Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Odalisque ❯ Chapter 10 ( Chapter 10 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any Bleach affiliates.

 

 

 

Odalisque

 

Chapter 10

 

“Morning Sunshine,” Ichigo drawled as he sauntered into the office.

 

Today was Monday and, unlike most other Mondays, Ichigo wasn't actually in a bad mood. Perhaps it was because of the entire yesterday he had spent doing nothing but sitting on his couch, drinking cold beer, watching painfully manly movies, and sleeping.

 

Either way Ichigo felt good. Normally he only felt like this after he had pulled off a successful have-sex-and-leave act. But today there was no lingering sensation of sex to propel such a fantastic mood. It was just waking up to an early summers' day, drinking stimulating coffee, and driving his Benz to work.

 

And of course, he couldn't forget, there was Rukia's pleasant face to look forward to this morning.

 

He saw her fight the desperate urge to roll her eyes at him. He grinned at her self control and watched as she typed into her computer. “Why must you insist on calling me that, Kurosaki?” She lifted her gaze to him and raised a singular eyebrow. “You know it will only serve to aggravate my temper and when my temper goes up,” she narrowed her eyes but smiled mawkishly, “You are the one who tends to suffer the most.”

 

Ichigo chuckled inwardly at her usual temper. Honestly, it was quite refreshing to be around a woman who would sooner bite his head off than bat her eyelashes at him. Rukia Kuchiki was such a woman. She wasn't going to swagger around the office, flirting and simpering and twirling her hair at him as she tried to catch his eye. Hell no, the Chappy coffee mug, remember? She'd save it before she saved him.

 

Somehow, that was a kind of comfort.

 

This was one woman he could hate, pure and simple. He could loathe her until the day he could no longer piss himself properly and not feel bad about it. He could hate her, she could hate him, and together they would spar verbally while trying and push sharp pens into each others spinal columns. Not to mention they would be totally at ease with it all. It was soothing… this kind of hate was even sort of reassuring.

 

“Maybe I'm a masochist.” He suggested in an answer to her statement. He shrugged his shoulders and took a swill of his coffee.

 

Rukia snorted and shook her head at him, her gaze focused on her computer, “From what I've read you're not into S and M.”

 

That drew his immediate attention. He turned to her and stared poignantly, “Wait a sec… what you've read? What exactly did you read?”

 

Her liquid sapphire eyes skirted over to his and a small smirk became present on her mouth. “Nothing much,” she replied snarkily.

 

Her answer was far too ambiguous for his liking. Not to mention she had that look in her face that told him she was going to personally guarantee his misery for the next ten minutes. His frown deepened and his mind searched back to a previous conversation they had. There were only a few of them so it wasn't exactly hard. It was about his previous relationships… something she had said…

 

“Please don't tell me that you've got something going with Inoue,” she said after a moment.

 

“None of your business.” He snapped.

 

His answer was far too quick and her wickedly spreading grin told him just that. “Oh, I see. It's not like I didn't expect it. I mean, with your history…”

Ichigo's eyes narrowed and his temper rose, “My history? What exactly do you mean by that?”

 

“Wait a minute,” he said, plopping down into his desk chair and swiveling it around so it faced towards her. “I thought you just said you've only heard about me. Heard as in office gossip, word of the street, talking by the water cooler… that kind of heard.”

 

“This building doesn't even have a water cooler,” Rukia told him as she waved her hand and turned away from her computer. She twisted until her entire body was facing in his direction. “Let's say… I `heard about' as in I Googled. I don't really see a very big difference between the two.”

 

“Christ,” Ichigo muttered, leaning backwards and throwing his hand over his face pathetically. “Am I the only one who hasn't Googled me?”

 

“Apparently,” was the dry response he received before she turned back and began rummaging through files.

 

Great, just great… Ichigo growled inwardly. His sister had researched him on the internet and now his coworker had done the exact same thing. This was ridiculous; how many other people were going to look him up on the internet before he went and looked himself up? What exactly did people write about him? Were they articles about his keen business sensibilities? How about passages about his lawyerly abilities? Maybe glowing reviews about his sexual performances? What were they all about?

 

He hoped that it was more of the first two than the third. Although it didn't matter to him either way. He was quite positive that any over-zealous woman who ever decided to blog about him would mix together his impressive sexual performances along with his uncanny ability to disappear in the wee hours of the morning. Plus, he doubted that anyone who bothered to take the time to research him would pass up the more interesting sites for those concerning his business abilities.

 

But I do wonder if they give details, Ichigo thought after a moment.

 

“Should I Google myself?” He said, although it was more along the lines of thinking out loud than actually asking a question. It had the same effect though. Rukia raised her head and creased her brow.

 

“I really wouldn't care.” She sighed. She glanced over at him and then looked back down at her computer. “We need to get the files from the foreign stock department today. I've already called to have them sent up but you might have to go down and get them yourself. I don't trust their carriers.”

 

“Why can't you get them?” He demanded.

 

“Because I asked you to do it first,” she replied matter-o-factly. “And because I'm terribly busy.” She gave him the once over and shook her head in irritation. “You barely look like you ironed your suit this morning.”

 

“Last night,” he told her stiffly, “And I put it on a hanger and everything.”

 

“Bravo,” she sneered, her eyes never veering away from the computer screen, “Do you want a cookie?”

 

“You're a spiteful woman.”

 

“Last Friday I was a bitch and now I'm a spiteful woman,” she paused and tapped her fingers against the touchpad of her laptop. “I wonder what I'll be tomorrow… wench, perhaps? No… I doubt you'd ever use a word as complicated as that. Maybe… whore? No, I'd report you to human resources if you did and I guess I can assume that you'd realize that. It might just be ass seeing as how it's non-gender-specific—”

 

“You really love to hear yourself speak, don't you?” Ichigo interrupted blandly.

 

“No more than you do.” She replied just as tonelessly.

 

Ichigo chose to ignore her entire speech about the epithets he was considering for her—he wasn't about to admit that she was right about the name-calling, as he was considering ass to be the next on the list—and closed his eyes for a moment, clearing his mind and his temper before he brought his gaze back to hers.

 

“Fine, I'll get them. But do you mean that we've actually finished with that secondary subdivision of the first division of the actual division?” He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Well aren't we moving right along…”

 

If she was at all disturbed by his sudden change in temperament—and he was almost completely sure that she was—she hid it extremely well. He guessed she got that type of emotional control from her brother. Each time Ichigo had seen that man on television he had been as stoic as a slab of granite. He also had the personality of said slab. His eyes were cold and his voice was flat. Ichigo glanced over at his partner and shrugged, he was glad that she wasn't completely without feeling, like Byakuya Kuchiki was. He enjoyed her tenacious and vicious company far better with her just the way she was. Mood swings and all.

 

His mind flitted back to their conversation they had had about Inoue last Friday. He recalled that she had seemed… nicer, calmer even.

 

If given a choice he thought that he would rather take the vicious side than the nice side. With the venomous side, all the cards were immediately out on the table. With her nice side it was more or less obvious that she was hiding something… something probably nasty and vile that was meant for him.

 

She threw him a sharp look, “This entire merger would be over much faster if you decided to come in earlier and stay later.”

 

“I already told you,” Ichigo retorted immediately, he spoke as if he were addressing a toddler instead of a woman who graduated from law school at the top of her class. “No. I said that I intend to keep my social life social, I will not be holed up in this trench with you longer than I have to,” he shuddered theatrically and extended his index finger towards her, smirking. “You, who brings as much comfort as a rat carrying the plague.”

 

She opened her mouth to comment on this but Ichigo stopped her before she could even say a word. “Besides, you're breaking the rules enough as it is. If I'm not mistaken, I do believe that for the past week you've come into this office at about quarter of eight, not eight thirty like we agreed on.”

 

“I did not agree to those terms, as you put it,” she hissed, finally reveling in her uninterrupted time to speak. “You made them and told me that all of my opinions were rejected. So, in accordance with these facts, I do not have any terms to agree to, meaning that I can come in whenever I want.”

 

“Good God woman,” he shook his head and finished off the rest of his coffee. “I really don't get you. I practically gave you a reason to stay in bed for—God forbid—an extra hour and you don't even take me up on it. It's like you actually enjoy doing this stuff.”

 

“I do enjoy it,” she commented angrily.

 

“Yeah, maybe, but not every single hour of every single day.” He swirled his hand in the air and attempted to conjure up more words to go with his comments. “Don't you have any hobbies… knitting, pottery-making, cooking? Or, better yet, don't you have a pet to take care of?”

 

“I do the best I can at my job,” she told him, “And if that means working extra hours and doing work at home than so be it.”

 

Ichigo felt like laughing harder than he had laughed in a while yet only a small chuckle escaped his lips. No hobbies… at all? Maybe she just spent all of her time online looking up priceless Chappy the Rabbit memorabilia.

 

This woman was one weird piece of work.

 

“Besides,” she sniffed and glared at him hard, “I wouldn't sleep. If you must know I'm always up and on my way to work by at least seven.”

 

He couldn't help but notice the small amount of pride in her voice that accompanied that statement. Ichigo frowned and shook his head in aggravation. “When do you get up then?”

 

“Four thirty.”

 

Ichigo swiveled his head towards her and tried not to let his bottom lip separate from his upper lip. Rukia just calmly sipped on her cup of coffee—in the Chappy mug—and clicked on a couple things on her computer.

 

“Four thirty?” He gave a disbelieving and exasperated burst of laughter. “Why the hell would you get up that early? Do you have a second job at a fish market or something?”

 

Rukia shot him a dirty look and shook her head, “Every morning at exactly five o'clock I take a small jog around the park.”

 

Five o'clock? Isn't that a tad bit extreme? Ichigo thought blankly. And while I realize that the early bird gets the worm isn't there such a thing as too early? Aren't all the worms still asleep by then?

 

Still confused about his worm analogy, Ichigo turned to her and queried. “A small jog? How long is a `small jog?'”

 

“About four miles,” she answered poignantly.

 

“You are a very strange and neurotic woman.” He commented dryly.

 

She glared at him, “That early in the morning the park is empty, the entire area is quiet, and exercising in the morning really helps to clear my head before the whole day begins.” She tapped a finger to her chin and shrugged, “Not to mention studies show that if you exercise in the morning then you're more energized for the entire day, so my methodology is perfectly accurate in that respect.”

 

Ichigo blinked. “And you do this everyday?”

 

“Everyday except Sundays,” she told him sharply, “Then my friend and I run at ten in the morning.” A small look came over her face and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. It looked like she was either worried about something or trying to remember something important.

 

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he had seen the both her and her friend last Sunday but he reconsidered after a moment of thought. He didn't want her to know that he had seen her. That might bring on a slew of questions concerning what he was doing there on Sunday. Then he'd have to explain to her everything about Kurosaki Family Picnic Day and that would lead to conversations about his father and his sisters, blah, blah, blah. He didn't want to go that deep. He liked their superficial relationship based on pure, demonic, hatred the way it was.

 

He also didn't want the image of Rukia Kuchiki in tight running shorts to shoot across his brain… again; not when she was sitting right in front of him wearing the usual blouse and pencil skirt and acting like a frigid bitch. He didn't want to think about her as an actual human… he liked her just as some weird work automaton.

 

“Well… that's commitment for you, I guess.” He muttered, scratching the back of his head and returning to the topic of running.

 

“Yes,” she sniffed in his direction. “I am very dedicated, especially to things I want completed properly, be it a run in the park or a merger between two multibillion dollar companies.” She turned the full power of her glare onto him and he had to fight not to hiss back at her. Damn… if anyone could turn a simple statement about dogged commitment to a morning run into a fully blown lecture about efficiency and dedication, it was this tiny, malevolent, woman.

 

“Now, hand me those papers so we can get started for the day.” She commanded, stretching out her hand and raising her eyebrows expectantly.

 

Ichigo didn't even bother to glare at her as the papers passed from him to her. She seemed to be immune to such looks today. Maybe since it was Monday her powers of evilness had somehow doubled. After all, everyone hated Mondays and nearly everyone hated Rukia Kuchiki—everyone save that bouncy brown-haired woman, she must be a couple fries short of a Happy Meal to cavort with someone like Rukia Kuchiki—so maybe Mondays and Rukia leeched their despicableness off of one another. Like a symbiotic relationship or something.

 

She turned her attention to her computer and quickly glanced at him. “Are you just going to sit there all day?” She demanded when she noticed his listless pose. “Go get those files I told you to get from foreign stock department. Shoo!”

 

Leaning against the desk, holding back a bitter comment, and imagining chopping her head off with a blunt ax, Ichigo rolled his eyes and muttered, “I hate Mondays.”

 

*~*~*

 

Momo sat across from Rukia, sighing continuously at the overtly shiny ring wrapped around the third finger of her left hand. She was twirling it dreamily with her thumb and the diamond reflected happily in her deep, dark, eyes.

 

“Oh Maid of Honor,” she crooned, motioning to Rukia with her other hand but not bothering to take her eyes away from the large rock on her protruding digit. “What color do you think you'd like to wear for my wedding?”

 

Rukia blinked and bit into her bag of chips, “Black.” She said after she swallowed.

 

Momo didn't even look up at that. “I'm thinking… peach. With frills and bows.”

 

The chip lodged itself into Rukia's throat and she had to fight not to choke on it. “What?” She gasped after she took a few moments to pound on her chest in an attempt to remove the offending snack. “Peach! Momo you know I don't look good in anything light colored, especially those that veer to the orange side of the color spectrum. It clashes with my skin and my eyes!” She tossed a chip into Momo's hair to make sure she was paying attention—she wasn't—and continued, “I look best in dark tones… black, navy, olive, ruby… you know, light colors just make me look pasty and sickly.”

 

“What about a carrot cake?” She whispered. “I've always liked it and it's one of Shiro's favorites. But you know… I read in a bridal magazine that it's chic to have gourmet, decorative, cup cakes instead of an actual cake. That way it's a bit easier for everyone to get one and it's much cleaner than a huge tiered cake. Plus, anyone on a diet wouldn't have to steal an empty plate and carry it around to make it look like they've actually eaten the cake.”

 

Rukia blinked at Momo as though she had grown an extra head or two. Honestly, who thought of things like this? Why couldn't Momo just hire a wedding planner like normal people did? Hell, Rukia would even foot the bill if it saved her months of hearing Momo prattle on about wedding details.

 

Momo and Toshiro had decided on a winter wedding, seeing as how it was the favored season for the both of them. The date was still up in the air but they were sure they wanted it to happen when the New Year had come and gone. They were looking at something along the lines of late January or February, when it was still majestically cold but out of the way of several major holidays.

 

Personally, Rukia didn't see anything wrong with just skipping the whole shittyness of a ceremony and going to a city hall or something. I mean, if they love each other so much why not just save all the money that they would have spent on a wedding and use it on a house or a car or… birth control? Isn't being together what really matters?

 

Rukia almost gagged on another chip at the sentimentality of the thought that just passed through her brain.

 

Momo frowned and examined the white-gold band of her ring, “But you know what else… it would be kind of hard to put those little figurines on top of cupcakes… and where would we find a groom figurine with white hair that didn't look like he was sixty? Or maybe we could just have our initials iced onto each individual cupcake.”

 

A vein was throbbing inside of Rukia's forehead and she felt like shoving her plastic chip bag into Momo's mouth. Maybe if she was lucky enough the poor girl would choke on it and lose the ability to speak.

 

“Seriously Momo,” she growled, “If this is the only fucking thing you will be talking about for the next few months then I swear to God I'll find a way to paralyze your throat.”

 

Momo finally took a moment to glance up at her friend, yet even when she did there wasn't a trace of fear or apprehension anywhere in her gaze. “Really?” Was what she asked instead, “Can you even do that?”

 

Rukia could feel her temper boiling but reined it in. Momo was happy so she needed to be happy for her. It wasn't everyday that your best—and only—friend got engaged to the man of her dreams. For Momo's sake… she would put up with it. She would listen to the prattle about cup cakes and dresses and floral decorations and seating arrangements until her ears fell off.

 

But she would draw the line at a peachy, frilly, bow-ridden bridesmaid dress. She'd burn a dress like that before she ever wore it… well, maybe burning was a bit extreme. She'd just make sure it had an unfortunate… accident. With a wood chipper.

 

Momo was still staring dreamily at her, she seemed to be expecting a response to the `paralyzing throat' comment.

 

“I think you can do it with Botox but I'm not sure,” she muttered, ashamed of her earlier threat against her friend, “I think I saw that on a medical show once.”

 

“Oh but those are never true!” Momo answered breezily, waving her left hand in the air. For anyone now looking at Momo Hinamori they would think she was merely brandishing her hand around in order to emphasize a point. But Rukia knew that she was actually gesticulating so she could see how the light reflected on her giant diamond engagement ring.

 

She paused and tapped a finger to her chin, “I wonder if I should hire an EMT team to attend the wedding… you know, just in case the caterers accidentally poison the pâté de fois gras.”

 

Rukia stuffed another chip into her mouth and desperately tried to recall how to paralyze a persons' throat.

 

*~*~*

 

“How is your work with Ms. Kuchiki going Ichigo?” Uryu asked him quietly. He gently tucked a napkin—made of cloth, specially embroidered, monogrammed, and brought from home—into his collar and picked up his lunch. He took a delicate bite, chewed, and swallowed before speaking again. “Is it getting any better?”

 

Ichigo, on the other hand, was more than willing to speak with a mouth full of food and to discreetly wipe away any ketchup that might have fallen from his hamburger onto his suit pants.

 

“If by better,” he began, taking a French fry and stuffing it into his mouth, “You mean do we have a basic understanding of each other, then yes, we've gotten to that point.”

 

Uryu quirked his head to the side, “`Basic understanding?' What do you mean by that?”

 

Ichigo took up another bite of his burger and thought briefly of going to the gym this afternoon. Maybe, if he was lucky, Ikkaku would be in the mood to spar a bit with him. That man always loved a fight. Or, depending on his mood, he'd seek out Zaraki Kenpachi; the dude was complete nut job but he was the best when it came to actual fighting between two people. None of that safety padding shit, when someone fought with Kenpachi there was a good chance that said person would come out with at least one broken body part.

 

Turning back to Uryu, who was currently cutting up a tepid green bean with an actual knife, he chewed and said, “Well, I hate her guts, she hates my guts, and with that arrangement in mind we've actually become slightly productive.”

 

The look Uryu gave him could have been taken as comical or serious, Ichigo didn't know which so he stayed silent, there was no need to embarrass the poor guy by laughing at him. “It actually works out quite well. Whenever we speak we start this whole Amazonian battle thing and once we get it out of our systems we get to work and its fine.”

 

“That's… quite impressive, I guess.” Uryu said in his crisply clear voice. “It seems as though you two have figured out a system.”

 

“Yep, and it works for us.” Ichigo said through another French fry.

 

“So you're… working well together?” He inquired.

 

Ichigo barked with laughter and shook his head fervently. “Are you kidding? I can't wait to completely blindside the bitch.”

 

“Blindside?” Uryu's attention was piqued even more and his intense stare became further concentrated. “What do you mean?”

 

Ichigo sighed and leaned back in his chair just a bit. A drop of mustard threatened to fall from his burger but he caught it with a finger before it could drop onto his suit. “I don't know really… I just know that I want to knock Little Miss Alpha Male off of her throne.”

 

Uryu's stare could have cut through ice. “You're not going to do anything that could threaten the project you're working on, are you?”

 

“I don't really know,” Ichigo shrugged and shook his head, “But I know that if I did she'd just end up fixing it.”

 

“Don't you think you're being a bit… vindictive?” His friend asked, continuing delicately with his lunch.

 

Ichigo raised an orange eyebrow and shook his head slowly from side to side. “No… I don't actually.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

Ichigo stared out the window of his friend's office and watched a random bird flap sporadically inside of a rather irritating air draft. At one point he was even afraid that the damn thing was going to smack into the window. It avoided the nasty spill however, and continued on its flight, collecting itself after the draft and moving on.

 

“Rukia Kuchiki is used to telling people what to do all the time. Anyone who disobeys is immediately put on her enemy list. But now, I'm working with her and she's stuck with me until this thing is complete. She has no choice but to recognize me as an equal—or better, as I'd prefer it. I'm not some insect under her shoe, I'm the one who's going to get her to her new promotion and her new office. She's going to have to realize that.” Ichigo said quietly.

 

The room filled with an uncomfortable silence as Uryu stared pointedly at Ichigo. His freakishly brazen eyes blinked a couple of times before he placed his fork down onto the top of his desk.

 

“I do believe that is the most eloquent thing I've ever heard you say, Kurosaki.” He said dryly, “However malevolent the content may be.”

 

“Well it's true, Uryu.” He snorted, polishing off his burger and going over to his fries.

 

“And how, exactly, do you plan to… blindside the indomitable Ms. Kuchiki—who, by the way, did not seem as horrid as you make her out to be.” Uryu stated dryly.

 

Ichigo just shrugged and munched on a few fries, “I'm not sure yet,” he mused aloud. “And you're wrong about her not being horrid. She is, I told you about the Chappy mug thing didn't I?”

 

“You did and I have to say Ichigo,” Uryu said, “I'd do the same if it were between you and my grandmother's antique sewing needles.”

 

Ichigo blinked at the absurdity of that statement and cleared his throat in disbelief, “You keep your grandmother's antique sewing needles in the office?” How insane can this guy get?

 

“Of course I don't,” Uryu answered breezily, “They're kept in a locked glass display case near the front of my house.”

 

Ichigo took a moment to pause at the possible hilarity of that statement. Well, at least, it would have been hilarious if Uryu hadn't said that in such a serious voice. Ichigo knew he wasn't kidding about the locked glass display case.

 

“You know Uryu, just when I think you can't get any gayer than you actual are you surprise me with shit like this.”

 

“And yet you continue to associate with me,” Uryu mused wickedly. “What does that say about you… Ichigo?”

 

“I'm not gay,” his friend retaliated swiftly with a hard glare in his direction. “Just Google me, you've got tons of women who can testify to that.”

 

“Perhaps you're only trying to mask your natural desires by sleeping with so many women.” He continued with a smile just as evil—if not eviler—than the one he had been wearing before.

 

“Can it Uryu,” Ichigo hissed, finishing off his fries and cleaning up his mess.

 

“Don't deny what you feel inside Ichigo,” he laughed softly, a maniacal tilt adding color to the teasing statements.

 

“Screw you Uryu,” Ichigo seethed, getting up and exiting the room.

 

Ichigo wasn't far enough away for him not to hear what Uryu said next. Which was: “Sorry Ichigo, I just don't swing that way!”

 

*~*~*

 

Rukia watched Kurosaki walk calmly back into the office, fifteen minutes late, of course, from his actual lunch break. He sighed softly, barely acknowledged her existence, and sat down on his desk. She gave him the critical once-over and turned her nose up just a tad.

 

“Did you know that you have mustard on your tie?” She asked him blandly.

 

His hand went down to the aforementioned tie and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. He stared at it for a moment and then—ew—brought his tie to his mouth. He licked the mustard off and set the tie back down.

 

“That…” Rukia cringed, aghast at his actions, “Is disgusting.”

 

“Deal with it, it's only mustard.” He shrugged.

 

“And now you have a stain on your tie,” she shuddered and turned back to her work, “That's just gross.”

 

“Oh what, like you could do anything about it?” He scoffed and shook his head. She only stared at him blankly for a moment before a small smile quirked up around the edges of her mouth.

 

Kurosaki placed a hand over his eyes and groaned, “You have one of those little detergent pens hidden somewhere in your purse, don't you?”

 

Rukia's grin intensified and she sipped her traditional cup of after-lunch coffee. “Now why would you ever think that?”

 

“Because the big man upstairs doesn't make them any more anal than you.”

 

She shook her head and fought the urge to slap him, “I'll choose to ignore that, Kurosaki.” She swiveled around in her desk chair and raised her eyebrows. “We need to get at least three more files finished before the end of the day in order to meet our quota for the week, can you do that?”

 

“You set up quotas?” He demanded, “I thought we agreed only to work moderately hard.”

 

“You agreed,” she muttered darkly and tossed him a file. “But we need to finish them so I can start writing up my report.”

 

He frowned at her and glanced at the motivational calendar hanging on the wall. It was nearly the end of June, which meant that one of their reports were due to come out soon. Rukia gave him a poignant stare and said, “We have to get moving on it soon. I need to put out a report and give it to Ukitake; he said he wanted one at the end of every month.”

 

She blinked over at him and paused to run her thumb over her bottom lip. Her gaze was contemplative and condescending. He glanced over at her and immediately wanted to know what she was looking at. Rukia simply shrugged and leaned back into her chair. “Have you already used up your vacation days?” She asked suddenly.

 

“I have two weeks left,” he hissed, “And I intend to use them in July. You got a problem with that?”

 

“Actually, I just might.” She countered. “I might have a tiny problem because I don't want to have to wait for you for two more weeks while you cavort around some random Caribbean island while I stay here and do nothing.”

 

Kurosaki rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Or you could go on a vacation too. Have you ever considered that before?”

 

“Once,” she spat, “And I hated it.”

 

“No one hates vacations.” He countered.

 

“I do,” she snarled, “Just sitting around, doing nothing without a single purposeful goal to work towards. It's horrid, I hate being a sloth.”

 

He began to stare at her like she had completely lost her mind. Hell, even his eyebrows had stopped furrowing for a moment.

 

She glared at him and turned her nose up angrily, “What? Stop looking at me like I'm insane.”

 

“You are insane,” he snorted, “Isn't there anything you'd rather do than work all the time?”

 

“No.”

 

“You know they have meetings for people who suffer from what you're suffering from.” He informed her smartly.

 

An affronted sound was ripped from Rukia's throat and she felt her lips curl into an angry snarl. “I'm not suffering from any disease.” She spat in a huff.

 

“You're a workaholic,” he told her plainly. He looked at his computer and correlated the file they were about to work on. “You don't do anything but work every single day, you hate vacations, you have very few friends, you don't have a pet of any kind, and you don't have a boyfriend—”

 

“How do you know I don't have a boyfriend?” Rukia demanded hotly. Her voice was a mix of frustration and suspicion; she didn't like where this conversation was going. Kurosaki was being far too perceptive for her taste. She just wanted him to leave her alone and to stop making assumptions about her character, her life, and her ways of living. So what if she `liked' to work—and she used the term `like' liberally because she didn't, in fact, enjoy working… well, not all the time anyway. She did it because it was the safe thing to do. Because she was good at it and because it ensured her the type of renowned that would make her brother proud. And also because she really had nothing else to do… why not come in a bit earlier, stay a bit later, and come in on the occasional weekend?

 

“You don't have any pictures,” he pointed out dryly, extending one finger to her empty desk.

 

“Maybe I just haven't had time to set them up.” She seethed.

 

“No… no, you would have brought them over from Gotei Corp. if you had had any. You would want to see him—or her—as often as possible.”

 

“What are you insinuating, Kurosaki?” She hissed furiously, her hands clenching and unclenching at the edge of her desk.

 

“That you're single,” he answered breezily, completely ignoring the fact that she meant the gender confusion on the topic of her possible-yet-nonexistent significant other.

 

“I'm not a lesbian.” She said through gritted teeth. “And might I point out, Kurosaki, that you don't have any pictures on your desk either.” She narrowed her eyes and snorted judgmentally. “But then again, I suspect it's mainly because you wouldn't want to keep photos of the numerous women who've given you communal diseases.”

 

“Sorry Sunshine,” he answered coolly, although his tone indicated his rising temper. She smirked to herself and watched the tips of his ears slowly turn red. “But I've been tested and I always use a glove.”

 

“As well you should,” she replied, “I pity the poor child who has to inherit fifty percent of your genome.”

 

“Fuck off Kuchiki,” he hissed.

 

“Sorry,” she smirked, “Not in my plans today but I'll try to fit it in sometime tomorrow.”

 

“My, my, my… you two certainly get along very… well.”

 

Rukia's head jerked to the door and within the next second her legs had snapped to attention. Her chair was sent reeling back into the wall so fast that she had to reach her hand out onto her desk in order to steady her. Her palms began to sweat almost immediately and she wiped them nervously on her skirt.

 

Kurosaki hadn't even moved. The lazy ass was still leaning back in his chair, clicking things on his computer, and thumbing through the files he had layered to his left.

 

“Mr. Aizen, sir,” she said quietly and respectfully. “I'm sorry sir, I didn't know you were there.”

 

The older man grinned but didn't move from his post at the doorway. “I assumed as much.”

 

“And you know what they say about assuming…” Kurosaki muttered from his spot.

 

“Kurosaki!” Rukia hissed furiously, unable to allow a comment as crass as that go unnoticed.

 

This was Sosuke Aizen he had just insulted. Sosuke Aizen, one of the worlds most suave, charming, and brilliant businessmen. He was often referred to as the James Bond of Business. And he had earned it too, orphaned as a child, raised in foster care, working three jobs to pay for college, graduating at the top of his class, rising like a rocket through position after position, weathering bad and good economies like they were nothing, and finally beginning his own empire. And now, after only twenty or so years, Suigetsu Inc. was one of the most profitable electronics companies in the world.

 

Sosuke Aizen was a business god. And here, Ichigo Kurosaki, a lazy, smart-aleck, ass was insulting him! It was like a serf demeaning an emperor.

 

Aizen merely laughed and took a step into the room. “Oh don't worry Ms. Kuchiki,” he chuckled, “I've worked with Mr. Kurosaki long enough to be familiar with his interesting sense of humor.”

 

That still did nothing to assuage the sensations of despicable loathing she felt shooting towards him.

 

Rukia felt like throwing a pen at him but she couldn't bear to look so undignified—again—in front of his boss—her new boss—not when he was coming towards her with his hand outstretched and a happy smile lighting his face.

 

“It's wonderful to meet you Ms. Kuchiki,” he said warmly.

 

She grasped his hand firmly and shook it twice before releasing. She prayed that her palm wasn't too sweaty.

 

However, if Aizen thought it was even the slightest bit wet he didn't say a word, he took a small step back, placed his hands into his pockets, and looked around the room. His gaze shifted from Rukia's desk, to her computer, to her mug, and then over to Ichigo's desk—which was once again ruined by copious files and papers all milling about. His gaze swept the entire room twice before returning to Rukia. He grinned in a gentlemanly way and raised one eyebrow above the other.

 

“I hope you're happy with your current accommodations,” he said conversationally.

 

“There were a few adjustments to make,” Rukia cut in before Ichigo could say a word, “But I'm not overly displeased with them.” Although one more thing could go, she thought nastily, preferably the baboon with the orange hair.

 

“Ah, excellent, excellent…” he murmured mindlessly. He grinned at her and then turned his attention back to Kurosaki. “And I hope that Mr. Kurosaki is making you as comfortable as possible in your new environment.”

 

Said man only scowled into his computer.

 

Rukia pursed her lips and fought the urge to roll her eyes. She had to fight that urge more and more everyday. “He's been welcoming me in his own… special way.”

 

Aizen chuckled lightly and Rukia smiled charmingly at him. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Kurosaki gagging animatedly. She kept on laughing lightly but moved so her back was facing away from her boss. She crossed her hands at the small of her back and casually flicked him off.

 

“I hope you two are working as much as you seemed to be bickering,” he teased genially. “Or else I might have to put a curtain between you two.”

 

Not even a brick partition could stop us, she thought disgustedly.

 

“Well,” she began, feeling that an opportunity to railroad her partner until he'd never get the tracks rubbed off of his face had just arisen, she said, “I believe we're making fair progress but…” she took a quick glance over at Kurosaki, “I do believe we could be doing better.”

 

Aizen tilted her head to the side and casually pushed his black rimmed glasses up his long, straight, nose. “Oh… how so?”

 

“It's all in the effort,” she told him plainly, “We could be getting more work finished if we were both available to work more hours.”

 

Kurosaki coughed loudly behind them and she turned ever so slightly. A look of complete loathing blanketed his face. He glared at her murderously, she smiled back, and Aizen glanced between the two of them, amused and clearly enjoying their nonverbal spar.

 

“Surely you two have come to some sort of arrangement already,” he cautioned, breaking up their tiff with his soothing words. Rukia turned back to face him and nodded slowly.

 

“I just believe that more of our jobs could be accomplished if the two of us agreed on more… extensive time parameters.”

 

“Oh,” he drawled. He raised one of his hands and ran it through his wavy, rich, brown locks. “Well, don't get too wrapped up in this project Rukia—may I call you Rukia?”

 

No. It's far too formal for this type of environment. And what if other people hear you? Will they think its okay to just go around and call me `Rukia' all the time? How am I supposed to command respect if you don't even call me by my family name? How am I supposed to get Kurosaki to ever stop calling me `Sunshine' if you're here taking shortcuts yourself?

 

“Of course, sir.” She murmured kindly.

 

“Don't forget to have a little fun along the way.” He grinned and patted her on the shoulder comfortingly.

 

Rukia could practically hear Kurosaki snickering behind her.

 

“Of course Mr. Aizen, however I—”

 

“I hope that the two of you will become better friends,” he interrupted tactfully, “In two months—I think August thirty first, if I may hazard a guess—Mr. Yamamoto and I intend to announce the merger of Suigetsu Inc. and Gotei Corp.”

 

Rukia's eyes widened and she gulped. It felt like she just swallowed a boulder. “B-But I thought it was to be kept a secret until the merger was actually complete.” She sputtered. She had entirely forgotten about her earlier argument and instead focused entirely on what her boss was saying now.

 

Two months until the announcement? Was he crazy? By August thirty first they would only be halfway through their fourth quarter of the fiscal year. They could be setting themselves up for large amounts of stock pressure if they announced it then. And even after that they'd only have a single month until the next fiscal year barreled around the corner.

 

Rukia wanted to groan and press her hands onto her forehead. A massive headache was beginning to form behind her temples. He was telling her this now? Right now when she was battling with a new coworker, adjusting to a new atmosphere, helping a friend plan a wedding, and trying to find a boyfriend? She felt like she wanted to shriek, tug on her own hair, and stomp her feet.

 

Aizen just kept on talking as though he couldn't see that she was having a tiny mental breakdown. “It'll be a huge bash; suit and tie, dresses, champagne, caviar, dull businessmen from around the world, and even a few select members of the media. I was thinking of Tatsuki Arisawa from the Karakura Ledger. She's always fair.”

 

“I know Tatsuki,” Kurosaki commented from behind them. “She's an old friend; I'll make sure she's there.”

 

“Perfect!” Aizen crooned. “I'm glad we're all on the same page. And of course, I'll be expecting a speech from my top two lawyers on the progress of the merger.” He smiled so all of his sparkling white teeth shined in the dim light. “I'm sure that by that time you two will be like two peas in a pod.”

 

Rukia didn't have the gall to tell him to take his metaphor all the way to hell. She didn't want to hear this. Not when the announcement of the merger would come in only two short months. Not when the media was going to be hounding her soon enough. Not when she wanted to decapitate her partner.

 

Most certainly not when she was completely freaking out.

 

“Well,” Aizen said affably, “I'll just let the two of you get back to work then.” His large hand reached out to pat Rukia on the small of her back and she lurched forward at the impact. She wondered if all the blood had drained from her face. She bit her lip to keep herself from throwing a fit.

 

“Ichigo, Rukia,” he nodded to each of them in turn and moved towards the door. His footsteps were heavy on the carpet and Rukia could swear that she felt each reverberation shoot up through her spine.

 

He closed the door behind him quietly, but not before she could hear him making small-talk with a few other people around them. Many of those people laughed but quieted quickly. She could only assume that Aizen was on the move fairly quickly. The thought that she should be proud that he'd spend several minutes talking to her ran through her mind. But at the moment she didn't care.

 

Behind her, Ichigo Kurosaki snickered evilly.

 

“I bet you're rethinking your vacation time now, aren't you Sunshine?”

 

 

 

 

(A/N: I wanted to thank everyone for the reviews they've left. I still have problems on mediaminer so if you have a new story that you want me to read make sure to email me! I'll read it, I swear!

 

I know that the IchiRuki arguments might be getting a bit tiresome but just wait for Chapter 11… mwahaha! I shall keep you in suspense.

 

Remember, if you don't like my story then it wasn't written for you! My new motto!

 

Please REVIEW, REVIEW, AND REVIEW!

 

Tituba.)