Chapter Text
Sylvia had not anticipated a second move in in less than three years. Moving to New York from England had been a trial in itself, but she’d landed on her feet and gotten a decent job at a local dance company. She hadn’t quite made it to principle artist like she had back home, but it was good experience and kept a roof over her head.
Her downfall had been agreeing to a date with a fan. He’d been pleasant and attentive, gushing over her performances and saying how much of a travesty it was that she wasn’t the top billing artist for the company. It had done wonders for her ego after the tragedy of losing her parents and sister to a house fire. She’d left the country to get a new start. Her family home was gone, nothing more than a burned shell that would likely have been demolished.
Unfortunately, the longer she dated her erstwhile fan, the pushier and more insistent he became, demanding that she go for bigger roles, even telling her to find a better company to work for. She’d never really understood why he was so bothered by her position with the company. In the end, it hadn’t mattered why. He’d gotten frustrated to the point of violence, using her face as a punching bag when she dared to tell him she was happy where she was. It had happened more than once, and she was struggling to cover the bruises during rehearsals.
She’d tried to break it off with him, but he just turned up to the studio to argue with her. The final straw came when he knocked her into her dressing room mirror, lacerating her back in the process. He’d been arrested and she’d needed her back treating. A split lip and a black eye she could deal with, but the company didn’t feel the same. They cancelled her contract, citing her inability to keep domestic issues away.
She’d initially thought to just try another company, but studios seemed to share information. After two weeks, she’d found nothing. Her only option was to take restaurant work just to keep the rent paid, but she refused to do it long term.
Her lease was already up on the apartment, so she decided she needed a change of scenery. LA was the place people went to get serious about artistic things. She was certain she’d be able to find something in ballet and had already fired off numerous emails before accepting a six-month lease on the tiniest studio apartment and buying the cheapest plane ticket she could find.
The apartment was a shoebox, much like her previous one in New York had been. The rent wasn’t much better, and after a week she’d still not heard anything from any of the studios she’d applied at. She only had enough money to keep her going for two months and she didn’t want to go back to restaurant work if she could help it.
It was shear luck that she saw a job advert in the paper for an Assistant to the Chief Inspector of the Central LA Police Department. She had no experience as an assistant to anything, but she wouldn’t lose anything by applying.
This time, she printed off a copy of her resume and went in person, cutting out the ad from the paper to show the desk clerk when she arrived.
The building was far larger than she’d expected, spanning several storeys and fronted by a wide entrance. She wasn’t expecting to be taken too seriously, but she had to try. It was an admin job after all. A change from her usual work to be sure, but nothing she couldn’t handle. At least, that’s what she was telling herself as she made each step towards the main doors.
Inside the main foyer was a flurry of activity. A multitude of cops talking or shouting at various ‘perps’, several desk clerks checking through various bits of paperwork, and one particularly obscene drunk leering at her from the corner where he was handcuffed to a bend, waiting for his turn to be checked in.
As soon as one clerk was free, she stepped forward and showed the bored-looking man the advert she’d cropped.
“I’m here to speak to someone about the Assistant job?” she asked.
The man simply grunted, giving her a brief once-over, then nodded his head to a door on the left. Deciding it best not to pepper him with questions, she went through the door. She followed a moderately long corridor down until she reached another door with ‘Special Investigations’ written on the frosted glass. She opened the door and peered inside, noting the room was smaller in comparison to the foyer.
“Help you?” a tall and slender man asked as she shut the door behind her.
“Oh, uh…”
“You’ll need to report the assault at the front desk,” he responded before she could hold up the advert to him.
“The what?” she said, confused.
Before the slender man could respond, an inner door swung open. The words ‘Chief Inspector Francis Mahoney’ were emblazoned upon the glass.
“I need that goddamn file, Leon!” he yelled, stopped short of the other man’s desk when he spotted Sylvia. “The hell happened to you? You walk into a door?”
Sylvia frowned. The burly man she could only assume was the Chief Inspector moved closer and put a hand on her chin, tilting her face slightly to get a better look at the faded bruise below her eye.
“Oh, no… Uh… It’s nothing. I’m not actually here about that.” She held up the advert between them, looking at him as best she could, given his hand was still on her chin.
Mahoney let go of her chin and took the advert from her. “I see. You got a resume?”
Sylvia rummaged through her bag and pulled out her resume. She handed it to him, wincing slightly as she realised that she had a couple of portfolio photos stapled to the back. She watched his eyes scan over her work record, a faint twitch of his eyebrows as she assumed he’d read what she usually did for a living.
“Uh, you might think about trying one of the studios in town,” he said, moving to hand her back the resume.
She didn’t take it back. “I’ve tried. It’s why I moved here. Shows are seasonal and it seems no one is hiring right now. I’d rather not resort to waitressing, it doesn’t pay nearly enough to keep a roof over your head.”
Mahoney wasn’t convinced she was doing the right thing, but he was curious as to why. He also didn’t believe that a black eye was nothing.
“Let’s talk in my office,” he said, stepping aside and pointing towards the door he’d left open. “Find that file, Leon,” he barked back at the slender man as he then followed Sylvia in, shutting the door.
His office was remarkably large and looked as though it was in the process of being extended and renovated.
He pointed to the chair opposite his mahogany desk. “You can sit.”
She did so, internally wishing she’d gotten a better look at some of the various pictures adorning the walls. She sat perfectly upright as he took his time sitting, reading through her resume once more.
“So. New York. What made you leave?” he asked.
She inwardly cursed. This wasn’t a man who missed things, clearly.
“A foolish mistake I made. It lost me my job as the studio I was working for.” She was deliberately cagey with her answer. Not because she didn’t intend to tell him, but just to see how he’d react.
“I assume the shiner is part of the foolish mistake?”
“Amongst other things.” She didn’t bother to elaborate that she still had faint cuts on her back.
He nodded and dropped her resume back onto his desk, standing up and moving around to sit on the edge in front of her. She wasn’t sure if he was intending to intimidate her or reassure her with his looming presence. Possibly both.
“You don’t really have any admin experience. Is there nothing else you could put your… skills to use at?” he said, trying and largely failing to be tactful.
“That’s not really the sort of dancing I do.”
He shrugged non-committedly. “It would pay better.”
“And it would end my career. I’d never be hired in ballet again. It isn’t about judgement, but the ballet community wouldn’t be so forgiving.”
He let out a long sigh. She could sense he was tempted to just send her on her way, so she stood up to face him.
“Look, I don’t care if you have me running errands, fetching coffee, and making photocopies all day. Even an office junior would be paid better than the food industry. I need to earn enough to satisfy my visa conditions. I haven’t been here long enough to qualify for citizenship.”
“Where is that accent from?” he asked.
“Staffordshire. England,” she replied, though she was doubtful he knew where Staffordshire was. Most people she’d met in New York had no idea.
“That’s not where Shakespeare came from, is it?”
She chuckled. “No, that was Stratford-upon-Avon.”
He nodded, thoughtfully. Truthfully, he hadn’t had any applicants worthy of giving a chance. The few who had bothered to apply had made demands on the job role and salary, and had been slung out by Leon before Mahoney could be tempted to use his putter on their heads. His position meant he was dealing with far too many cases for Leon to keep track of alone. He needed someone in the office managing the files efficiently when he and Leon were out doing what they needed to do.
“I’ll give you a trial run. Three months. Speak to Leon to get your paperwork sorted and show up tomorrow, here, 8am. Clear?”
She nodded vigorously. “Thank you, honestly. I was beginning to wonder if moving had been a mistake.”
“LA isn’t New York.”
“No, it isn’t. That was rather the point.”
He nodded, understanding the meaning behind her words. He stood up straight and opened his door, letting her out. “Get her on the payroll, Leon. Three month trial. She starts tomorrow.”
Leon blinked a few times, then nodded, waving to Sylvia to follow him. She turned back to Mahoney and held out her hand for him to shake. It took him a second to respond, but he took her hand and gently shook, realising in that moment just how delicate her hand felt in his.
He watched her go after Leon, then went back into his office. He sat down and picked up her resume again, flipping the page up and taking a closer look at the pictures, recognising that they likely weren’t meant for him, but for whatever studios she’d been applying for.
Despite his initial reluctance, it hadn’t escaped his notice just how breath taking she was. Long, straight red hair, fair skin, bright blue eyes. Lile most ballet dancers, she was slender with long limbs. Even the bruise hadn’t truly dulled her appearance. He’d need to watch some of the other officers. He didn’t want them leering or making inappropriate comments about her. Given she’d moved across the country, he knew that whoever had assaulted her was likely the reason. She could surely have found another studio in New York, she needn’t have travelled so far for work.
He hoped whoever it was, she reported them to the police. Perhaps he’d check and make sure…