There was nothing to be nervous about, nothing at all. He knew that he was being daft, acting like some child anxious about sleeping alone in case the monster under the bed came out. His scornful thoughts were no reassurance, however.

Arthur Kirkland had been in charge of sales for a company in the UK. He was now standing outside a tall building in the USA, staring blankly at a tall, glass-paned building. When he’d accepted the job and moved out of his London flat, he hadn’t really considered what it would actually be like to be in an entirely different country. Albeit, it wasn’t that different.

He composed himself, clearing his throat and entered the building, clutching his briefcase tightly in his hand. He was met at reception by a blonde woman, who escorted him to his office. She reminded him a great deal of a terrible Frenchman he’d gone to university with. Good Lord, he had been ghastly.

She ran him through his “to do” list of the day and left him alone in his new office. The colour scheme was somewhat bleak and typical: white walls; black leather chair and desk; solid, polished, grey floors – nothing unusual. Looking out of the window, he could see a busy street and the company car park. Again, it was what he was used to in London.

With a sigh, he sat down, setting his briefcase beside him. His new assistant would be greeting him in a few minutes, there was still time for him to sit and take it all in, he thought. He was entitled to a few minutes of peace.

This wouldn’t be too bad – but it would be a lot of work. Marketing was becoming increasingly more difficult in the economic recession. He needed to double their profit margin within the next year. Arthur had a reputation of improving companies dramatically; at the two previous places he’d worked, he’d managed to prevent them from going bust.

Arthur raked his fingers back through his tawny hair; he was still jet-lagged. Today was going to be a long day.

Chouchoute was one of the leading fashion design companies in the global community, its origins were in the United Kingdom though the business quickly grew in its size. Before the world knew it, Chouchoute had branched off throughout Europe, Asia, the Americas and Australia. Popular would not even come close to truly capturing the true influence that Chouchoute had over the fashion business. The line was extensive, ranging from purses to attire to perfumes and so much more.

Alfred F Jones was merely an assistant in this food chain which made up the Chouchoute fashion business. He was the lowest of the low, not even worthy to sit down at a computer to help with the finances or anything along those lines! He certainly had looks though he was certainly no models. No. He was simply an assistant, almost like a servant but luckier in the sense that he didn't have to put forth too much manual effort and there were blessed things called minimum wage and a limit on work hours.

He had quite enjoyed his old boss who was a kind old man who never worked Alfred too hard. Certainly he had his strict points but admittedly, this kindness had made the enthusiastic American quite relaxed with his position. He never felt a need to rush nor look as crisp and clean as he ought to be.

Maybe a bit of favouritism from his old boss? Yes, most likely though he had enjoyed it. Unfortunately enough, a new guy from England was coming over and all he could do was hope that this Mr. Kirkland didn't have a stick up his ass or anything like that and could be sensible. He didn't hear much about his new boss though other than the fact that he was first off from London and had worked for the UK branch as well as the fact that his name was Arthur Kirkland.

Other than that, Alfred had no damn idea who he was dealing with.

Anxiety rushed through his body as he fixed up his tie, pulling down his sleeve to look at the watch and taking notice that he was ten minutes late. Yet who was to blame him for the traffic in New York City of all places? Looking at the office door, he couldn't help but frown when he saw his former boss's door name tag gone and now replaced with the crisp letters spelling out "Mr. Kirkland". Rapping on the door with three firm knocks against the wood, the American soon opened the door and peered in to check if his new boss was there.

Considering the unfamiliar face (damn he looked tired) and the fact that this unfamiliar face was in the office, Alfred just had to assume that this was his new boss. "Hello Mr. Kirkland!" He chirped, ever so enthusiastic even during the early mornings as he finally stepped into the office.

With a few brisk steps forward, Alfred held out his hand for his boss to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Alfred Jones. I'm your new assistant, here to make your transition from the London branch to the New York branch as easy as possible." He grinned, letting his bright white teeth show as his blue eyes glimmered behind his lenses.

The knocking on the door startled Arthur, to say the least. He lurched forwards in his seat, eyes wide for a brief second before he regained himself, looking like his usual indifferent self. The boy was younger than himself, that much was clear. His energy was what gave it away – although he supposed that he couldn’t blame the boy for his enthusiasm.

Arthur grimaced slightly at the volume of Alfred’s introduction. He rose from his seat and held out his hand, shaking Alfred’s somewhat firmly before pulling away. He gave a nod.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jones,” his voice was dry, lacking his usual decorum. It was first thing in the morning and he was jetlagged – Arthur felt as though he had no overt reason to be pleasant. He found himself staring at the brilliant shine of Alfred’s teeth; they were like pearls in comparison to his own, unbleached teeth. Then again, he supposed that he was in America now. Fashion was somewhat more extreme than in London. He was dressed relatively smartly, too. His tie was a little crooked, and there seemed to be some crumbs on his jacket from whatever he had for breakfast.

“You’ve got…” he pointed at Alfred’s jacket, murmuring and then cleared his throat. He averted his attentions back to the younger (more attractive) man’s face.

“Have you been informed of the schedule for today?”

Volume was never truly something that Alfred kept in mind as he spoke and so maybe his voice was just a bit too loud for the working atmosphere on a Monday morning but honestly he couldn't bring himself to care. Cheer was the charm to make the working place a bit more liveable. It was certainly what he needed considering that he was simply living off of the money he earned as an assistant and the fact that he could barely pay for a decent flat only gave him more reason to be optimistic so he wouldn't be mourn about what little he had constantly.

His handshake was firm and he soon pulled away as well. Instead he quietly listened to the man, eyes looking over his new boss as he tried to determine whether he would like this man or not. Tousled blonde hair and damn thick eyebrows were the first features that he noticed.

Yet with a second glance over, he came to notice those deep emerald eyes and his smaller stature. This Mr. Kirkland was much younger than he had expected (in fact he was expecting a man in his fifties to early sixties) though it seemed that his assumptions were rather wrong. Unfortunately enough, Arthur seemed to lack any sense of kindness that had made itself clear in his old boss.

Proper. Dry. Bland.

Lovely. Just lovely. Yet to no avail, Alfred was not the kind of man that would simply back out of a job nor truly make true assumptions just from a single glance. There must have been some positive qualities about this man which would surface very soon once the jetlag diminished.

At least he had a nice accent.

When Arthur pointed down at his jacket, Alfred's cerulean gaze followed down and he soon saw the crumbs on the cloth though he paid no mind to the tie. "Oh thanks!" He exclaimed, resisting the urge to tack in some inappropriate word such as 'man' or 'dude'. Quickly brushing off the crumbs, a satisfied smile pulled at the Americans' lips though the smile quickly disappeared at the mention of the schedule.

"Sorry, Mr. Kirkland. I haven't heard anything about it yet."

“You should take pride in your appearance,” Arthur couldn’t help but sound stern, “People will take you for a fool, otherwise.” And for a dreadful moment, he realised that he sounded exactly like his father. The very thought made him shudder.

He shrugged off the thought and watched the American smile; Alfred had nice lips as well. The Brit was beginning to wonder if he naturally looked this way, or if money had passed between hands to ensure that he would. After all, who didn’t want to be model worthy? Speaking of which, Arthur was surprised that the boy was even in his office. He looked like he could have done well for himself in some other field – it was almost as if he didn’t quite fit in.

Arthur felt a ting of regret for being harsh when his oh-so-charming smile vanished.

“Right. Well, the receptionist told me that I would be expected to at least look at the figures today and meet with the executive, if he’s around.” Arthur rolled his eyes. It seemed unprofessional to him.

His green eyes flickered to the window once again before back to Alfred.

“I’ll be honest with you, Jones. I’m tired and jetlagged. I don’t want today to be difficult or overbearing. Will you help me ease into this rather than throwing me in the deep end, as whatever-the-receptionist-was – Miss Brown,” he corrected himself, “was suggesting? I would appreciate it.” With one last scan over Alfred’s appearance, he sat back down, rubbing the back of his neck. On the flight over, he had fallen asleep and consequently had a crick in his neck ever since.

Alfred couldn't help but frown slightly at the mention of his appearance. He cared about it enough, to the point where even used conditioner in his hair and made certain that his teeth were straight and pearly white. So maybe his clothes were a bit lacking but clothes were clothes. He only bought these clothes to at least remain presentable in the workplace but other than that, he didn't take care of them that much which was obvious by his crooked tie and small crumbs that littered parts of his suit.

He wasn't much for suits anyways. He preferred clothes more up to fashion though in all honesty, he didn't have the salary for a fashion like Chouchoute.

The American was like a shining star amongst his co-workers. Happy, ever so enthusiastic and definitely something bright and interesting in a sharp contrast to the bland work area around them. Honestly, one would expect that working for such a high end company such as Chouchoute would be full of excitement and glamour though this was far from the case. At least when it came to being the damned assistant for the man who headed the sales of the Chouchoute! All he ever saw were bland offices, some organised while others a complete mess with his co-workers ever so focused on the computer screen in front of them.

What was he stuck doing? He was stuck helping a man with his job which meant bringing paper from office to another office, keeping a schedule and all that boring shite. If Alfred was in his dream job, he would either be in the stars right now or even be a model of some sort. That paid good enough money but unfortunately, life decided to kick him down so he was at the very bottom of this corporate food chain.

Yet there was no reason for Alfred to complain. He had a job during these rough economic times and he had at least that to be grateful for. Just out of college and with little to no work experience, he was extremely fortunate to have snagged a job like this.

Alfred paid no more mind to Arthur's physical appearance, instead grumbling internally about how grumpy this man was. It was simply the jetlag! That was all! Nothing more nor less. Feeling the need to always satisfy, the American simply grinned and saluted quickly.

"Of course! That's my job. Don't worry, Mr. Kirkland, I'll make certain you have one of the smoothest days in your working career!" He laughed a bit, smile ever so honest as he headed back towards the door. "The executive's office is down the hall and turn to the right. It should be the door at the end of the hallway. I'm sure they're in there already."

Alfred watched as Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, pondering for a moment. "Would you like something to drink, sir? Coffee or something?" He questioned.

“Yes, thank you,” his lips curled upwards slightly, but it was barely noticeably.

Arthur continued to massage his fingers into his neck, trying to ease the stiffness there. He soon found himself looking at Alfred’s retreating back. As his gaze wandered lower, he continued to question what on earth the boy was doing working in an office.

At the question, he quirked an eyebrow but nevertheless, he nodded. Of course, he did prefer tea but he’d come to America under the impression that most of the tea was going to taste like piss, like the alcohol. There were a lot of cynicisms that the Brit had come over to the US with. In reality, it was probably just because he didn’t really want to leave London, or the UK. He’d grown comfortable there. The busy streets of London town; the rolling hills of the countryside… he missed them all already. Although he could think of plenty of things he would not miss. The rain, for example.

“That would be lovely,” he murmured. He had to admire the Alfred’s capability to just shrug off the dark atmosphere Arthur had created. Where he had last worked, he’d been disliked by most of his colleagues and made very few friends. Not that it bothered him at all; he preferred it that way. He liked being alone, without friends. It meant that there was no one that put his trust at risk.

Arthur decided he would have some caffeine before he set off to meet his new boss – that was the man that he wanted to make a good impression on; he didn’t want to be in a foul mood when they met, it only complicated things.

Alfred wasn't aware of Arthur's gaze directed towards his lower half though he wouldn't know how to react if he did catch the gaze. Maybe a few assumptions of how inappropriate his boss was even though he seemed like some an outright prude in his opinion. Though maybe it was fortunate that he didn't catch the gaze.

He loved the excitement of New York City. It was the city life with a lot of dancing at bars and just all that! It had everything except of the scenery as well as peace and quiet. At times he missed his lovely home in Virginia, which was much more laid back than the exciting lifestyle of NYC though he managed to assimilate rather easily.

Perking up at the acceptance of his offer for coffee, he couldn't help but sigh in relief. Finally an Englishman who didn't seem to prefer tea over a cup of coffee! Maybe he was just stereotyping but either way it was a relief to him considering that he sucked at making tea! Not like he ever tried before but he definitely preferred the scent of coffee more than anything else.

Stepping out, Alfred yawned and rubbed his eyes before going over to make some coffee, idly chattering about with his other workmates as Arthur's coffee started to brew. For so early in the morning, there were certainly a lot of questions being thrown at his face! These questions ranged from, "How's the new boss?" or "Is he handsome?" and so on and so forth. Honestly! This floor seemed to thrive on gossip yet it was one of the only things that kept things interesting around here.

The blonde just shot his charming smile at his curious co-workers, waving his hand around a bit as he spoke. "He's not that bad lookin' I suppose. Pretty big eyebrows and a bit small but definitely not old and wrinkly!" He laughed as he leant back against the counter, soon pouring the coffee into the cup, humming. "He has a cool accent also though he's pretty much a neat freak it seems." Hi co-workers were more than glad to just sit there and listen to him talk but after he poured the caffeine in liquidated form inside the mug (an I heart NYC mug actually), he pulled away from the rest.

"I'll talk to you guys later." He said pleasantly, saluting them off as he hurried over back to the office to give Arthur his coffee. "Here you go! Industrial coffee brewed just for you, specially made by Alfred Jones!" He placed the mug down on his desk, eyes bright.

In Alfred’s absence, the Brit tried to relax and adjust. As he kept telling himself, there was nothing there that he hadn’t seen before. He opened up his briefcase and pulled out various papers he’d been emailed before arriving. They would hopefully help him somewhat. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the figures. They were going to be bad, catastrophically bad. The man that had previously been in position had worked there for something stupid like twenty years. Arthur knew that he had a lot to live up to.

Usually, someone was found out pocketing money somewhere in the system but Arthur had the feeling that this time it was much more of a brand-issue. He had known of Chouchoute for a long time; it had been around since before he was born. One of his previous partners had even worn the clothes by the company. They were over-expensive and marketed mostly at women. This clearly meant that it was cutting out a whole key part of marketing; men. Men’s clothes have never been that interesting, Arthur knew that. Not many designers wanted to make suits when they could be designing fabulous dresses. For Chouchoute, that would have to change.

He looked up as Alfred entered the room again. He laid the papers flat on the desk and made room for his coffee.

“Thank you,” he picked up the cup and sipped from it, satisfied that it wasn’t too hot to drink. He exhaled slowly, placing the cup back to its former position. “Jones, do you have any idea of how much money Chouchoute makes in women’s clothing?”

Alfred smiled a bit though he was admittedly somewhat disappointed that the man didn't make a comment on his coffee! It was actually rather good! He had been complimented on it plenty of times but he would let it slide this time around considering that first off...this was his boss. Second off, Mr. Kirkland was jet lagged and he didn't want to pester him more than what was necessary. Certainly he was eccentric by many means though this did not mean that he was necessarily annoying. At least he hoped this was the case.

When it came to learning about the inner workings of the system, Alfred was out of the loop. He was simply an assistant and specific figures and progresses on the sales were way beyond him. He simply did what he was told to do and he simply hoped that his work would be exceptional for his boss.

So when Mr. Kirkland suddenly posed the question, Alfred's eyes widened a bit as he tried to think of a monetary value. "Um. Well...I don't know." He frowned a bit, shifting slightly. "Though I know Chouchoute primary source of income comes from women's clothing so I'm guessing it's a lot!" He laughed, scratching the back of his head as he felt a bit antsy.

"It's kinda a shame actually that there's not too many men's clothing. Though my salary couldn't really even pay for any of those expensive clothes. But um...a lot of money for women's clothing?" That was the best answer he could hope to provide.

At Alfred’s answer, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle slightly.

“Pretty much, Jones. Women’s clothing brings over half of the company’s profit. That’s big money… but unfortunately a company can’t remain stable when only Paris Hilton is buying from it.” His thumb ran over the mug’s handle, concentrating on the size of it. “I agree with you. It lacks a, uh, how could I put it – a masculine input. Although, that being said, fashion is mostly controlled by men anyway, as far as I’m aware.”

He cleared his throat.

“I suppose that’s irrelevant,” he took another sip from the coffee mug. His mood had already improved, he felt less exhausted. The coffee was strong, that was probably why. Next time he would have to stress that he didn’t like coffee that much. He didn’t want to come across as some tyrant, however. He would overlook it for now.

“How long have you been working here? I hate to sound rude, but you barely look over twenty,” he asked – out of pure curiousity, obviously. “You’re hardly the type of boy I’d expect to be in a place like this.”

Not a wrinkle on his face, Arthur mused to himself inwardly. Alfred looked to him like one of the more ‘popular’ kids, in with the crowd. His light-handed nature seemed to balance that out, though.

Alfred was rather relieved that he didn't have to give a monetary amount and it seemed pretty much as if the question was more hypothetical than anything else. He soon nodded at Mr. Kirkland's words, actually finding himself to quite agree with his idea. In fact, he never really thought about it before Mr. Kirkland. He had just expected that the company was doing so well already with women's clothing that it wouldn't really have to dabble into men's but of course Mr. Kirkland was the man who was going to be handling the sales. He obviously knew more than himself.

Considering that Arthur was still sipping from his coffee, it meant that it wasn't so bad after all! That was a victory in itself for Alfred even though there was never explicit statement criticising his coffee.

"Is that simply a thought or a goal that you're going to be working towards to, Mr. Kirkland?" He asked curiously, actually rather intrigued.

He was taken a bit by surprised at the question of how long he had been working there. He simply smiled a bit as he thought about it. "I've been working here for two years, sir. I'm twenty-three, going onto twenty-four soon." He affirmed before shifting around a bit. "During times like this, any kind of job is ideal and this job has been good to me so far." Alfred laughed a bit, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Merely a thought,” he replied smoothly. “Perhaps a goal – I won’t be certain until I see the figures.” Arthur shrugged one shoulder, grasping the coffee mug more firmly in his hand. “Although I don’t think that there’s any harm in broadening the target audience. For all I know, it could just be a daft idea. I haven’t worked in the fashion industry before.” His tone was bland, almost disinterested.

He eyed Alfred (yet again) over the rim of his mug. He was unmistakably younger, then. Near-enough straight from university. What on earth had Alfred had to do to get a job like this so quickly?

“Yes, I believe so… although it’s not bad for a postgraduate, Jones. Most of your classmates will still be working part-time jobs to pay the bills.”

Arthur knew he’d been lucky; able to get a good job in his uncle’s company that was relatively respected. He was quick to go up the ranks, ridiculously so, thinking about it. He was barely twenty-seven and he was better paid than a lot middle-aged businessmen. Luck. The only thing he’d been lucky in, in his entire like – business. He was good at what he did; good with numbers.

“Well, I hope that you’ll continue to work well. Your former boss had nothing but kind words for you.” The Brit licked his lips, removing the remainder of the coffee taste. The day was only just starting and he had to get a move on.

Reluctantly, he stood and began to move towards the door. “I should visit our superior now…” he paused by the door, holding it open for Alfred to leave before him. Arthur was extremely aware that he was leaving his briefcase, in an alien room, in New York. He wasn’t going to be caught short just yet – and he hadn’t fully made up his mind on his assistant. He seemed alright, if not irritatingly cheery but he still didn’t know if he could be trusted.

Alfred chuckled a bit though he decided not to press on too far about the subject of the men's clothes. From what he could tell, Arthur didn't seem very interested nor passionate. It was as if he was in the job just for the money with little to no passion for fashion though that may be just from first assumptions on his part. "Well, if it does become a goal, then I hope it works out, sir."

If Arthur was to look at his qualifications, it would probably take him by surprise that he was actually working a job like this. He was in no way boasting about his credentials but for a man who just got out of college, he wasn't too bad off. Alfred came from a very well off school with the aid of a scholarship that nearly assisted him the whole way through and he excelled in the areas that he was majoring in. There was a lot more to him then just a transcript, a college diploma and his appearances though.

"I was pretty lucky to grab this job and I hope that I won't lose it anytime soon." He grinned kindly at his boss. This was why he was intending to do his very best when it came to doing his job. He had no idea about Arthur's life story or why he was in the fashion business but things were the way they were and he was in no position to pry.

Alfred blinked a bit in surprise when he noticed that Arthur was holding the door for him. "Ah, you're kind sir. I should be holding the door for you instead." He chuckled softly as he stepped out of the room, deciding to take his boss' 'kindness'. "Is there anything you need me to do while you meet with the executive?" He asked curiously, more than ready just to doze off on the job while Arthur was away.

“As do I,” Arthur agreed quietly.

As he waited for Alfred, he found himself inspecting the rest of the corridor and open offices in front of him. Everyone looked tired, but they were all dressed so fashionably in comparison to himself. He made a face; originally he hadn’t put a lot of thought into his appearance but from looking at his colleagues, he might need to start wearing his tailor-made suits one of his ex’s had made him buy. He didn’t want to look like some ragamuffin next to all of these polished, super-model-like people. He almost felt as if he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Alfred was still smiling. Always smiling. The boy looked so damned happy.

“Don’t think anything of it,” his tone was softer than when they had first met. Arthur could easily have been compared to a cat in a new home, today; very up and down, and defensive. He closed the door behind them, not allowing it to fall shut. “A finalized schedule is what I need for today. I would rather not spend my time faffing about trying to guess. If you can try to find out at least the vague outline, I would be grateful. Thank you, Jones.”

With one final, authorative nod, Arthur set off towards the executive’s office, following the instructions that he had been given earlier by Alfred. He barely had time to reach out and knock before the door was opened. It was exactly what he expected; a middle-aged man – still attending the gym – with a diminishing hair line.

“Good morning, sir,” he put on his best smile as they shook hands. Smiling was not natural for Arthur, it always looked like he was in pain (or painfully fake).