A/N: This is different - very different - from anything I've written and posted. I just needed a break from the fluff and love that I've written so much of lately!
This is definitely M (for language and adult situations). It's definitely (probably) a little controversial. It's definitely totally AU. It's definitely not for anyone under the age of 18.
You've been warned!
She hated him from the moment she saw him.
He was arrogant, and pompous, and he felt like everyone should treat him like royalty, just because his father owned half the city. She'd heard about the Scott boys, and while Nathan had the more colourful reputation, she knew Lucas Scott wasn't a stranger to alcohol, women, and one night stands.
He was the kind of man she couldn't respect, and she simply refused to do it.
His publishing company - of which he was Vice-President - merged with the record label she was head of A&R for, and from the first day he walked into the office building for a preliminary meeting, she saw him eyeing her up. She'd glared at him that day, and every day since, when she caught him staring at her hungrily. He made no attempt to hide the lust in his eyes, and she made no attempt to hide the disdain in hers.
She was just a girl from humble beginnings. A single father, and a small town, and a few close friends. She'd moved to the city to work at that very label, working her way up in the 10 years she'd been there. She started in the mail room, and busted her ass to get somewhere; to get anywhere. She was damn good at what she did, and she was assured that her job was secure when the merger announcement was made.
The two companies together formed a media conglomerate. Magazines and books, and music and soundtracks, and a music publishing sub-company.
But that just meant seeing Lucas Scott every day.
And she had thought that seeing his name on Page 6 every few months was enough.
The boy was an heir, and had the attitude and personality to match. He barked orders, and shouted to his assistant when his coffee got too cold. He marked pages feverishly, and thrust them back into the hands of his employees, demanding changes. He wore expensive suits, and drove around in an expensive SUV, and he was everything she hated about New York, all wrapped up into one person.
But he was a hard worker. She'd give him that.
Their first real conversation took place at the end of his first week working in the same building. She had stayed late to finish paperwork while it was quiet, and she didn't even know anyone else was still in the building. It was rare that, at nearly 7:30, anyone else be around.
And then he appeared in her doorway, his button down shirt's sleeves rolled up, and his tie hanging loose around his neck.
"I don't believe we've met," he said as he leaned against the frame.
"We have, actually," she said, turning back to her work. "Several times."
"I know that, but, 'your legs are fucking unbelievable', seemed like a horrible way to start a conversation," he told her.
She was stunned into silence, and when her head snapped up and she looked at him, she immediately despised the smirk on his lips. The guy had some nerve. He obviously didn't care about a sexual harassment lawsuit. She was sure his daddy would buy him out of it, and he was probably well aware of that fact, too.
"Excuse me?" she asked incredulously.
"You heard me," he stated with confidence. And she had.
He stepped further into her office, with its red walls and deep brown wood shelves, lined with countless albums. She had photos of herself with some of the artists signed to the label, and a few of herself with some nobodies. Well, who he considered nobodies; they were obviously somebodies to her.
"What are you doing here?" she asked as he strolled around her office.
"You mean other than making you terribly uncomfortable by telling you I think your legs are sexy, and looking at your personal things?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes. "Working late."
"Do you even have to work?" she asked under her breath.
"No," he said, perching himself on her desk, just to her right. "But I like to."
"You like to work," she stated in disbelief.
"Is that so hard to believe?"
"Because of my father?" he asked.
"You don't seem like the working type," she explained. He tipped his head back and let out a chuckle.
"What type do I seem like?" he inquired.
"The type who says crass things to women instead of initiating a conversation with something neutral and genuine," she said, and he smirked at her again.
"Oh, I was being genuine," he told her, and she scoffed.
"I get the feeling that's a rarity," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She was still holding her silver pen between her fingers, and there was a curl tumbling over her shoulder.
"Maybe it is," he said. "Maybe you should feel honoured."
"I'm swooning. Really," she said dryly. He chuckled again and she almost let herself smile. "Do you need something, Mr. Scott, or are you just distracting me from my work for your own pleasure."
The way her lips move when she said the word pleasure, had him thinking incredibly dirty thoughts of her. Even dirtier than the day before when she'd work a tight black skirt with a silk tank top, and had taken her jacket off as she walked from the elevator to her office. He'd been standing at the reception desk, and she gave him the cold shoulder, but he wanted nothing more than to undress the rest of her.
"If I was here for my own pleasure, we wouldn't be merely talking," he said seriously. "Trust me on that."
She scoffed at the notion that she should ever trust him at all.
"And I suppose you expect me to just drop everything and fall to my knees in front of you?" she said, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.
"I wouldn't complain," he said, his voice thick with lust.
He liked her. He really did. She said things like that without disguising the innuendo or what she was really implying. She clearly had ill-feelings towards him, and she would be a challenge. He felt he was up for it. There was a wall up in front of her that was going to be a hell of a lot of fun to knock down.
And the thought of her on her knees in front of him had his heart racing, he wouldn't lie.
He just knew it wouldn't be that easy. If he was being honest, if it was that easy, he'd probably be less interested in her.
She was different, clearly. Women never turned him down. In fact, he usually wasn't the one initiating anything.
She was going to make him work for it, and work for it he would.
She knew what he was doing. It wasn't like he was being subtle. She wasn't going to let him get away with it.
"I'm not going to fuck you in your office," she told him, her voice dripping with somehow both fake sweetness and complete disgust.
"Somewhere else, then? Because I can be fairly accommodating," he responded, chuckling when she huffed and turned away from him. "Do you have a boyfriend?"
"Do you have a problem?" she asked hotly. "Because I'd like to go home at some point, and you're in my way. Literally."
She poked at his thigh with her pen, and he smiled as he hopped down off her desk.
"Let me know if you need a ride," he said, well aware of the double entendre. "I'll be here for another half hour or so."
"I'll be just fine on my own," she told him when he turned back to her as he reached the door.
"I'm resisting the urge to make a very sexual comment based on your answer to my simple offer," he said with a smirk.
"Keep resisting," she warned him.
"You too, Peyton," he said. He winked at her before he left her office.
And all she could think was that he was lucky he left when he did, or she would have hurled her water glass at him. What an arrogant pig. For him to imply that she wouldn't be able to resist him? How many lines had he crossed in that one short conversation.
She loathed him. He made it all too easy.
She didn't know why she was smiling.
She wasn't sure how it happened, but they ended up waiting for the elevator at the exact same moment the following Tuesday. She saw him standing there, and she rolled her eyes and contemplated heading back to her office, but her heels on the marble tile of the hallway called his attention to her.
He was wearing a suit she recognized was Zegna - she had her fashion designer friend to thank for such pieces of information - in a deep grey colour with a black button down shirt (no tie) underneath. She'd noticed earlier in the day, when he wasn't wearing his jacket, that his slacks were tailored perfectly.
And yes, she'd been looking.
"Miss Sawyer," he said, his eyes focused straight ahead.
They'd been in a shared meeting earlier that day, comprised of just management, as they bandied around ideas for how the company should be branded and marketed as they 'moved forward'. Peyton hated that term. Each time she heard it, she cringed - something that didn't go unnoticed by Lucas.
And he noticed, because he could hardly take his eyes off her. She'd be taking notes with her right hand, and idly toying with her necklace with her left, or she'd brush a stray curl off her face. She was subtle and graceful, all while being so sexy that it almost physically hurt him just to be in her proximity.
And then they butted heads over how the company letterhead should be designed, and she held her own with him - eventually winning out - and he actually smiled, though he'd lost the argument - and crossed his arms. She looked at him smugly for a split second, then went back to her note pad.
"Good work earlier," he said when he finally turned to her.
"Better than you," she said, grinning just a little.
He didn't know why she was so insistent on hurting his pride. He had no fucking clue why he liked it so much, either. Perhaps that was the bigger question.
"Sorry," she offered. "I just love to win."
"It's not a competition," he stated. She looked over at him with a raised brow.
"Are we still talking about work?" he asked.
The elevator arrived, and he swept his arm, gesturing for her to step in ahead of him. And yes, that was not only because he was a gentleman, but also because he didn't have to act like one when she couldn't see him. She looked just as good from behind as she did from the front.
"What else would we be talking about?" she asked as she hit the button for the ground floor. She set her bag on the floor at her feet and pulled her jacket over her shoulders, her chest pressing forward as she slid her arms through the sleeves.
He couldn't not stare.
"This," he said simply, turning to her and leaning against his hand on the railing behind them.
"There is no this," she reminded him. "We're simply colleagues. Well, I'm simply a colleague. You're a silly man with an inappropriate crush."
"A crush?" he scoffed. "Don't make it sound so adolescent. Believe me, Peyton, the things I want to do to you are far from adolescent."
She shook her head and slung her bag over her shoulder again.
"You have no shame, do you?" she asked. He noticed she was smiling. She was amused by him, if nothing else. He could work with that.
"I do," he said. He didn't elaborate, and she didn't ask him to. "Can I offer you a ride home?"
"You can offer. I won't accept."
"It's late," he pointed out.
"Exactly," she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He chuckled.
"Are you walking?"
"Why so much interest?"
"Just curious," he said with a shrug.
"I'm meeting friends for dinner," she told him for some reason.
"Anyplace good?" he inquired.
"Why would I go anyplace bad?" she countered. He laughed again and she smiled.
He was liking her more and more.
The elevator reached the bottom floor, and they both stepped out. He loved the sound her heels made on the floor of the lobby of their office building as they made their way to the main doors, and when he pushed the door open for her, she smiled at him as thanks.
She gestured towards the waiting limousine, indicating that was her ride, and he raised one eyebrow.
"Friends in high places," she said, by way of explanation.
"You're not exactly in a low place," he pointed out, and she rolled her eyes. "Goodnight, Peyton."
"Goodbye," she said. She started off towards the car, but she could feel his eyes on her. She turned just before the chauffeur opened the door for her, and called Lucas' name.
"Yeah?" he answered.
"The question you asked me the other day. No," she said. She saw the quizzical look on his face, and she stepped into the limo before he could ask her to elaborate.
The car drove two blocks and he watched it the entire way, until it rounded a corner. Once it was out of sight, he realized what she was saying.
No, she didn't have a boyfriend.
"Was that Lucas Scott?" Brooke asked once Peyton was seated next to her in the back of the car.
"The bane of my existence? Yes."
"That is one sexy bane of your existence," Brooke pointed out, craning her neck to look at the man standing on the sidewalk behind them. "What's wrong with him?"
"Everything," Peyton replied, deadpan.
"Seriously," Peyton said with a nod. "He's...awful."
"He likes you," Brooke stated, and Peyton rolled her eyes. "He obviously does. He just watched the car drive out of sight."
"He doesn't like me. He wants to fuck me. There's a difference," Peyton said.
"Well, either way," Brooke shrugged. "Could be fun."
"Hate sex is hot," Brooke said seriously.
"I'm not having sex with him," Peyton said firmly. "So...no."
"No!" Peyton answered quickly.
"And why not?" Brooke asked with a kinked brow.
Peyton knew that look. Brooke was just trying to get her to say that she couldn't sleep with him because Peyton wanted to, herself.
"Because it would feed his pathetic ego, and...he doesn't need the encouragement," Peyton stated. Good cover, she thought.
"Or, because you secretly want him to throw you on your desk and have his way with you," Brooke argued. "It's normal. Office environment. Someone always wants to screw someone else."
"What?!" the brunette laughed. "It's the truth!"
Peyton knew that Brooke was probably right. In an office environment, there were always secret hookups at holiday parties or company retreats. She'd seen it happen a lot of times before, and never once had it worked out for the couple. Once of them always had to quit and move on to escape the other. She wouldn't be one of those people. She loved her job too much.
But Lucas' ass did look great in those pants....