Clayton Beresford x f!reader
SUMMARY: Clayton's recently hired secretary is bubbly and optimistic─the complete opposite of him. He soon learns the way of being carefree and laid back, officially entering your own little world.
WARNINGS: none for this chapter!
Clayton's eyes lift from his monitor, currently going through some online files that so-desperately needed to be sorted. "Come in," His voice was tired and irritated, almost dreading the fact he had to socialize once again.
He knew he was the CEO and people relied on him most of the time, but he really enjoyed his peace and liked being left alone for at least an hour while being in his office.
His office was almost his escape from reality─being able to do whatever he desired most and no one could barge in and interrupt. That would be unprofessional of them.
The old, wooden door carefully creaks open, revealing one of his most trustworthy co-workers─Mark, and you─an unfamiliar face. His cold, blue eyes immediately roam over your figure, almost judgmentally.
Usually, he'd judge his secretary's based on professionalism with their outfit choices. If the clothes were too revealing or just plain up hideous, he'd tell Mark to find another one. Cold and simple. Though, when it came to your first appearance, he couldn't find anything to judge on.
Your hair was slicked back in a neat, but fairly messy bun. The white blouse you were wearing was short-sleeves, and crinkled at just the right amount. Your black, pencil skirt fell just to your mid-thighs, hugging your plush skin perfectly. Your feet were covered with white, ruffle socks and paired with black Steve-Madden flats.
It was definitely a good first impression.
To Clayton's standards, at least.
Mark clears his throat, bringing Clayton's attention back to him as he holds his clipboard in his right hand. "This is Y/n, she's going to be your new secretary." He simply says, shooting Clay a silent warning look to be nice.
Clayton brushes off the glare and looks back at you, a small, professional smile appearing on his pink lips to acknowledge you. His expression was unreadable, but he definitely was a little less tense than when you two first entered the room.
You return the smile with a friendly tug of lips, your dimples prominent on your cheeks at the action. Clayton had never seen someone so relaxed during a first impression, clearly expecting a nervous wreck like the past couple of secretary's he recently declined without hesitation.
"Come, sit," He gestures to the singular armchair coated in a black, sleek leather at the other end of his desk, motioning for you to come closer. "Mark, you're free to go."
"Very well, then." Mark nods his head before exiting the office, the door shutting behind him.
You sat yourself down on the comfortable armchair, a leg crossing over the other as you place your notebook down onto a small, free area on his flooded desk.
One of Clayton's eyebrow began to raise as you immediately invaded his space without asking, even more confused by the fluffy tip of your black pen. He shakes off the interaction and looks back at you, that same smile on your face still very much in the clear.
"So," He starts, clearing his throat, "Y/n, right?"
You nod your head, letting your eyes quickly trail around the interior of his office before meeting his cold gaze once again. "Mhm." Your response was simple, tapping your index and middle finger against the bare skin of your thigh.
His office walls were filled with picture frames─which were probably his family and friends. The floor-to-ceiling windows capturing a perfect view of the Skyline of Manhattan, a fair amount of the office was kept clean, beside his desk─being multiple sheets of paper scattered all over the place, and not even organized in neat piles.
He nods, "Right, well, you can just call me Mr. Beresford." He addresses, leaning back in his large office chair with a quiet creak. "Let me run the basics down for you, alright? Just so you know the rules and all of my boundaries."
The two of you spent the next thirty minutes discussing basic rules around the office. Always be on time, maintaining an accurate record-keeping on a clipboard or notebook, organized time management, and demonstrating professionalism at all times. No excuses.
Unfortunately, due to the lack of staff, you weren't provided with your own desk yet. So, Clayton came to the arrangement of sharing a corner bit of his desk with you until the new furniture arrived. Obviously you couldn't disagree, so you just complied with a lousy corner until your new desk came.
Clayton eyes were currently glued on his computers screen, a stern and stoic expression very much evident. You didn't know if it was either the fact he'd have to get used to sharing his space, or if something rather important came up and he wasn't fond of it. Either way, your main goal was to make sure he felt comfortable around you.
"So," You start, currently midway through writing down most of Clay's business meetings times and dates in your notebook, "What's it like being a really, really young billionaire and CEO?" It was a stupid question, for sure, but it had been so quiet for the past fifteen minutes and you couldn't help but break the silence.
Clayton's gaze meets yours in the corner of his eye, sighing quietly at your question. "Stressful," He mutters plainly, "Continue writing down my schedules and try not to talk so much, alright?" He adds, his attention drifting back to his computer screen.
His tone wasn't completely stern, but it was enough for you to comply without hesitation. It was evident he wasn't trying to be rude, but his attention was obviously drawn to something else that was causing his attitude.
Beforehand, Mark hadn't given you much background info about Clay. Maybe it was for his privacy and counted as a boundary, but you couldn't help the curiosity that spiked.
Being his secretary, he was supposed to tell you everything that was business related. But for this, he wasn't telling you and you didn't understand why.
Maybe it wasn't business related.
