Chapter Text
SANDOR
***
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
SUBJ: Tour de Forge, Salesforge Conference
Congratulations on your pending nuptials. But know this, Tarly – I’m not happy to go to this fucking conference. I hired you to get away from this shite.
- SC
__
Sandor Clegane
Senior Salesforge Administrator
Seaworth Logistics, Inc.
***
He fired off an email to Samwell and checked the time. He wasn’t sure when the marketing rep would arrive, just that they were to meet at the lobby at 8am. It was a quarter of and he was in desperate need of coffee. The thought crossed his mind to leave his post to grab one at the hotel café, but he thought better of it. He needed to meet her one-on-one. Introductions usually went better that way. That way she could stare as long as she wanted to, ask him whatever she wanted to. It was almost rote, at this point, to have to explain about his burned face. When he was young, he had a chip on his shoulder about it. Felt so much anxiety about it. But he’d decided now, that it weeded out the shallow and unadventurous and that suited him just fine.
Sam had nothing but good things to say about her, this Brienne Tarth. Tall blonde, you can’t miss her, he said. Sam had gone to this particular convention for the past 3 years on Sandor’s behalf. Even though he’d gotten to a better place with his scars, thanks to therapy, he still didn’t enjoy being gawked at by strangers.
“Excuse me.” He heard a woman’s voice behind him. When he turned, he saw beautiful woman – almost as tall as him. She was extremely polished for seven fucking fifty-five in the morning. It made him scratch at his beard self-consciously, looking down at his cotton button down shirt and black slacks. Then his eyes landed on his feet, at his nice trainers. Fucking idiot. Should’ve gone with the loafers. But I fucking hate those loafers. I look like an old fart in those loafers.
“Sandor?” She looked him right in the eye. This entire time, she had. “I’m Brie.” She smiled, handing him a coffee cup. “Hope you haven’t had one already.”
“Oh, thank gods.” He blurted out in one breath and drank. And it was… good. Really good.
She watched him and bit her lip. “It’s great to finally meet you. I know I’ve just started, but you’ve been such an asset to my team.”
“Really?” He narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his arms. He couldn’t help but challenge her on that. He recalled setting up a webinar to teach her how to use the system, then a few scattered questions here and there. But it didn’t warrant the kind of praise she offered.
“Really. You’ve been extremely helpful. And now, Davos actually knows what I do, so I owe you a drink.” She quirked the corner of her lip and winked at him.
“Yeah.” Was all he could manage. Did this gorgeous blonde just wink at me? Fuck.
“Maybe we should take our seats?” She offered and spun on her heels towards the meeting hall. He watched her hips swing as she led the way, in a tight black skirt, cream shirt on pale skin. He swore he could smell lilacs.
When they finally sat, she seemed to relax. She pulled out a small black notebook and set it on her knees, a pen hanging from its elastic binding. “So, Sandor, where are you from?”
“Just outside the city, actually. But they pay for a room so I can go to meetings an ungodly fucking time –” He cleared his throat. “I mean –”
She held her hand up. “Please, you can relax.” She smiled. “Are you consulting for Seaworth?”
“No, but that’s the dream, yeah? I get to work from home most of the time. Usually, Tarly comes out to these damn things.”
“Ah, yes.” She pursed her lips, then spoke softly. “I had a friend shop for their expensive bed linens in exchange for doing her taxes. I find the whole thing that loathsome.”
Sandor allowed her a snicker. “I got the panini press online.”
The lights began to dim as a projector displayed the TDF: SFC logo against a white wall. The emcee stood at the podium and cleared his throat. Since this was only a minor quarterly summit, the proceedings were scaled back dramatically. Gone are the C-List celebrity talks and laser light shows, though each seat had a tote bag of reading materials and swag.
“I’ve got marketing trainings all day after this.” She looked down at an itinerary from her tote. “How about you?”
“SF trainings until 4. Fuck, it’s going to be a long day,” he said looking at his own.
“Want to meet at the bar for drinks later?”
“Yeah.” He said simply, dumbfounded that he suddenly had something to look forward to.
***
Sandor found a seat next to the windows, annoyed there hadn’t been outdoor seating. He’d been cooped up in this fluorescent shit box all morning. This is exactly why he hated these things. Right now, he would be watching birds on his back porch while waiting for numbers to compile. Even the view by the window had been bloody boring. Just a vast expanse of curving walkways and well-manicured grass. People in all manner of business attire in rushed procession. As if they had anywhere to be that was all that important.
He took a bite out of his chicken sandwich and looked around the café, resigned to people watching. That’s when a flash of blonde caught his eye and he found Brienne striding in hurriedly with a green juice and some kind of wrap. He thought about waving her over, but didn’t. She had taken her laptop out as soon as she sat and he was glad for it. Half the battle of these things is the incessant chirping you have to do with people you’re forced to spend time with. He recalled the last guy he trained had been a real asshole and had thought about the despicable things he’d do to get those five hours back.
Not that Brienne had been entirely unpleasant. She, being a stunner, impossibly polished, bringer of an amazing cup of coffee. He watched her tapping away on her laptop, enjoying how she bit her bottom lip in concentration. She had on a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that popped against her pale skin. He took out his phone to berate Samwell for failing to mention how beautiful she was. A few minutes later he got a message back saying: Well, she’s not everyone’s type.
That’s a stupid fucking thing to say, he replied.
When he looked up, he realized Brienne was no longer alone. A bearded man with flaming red hair was standing before her. They seemed to know each other, chatted a bit. She forced a smile that was obvious even from where he sat. And when the man took it upon himself to sit with her, her face fell completely. The redhead just sat back, grinning at her like an idiot.
“Tormund, please. I have a lot to get through and…” He heard her say, but the rest was inaudible.
He needs to leave her the fuck alone. Maybe I’ll go and tell him myself. He thought. Followed by: Get a grip, you dumb cunt. Nobody’s asking you to –
Before he could finish his thought, she stood suddenly and pulled the man out of his seat by his arm. “If you don’t leave right now, I’ll carve you up and eat your liver,” she growled, a laser-like glare focused on the ginger. Sandor couldn’t help but smile.
“That a promise?” The man teased as he backed away. He leered at her again for before leaving. Good riddance.
“You alright, Tarth?” Sandor called to her, and she whipped around to face him. Her cheeks, already flushed from the encounter, got even redder.
“Oh gods, how long have you been sitting there?!”
“Long enough.” He grinned. “Get back to your emails, I won’t bother you. I quite like my liver.”
She shook her head and laughed. Fuck, she’s adorable.