I work, is always filled with the sound of footsteps and phones ringing. It's quite boring most of the time, but at least I'm not up there. They're all too serious, and they make me uncomfortable. We all know a competition has been setting for years, and the gap between the two floors is the only topic during the monthly meetings. I usually try to avoid those. No one really notices my absence anyway.

Jamie stretches out his hand and offers to help me up.

"C'mon," he grumbles.

Glaring up at him and his hand, I let out a string of curses as I get up without his help and fix my dress, flicking the rocks off my legs and hands.

His hand drops on his side when he has the audacity to say, "I didn't notice you. It's quite dark out there."

Typical Jamie. Nothing is ever his fault.

With the same sarcasm, I reply, "Yeah. That's what headlights were invented for. Obviously, you didn't see me, since you can't drive for shit."

He lets out a breath, and I can feel how much he wants to roll his eyes. "Sorry about that."

"Sorry?" I'm still shouting.

Even at this unbelievable moment, he looks me in the eye and asks stupidly, "What else do you want me to say?"

I swear my eyes go so wide with anger I think they split my face open. I have no idea how this man isn't in jail yet. No fucking clue.

"You—you did—" I struggle to find words, but end up releasing another loud exhale. "Honestly, I should—fucking slap you."

"You know what? I should've hit harder. Maybe it would have knocked some sense into you," Jamie points his finger at me in accusation.

I'm convinced he's the cause of all my problems.

"You're a prick."

I hit his shoulder as I push past him and glance back one last time, noticing my heels next to his feet.

Jamie looks confused when I walk back to him and snatch them from the ground.

"You should go to a doctor, just in case," he calls out.

Still ignoring him, I scurry off to my car. My feet burn as thousands of little rocks dig into my skin, and my hair sticks to my skin.

But I'm not stopping, and the only thing motivating me is finding the warmth of my bedroom. Soon enough, I turn the keys in the ignition and stare at my trembling hands. A man passes by my window, glancing at me as if I've just killed someone. My fault for not watching out, right?

Despite all the cars driving by, the people chatting loudly on the pavement and the doors slapping shut, I think I hear him calling for me.