Chapter Text
"Get that out of your mouth."
Customer service was never really your strongest suit, but you found your niche in being hypervigilant and organised. It was still a busy job and every day was different. You got up early, walked to the Gallery Gourmet no matter the weather, visited the same cafe three doors down from Prodnose's shop, and ordered the same black coffee for your boss. Of course, he was always very grateful and always made sure he said his thanks - which made your role of his assistant a little less demeaning than others would assume. You worked hard, and you noticed, and you remembered, and you noted - so you wondered why he was glaring at you from the office door, chastising you about the little luxury you'd allowed yourself.
The lollipop was one of his. It was a sour cherry flavour, like the kind that made your cheeks feel a little raw when you put it in your mouth for the first time. It was usually wrapped with a delicate purple ribbon that felt so lovely to peel away to hear the crinkle of plastic that was keeping the treat from you. They'd last for an hour, no matter how hard you tried to reach the centre, and that was exactly how long it would take for you and your boss to finalise the day and go home.
Which, you were still yet to do.
You leaned back in your office chair, swivelling to look at him. Your desk was against the wall of his roomy office that laid in the back of his shop, about the same size as his, too. His desk laid in the middle of the office, surrounded by shelves of paperwork, folders, a variety of sizes of empty jars, knick-knacks, the odd trinket, and a couple of awards from the Ministry of Confectionery. The surface of your desk was barely visible because it was blanketed in sheets of paper covered in scribbles of black pen. His, less so, but with a half-empty glass of water, and a small radio that he turned on occasionally to listen to while working.
Wonka leaned against the doorframe. His arms were crossed over his chest, with the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to the elbows, evidence of a hard day's work. His coat and hat were hung up on the stand nearby. He still wore his waistcoat - it was practically attached to him at this point - and his silk scarf still hung around his neck. His hair was tousled from running his hands through it due to stress and his deep, hazel eyes still held their twinkle of mischief, despite being lidded with fatigue. And they were glaring at you.
You rolled the lollipop between your teeth, feeling the satisfying clack of hard candy against enamel.
"It's one of yours," you murmured.
"I know," your boss hummed, pushing off the doorframe to walk to his desk. "Put it in the trash."
You rolled your eyes. Mister Wonka never wasted a single gumdrop but he always disliked you eating his supply on the clock.
"If you think about it, sir, you're paying me to eat your candy," you retorted, twirling your pen between your fingers. His lips curled into an amused grin as he sat in his chair.
"I pay you to look after my paperwork and keep track of my supply, not eat it," he said, leaning back and putting his feet up on the desk. "And I'll look bad if you get cavities."
You smirked, watching his hands clasp against his stomach. Wonka had been more knowledgeable of his reputation and financial status in the past year or so, and he'd grown thicker skin because of it. You'd already looked at the planning permission documents for the run-down castle-like structure on the outskirts of town and discussed the embiggening of his chocolate empire, but right now, he was waiting for the right moment.
Two years. You had been his assistant for two years, and not to brag, but you were good at it. Your relationship with the man had only dipped into a personal level now and then, and you two were good friends, but you knew there was a solid, hard line between the boundary of a business relationship and what festered on the other side. You couldn't have your cake and eat it too.
Besides - imagine the scandal that would ripple through the town! You'd have to move a thousand miles away.
For now, you took the lollipop out of your mouth and tossed it into the trash can beneath your desk, licking the sticky cherry residue from your lips as you did so. It was a shame, really. The preoccupation of a lollipop helped you concentrate.
"You wouldn't know if I had cavities unless you looked in my mouth, anyway," you hummed, pulling up your chair to his desk. Wonka laughed, a hearty laugh that echoed around the office.
"Are you daring me?" he grinned wickedly. "Because I will."
You scoffed, drumming your pen against the desk. He knew how to get under your skin.
"That's gross," you said.
"You started it."
You glanced up at his shit-eating grin and felt your stomach twist into something you'd been keeping an eye on for a long time. It wasn't just how he knew how to get under your skin - it was the way he knew you liked it.
"Anyway, enough about your mouth," he began; not something you heard every day. "I found this at the bottom of the mailbox."
"The postbox," you murmured, trailing the bottom of the pen against the grain of his desk, grinning to yourself.
"Gesundheit."
A blue envelope appeared under your nose. A blue wax seal held it shut with the Slugworth emblem embossed within it. You picked it up, curious, feeling the heavyweight paper in your hands. Slugworth was a fan of the finer things, and you and Wonka could spend many an hour gossiping about his needless expenses.
The kingpins of the Gallery Gourmet had returned on the condition of being unable to interfere with sales. All four men were banned from entering each other's premises, so you often had to deliver letters to the men on behalf of your boss. It wasn't so bad, and Mister Wonka got a thrill out of being competitive. Maybe too much of a thrill sometimes, but it was amusing to watch him go a little mad with power.
You lifted the seal and opened the envelope. It folded out to reveal the contents inside - Slugworth's cursive handwriting, which was hard to read at the best of times, let alone in the evening light of Wonka's office.
"Slugworth only ever writes to me in those envelopes for one reason," Wonka said, putting his feet back on the ground and leaning against his desk. There was a knowing smile playing upon his lips and you wondered what he meant. "Go on. Read it."
You obliged. It took some time for your eyes to focus on the words, but you managed. You could smell your boss's cologne now that he'd leaned in closer.
It was an invitation to a dinner party. No wonder it seemed so fancy. You hadn't attended one since you were hired, and now you were curious.
"Slugworth invites you to a dinner party at his private residence outside of town," you murmured, your eyes scanning the invitation. "Business matters will be discussed but there will be alcohol served and the opportunity for guests to take advantage of his various guest bedrooms to end the night."
You glanced up at Mister Wonka, who was grinning into his hand, looking at you. You only had one response.
"I'm not going."
He rolled his eyes and laughed into his fist, his teeth sinking into his knuckles. You struggled to talk to Slugworth himself when you had to, how the hell were you going to discuss business with the most important people in the Gallery Gourmet?! The very thought made you feel nauseous. Not a lot of people saw your face regardless, so it was going to be incredibly awkward to walk in with the main moneymaker of the Gallery and not have people wonder if you had something going on.
"Why not!" Wonka grinned, chuckling softly. "You have to be there. Everyone gets invited. You've been supporting me this long and it would be insane for you not to go."
You thumbed the corner of the invitation, trying to think of an excuse. He was looking at you expectantly.
"Slugworth's dinner parties are huge. I've only been to a couple, but they're the best exclusive event you could go to," he said, trying to convince you. You glanced at him and how his eyes were wide with excitement, searching yours for an answer.
"Have you ever stayed in his guest rooms?" you asked.
"Nah," Wonka shook his head, reaching for your pen to pick it up and fidget with it. "Never stayed that long. I heard he serves a good breakfast in the morning, though."
It was hard not to say no. It sounded exciting, and it was happening on Saturday - just a day away. The envelope had been at the bottom of the pile for a while, but not too long for you to 'accidentally' miss it. What were you doing on Saturday? Nothing, probably. You had a date with your couch and a blanket and a good book you could stick your nose in. But then, you thought of the last time you'd been around your boss when you went for drinks after work - nothing crazy, but he had to stop you reminding him of the time you had to drag his drunk ass home, cane and all.
"C'mon," he said, tapping the pen against the desk, gazing at you. "Don't think about it. You're coming."
You groaned, resting your head against the hand you propped up against his desk. It sounded like the perfect opportunity to discuss his factory with all kinds of potential investors, at least,
"What's the dress code like, usually?" you said, wondering if you could wiggle out of it by having nothing to wear. Wonka grinned; his teeth glistened with a twinkle of mischief.
"Eccentric," he replied. "Extravagant. Anything you purchased and decided to hide in the back of your closet because you never had an occasion to wear it."
A sigh of surrender escaped your lips. He wasn't going to let up.
"Fine," you murmured.
"Excellent!" Wonka laughed, leaning back in his chair again. "You won't regret it. I need you to laugh at my jokes."
You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself off the edge of his desk, getting back to work. You were already eating into your overtime. Your body thrummed with nervous energy at the thought of going to this cursed dinner party, representing your boss, talking to people you'd never met, and probably won't see again. Glancing at your paperwork, you reached for a pen that wasn't there.
"Catch," Wonka said, and you span so much in your chair you nearly got whiplash trying to snatch the pen he'd stolen from you. You caught it just in time, and he smirked at you without even looking up from his paperwork.
As you uncapped the pen and turned back to your desk, you couldn't help but let your gaze linger a little longer on his stature. The way he wrote, the way his other hand formed a fist in his hair, the way his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Your stomach twisted into that little knot that you'd been ignoring for months. And you ignored it again.