Chapter Text
Brienne
Saturday mornings in the office were always, mercifully, peaceful. No stares, no snide remarks, no distractions. Just Brienne, a mug of coffee, and 400 pages of loan agreements to cut through.
She cracked her hips, mounted her standing desk, and clicked in to “track changes” with the promise of several glorious uninterrupted hours of productivity before her. And then-
A low, vulgar whistle.
“8 o’clock on a Saturday? You really don’t have a social life, do you?”
Brienne winced. Jaime Lannister, Partner and Head of Mergers and Acquisitions, in on a Saturday? Surely this was a cruel joke.
“It does not escape my notice, sir, that you’re here, too.”
She kept her eyes deliberately trained upon her screen. If she just ignored him, he might go away…
“A rare and shameful moment, I assure you. I need to make a call. And it looks like it’s your lucky day. You can come take a note.”
Brienne bristled, “That’s secretary work. Junior associate at best.”
“And you’re the most junior associate here, so chop chop.”
“I have my own work to be getting on with, that’s why I’m here. Might I suggest you take the note yourself, sir? That’s what the other partners do when their secretaries aren’t in.”
“Yes but I’m not most of the other partners, am I? Now must we do this dance every time or are you going to remember that you are an employee of this firm and do what I tell you?”
She pressed her thin lips together into a line. Any other partner would just take the note themselves. Admittedly, any other associate would have done as Jaime Lannister, corporate rainmaker and lifelong golden boy, asked.
What no one else seemed to recognize was that Jaime’s brand of flash, his cocktail hour schmoozing, was all show. A gold watch and a tailored suit was nice to look at, sure, but it didn’t make for a good lawyer.
“The clock is ticking, wench.”
And that was Jaime Lannister for you. Always going for the lowest possible blow. It was an old joke that had lingered from her summer internship, when one of her colleagues had pronounced her, “sturdily built, like an old time farm wench. And twice as virginal.”
Brienne squared her shoulders, unplugged her laptop, and marched ahead into Jaime’s office.
It was an offensively large room, dominating the southwest corner of the twenty-ninth floor, decked in rich mahogany paneling with polished gold trim. Never mind that Brienne and the rest of the associates were crammed in the bullpen where half the time it was too loud to hear yourself think, let alone draft.
Jaime slouched into his chair, gesturing with a wave of his hand towards the phone. He expected Brienne to dial for him, the entitled-
-No. She wasn’t going to waste her time getting angry. Wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Brienne had dealt with bigger bullies in her life than Jaime Lannister and one way or another she always came out ahead. She just had to keep her head down.
She found Jaime’s client on the system and wordlessly dialed.
Jaime didn’t so much as acknowledge that she was on the line, and just began talking.
The special hate Brienne harbored for Jaime wasn’t so much because he was arrogant, although that didn’t help. It wasn’t because he was achingly handsome and even more achingly aware of it. It wasn’t the way he ignored everyone who didn’t serve his immediate needs, brushing them off like lint on his shoulder.
It was because he was just about as dishonest as a lawyer could be, and he got away with it. Either because of his family name, or because he brought in so much damn work, the firm had looked the other way after the Targaryen fiasco.
You took an oath, as a lawyer, to protect your client, to put their interests first. Jaime had torn up that oath and pissed all over it.
And instead of being disbarred, here he was in the corner office.
When the call ended, Brienne left without a word.
It was nearing lunch before she realized, dismally, that she hadn’t seen Jaime leave.
“You look even worse than usual today. How have you managed that?” A snide voice remarked behind her.
And there he was.
Usually, this was another reason Brienne preferred the office on a Saturday. She could dispense with the halfhearted façade of lip gloss and concealer that was expected of her Monday through Friday. For a few hours, the only thing that mattered was the quality of her work, not whether some asshole found her aesthetically pleasing.
“We’ve discussed this, sir. Any more comments about my looks and I will file a report with HR.”
“You really are no fun, are you?”
“I’m a lawyer, not a clown. It’s not my job to amuse you.”
“Personally, I’ve always found clowns to be more of tragic figures.”
He stepped forward into her field of vision.
Jaime had clearly taken the time to get ready in the morning, even for the sake of an empty office. His golden hair was carefully styled, his dress shirt ironed and pressed so that it skimmed the angular planes of his chest and stomach without so much as a wrinkle.
Vanity was such a waste of time. Brienne had run ten miles this morning in the time it probably took Jaime to finish whitening his teeth.
“Anyway, try to spend some time outside today, will you? It certainly won’t do you any good to get any paler.”
Brienne refused to respond and, evidently bored, Jaime left.
Despite the mocking from Jaime and, to be honest, most of the other lawyers in the firm, Brienne did have something of a social life. And Saturday nights were for pizza and Lifetime movies with Sansa.
Brienne knew that her vivacious younger friend had invites to half the opening nights in the city, and yet Sansa never bailed, never indicated that she would rather be somewhere else than in Brienne’s drafty flat, drinking cheap supermarket ale.
“Okay I’m leaning towards either The Wrong Tutor, or The Wrong Mommy- what do you think?” Sansa toggled between the options on the screen.
“I don’t care, whatever you think,” Brienne shrugged, tearing off a slice of pizza before sinking back into the couch.
“What’s gotten in to you? You love a life-stealing revenge-murder flick.”
“Sorry, I know. It’s just this thing with Jaime Lannister today-“
“I don’t know why you haven’t reported him to HR a hundred times already, honestly,” Sansa interjected.
“Because I can handle myself, the little jokes don’t bother me.”
“Then what does?”
It was embarrassing. But if Brienne couldn’t tell Sansa, she couldn’t tell anyone. And if she kept it all inside she was bound to explode. Or at least develop an ulcer.
“I’m up for promotion this year. And normally I wouldn’t even delude myself, I know I’m not the type they want as the face of the firm, but my billables have been through the roof lately. I could actually have a chance.”
“You’re the best junior we have by a mile, they’d be a fool not to make you senior associate. I’m not seeing the problem?”
Brienne picked at the label on her bottle.
“It comes down to a vote of the partners, to approve the promotion.”
“And you’re worried Jaime will vote against you.”
“Why wouldn’t he? You know he holds a grudge.”
“Well unfortunately for him, so do I. So unless he wants to find himself mysteriously uninvited to all of the firm’s networking events for the rest of his career, he won’t stand in your way.”
Sansa reached over and patted Brienne’s hand. Brienne didn’t believe for a moment that one redhead with an invite list would be enough to keep Jaime Lannister in check, if he really did decide to torpedo her career, but it was a nice sentiment.
Jaime
Two hours of pounding the bag later, and Jaime was dripping sweat from every pore on his body. Anything to calm his nerves.
He showered quickly at the gym, his thoughts miles away. In hindsight he could admit that he was on edge, that perhaps he’d been a bit crueler to the Tarth woman than was merited. As much as she bitched and protested they were below her, even her attendance notes were faultless. It was a work ethic you didn’t always get with some of the younger lawyers.
If not for her face, and her overall demeanor, she could have looked forward to a real future at the firm. But she was too righteous by half, every placid look and quirked smile clearly signaling how superior she was to him, how secure she was in her perfection. And he was the bloody senior partner.
Jaime shook himself back to reality in his apartment, changing into a casual dress shirt and slacks before thinking better of it and swapping them for a white t-shirt and dark jeans. He plumped the cushions on his sofa, placed a bottle of white wine in the fridge, and deep cleaned the sink.
How was it only 5.00pm?
He paced the width of his living room twice over, vacuumed for the third time that weekend, and then, finally, when he was starting to accept that perhaps she had decided not to come after all-
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in!” Jaime called out, his voice a full octave too high.
She still had her key. He had never asked for it back.
A tall blonde woman with curling waist-length hair stepped into the room, wearing a dress of sculpted red leather. Cersei’s scarlet lips curled into a smile.
Jaime dropped to his knees.
It was only once he’d tasted her, felt the telltale shudder and release against his tongue, that Jaime reluctantly steered them towards the couch.
Panting and achingly hard he stared at her, awaiting direction.
Cersei shifted, readjusting her thong and smoothing her skirt. Aside from the uneven rise and fall of her chest, her body did not betray the slightest hint of what had transpired between them.
A moment in to the uneasy silence, Jaime broke first.
“There’s wine in the fridge. Yattana Chardonnay.”
Cersei smiled again, but it did not reach her eyes.
“How sweet of you to remember. But I’m afraid I can’t stay. I’m on my way to collect Joffrey from a birthday party.”
Jaime’s heart crumpled to the size of a pinhead.
“I thought we could talk.”
He was met with the same frozen smile.
“What is there to talk about?”
“About us? About this?”
“Jaime,” her voice hardened. “There is no us. There is no this. I’m married to Robert, and you and I have been divorced for seven years.”
Seven years, three months, and eleven days. But who was counting?
Cersei stood, collecting her purse from where it had fallen by the door. She hadn’t even removed her shoes.
“Then why?” He hated how desperate his own voice sounded. It was practically a whine. “If there’s no this, then why do we keep doing it?”
“If you don’t want me to visit you again…” Cersei quirked one manicured eyebrow.
Jaime broke eye contact first. “No! No… that’s not what I want.”
“Well, that’s settled then. Now I really must be going, if I’m late again the Tyrell bitch will never let me hear the end of it.”
As soon as he heard the latch of the door click shut behind her, Jaime snatched the nearest throw pillow to his mouth and screamed.
What followed was nothing less than the most pathetic masturbation of his life.
His mood only soured on Sunday. He blew off a run with Bronn and dinner with Tyrion, and he sat and stewed.
Come Monday he was running late for the partners meeting and he could taste the grains in his coffee, which was just perfect. Stannis glowered at him when he entered the conference room.
“Jaime, how kind of you to grace us with your presence.”
“Yes well no need to stop the whole meeting on my account,” he waved a hand. “Carry on.”
Stannis’ scowl deepened. Jaime wondered, not for the first time, if his face was actually stuck that way.
He settled into the empty chair next to Tyrion, ignoring Stannis’ relentless moaning while he opened his laptop.
Immediately, a message popped up on the screen. From Tyrion, of course, even though his younger brother did not so much as glance in his direction.
I’m begging you. This thing with Cersei has to stop.
What, not even a good morning?
You’re divorced. Let her go. It’s not healthy.
And thank you for that brotherly concern. Believe it or not, I am aware Cersei and I are divorced. I signed the paperwork myself.
Sansa, the redhead from marketing, had taken over from Stannis, which was usually one of the least odious sections of the partners’ meetings. But Jaime was too busy staring daggers into his computer screen.
You canceled on Bronn yesterday, not to mention me. And you’ve come in today looking like you have a hernia, so I gather you did so not in favour of better social engagements, but because something upset you. As it happens, just about the only thing that has upset you for the last fifteen years is That Woman.
Jaime snapped his laptop shut. Across the table, Baelish, in accounts, tittered.
He was not delusional. Cersei had left him, yes. She was married to a drunken old tyrant now, yes. That did not change the fact that she was his soul’s twin. That he still smelled her on his pillows, every morning when he woke. And if she did not feel the same, well then why did she keep coming to him month after month?
Jaime could wait. He was patient.
What Jaime perhaps was not, was an attentive listener. At the end of the meeting, he caught Tyrion by the door.
“Assume, perhaps, that I was rather preoccupied for some- shall we say all- of the last hour. Would I have missed anything important?”
Tyrion snorted, “Pod has already sent the minutes, they’ll be waiting in your inbox. And do try not to shoot the messenger when you get there.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“It’s an figure of speech you see-“
“Tyrion, I’m not in the mood for you to be a smartass.”
“When has that ever deterred me? But to your point, you have a new case. One of Stannis’ clients apparently, she wants to set up a joint venture in this jurisdiction.”
“Fine, I’ve always got capacity for a few more of Stannis’ nutters.”
“She’s quite an interesting character, apparently. It’s supposedly going to be this grand eco-venture –“
“Get to the fucking point already.”
“Stannis assigned Brienne Tarth to be your associate on this one.”
Jaime’s jaw dropped. “Like hell he did! It’s my department, I’ll have the fucking office dog on it if I please!”
“It is your department. But you see, as he is managing partner, it is, in effect, Stannis’ firm. And his client.”
“This is so unfair.”
Tyrion patted him on the shoulder. “There, there. I understand it must be a terrible burden, having one of our brightest associates assisting you. That, on top of being incredibly wealthy, charming and handsome, how do you find the strength to get out of bed each day?”
Jaime shrugged him off. At least if he was going to be miserable, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the only one.