AN: Okay, I conjured up this one when I was thinking of different types of forbidden romances. Obviously Clace.

Enjoy.

It started off as professional relationship did. He was hired into the business to replace Mr. Starkweather; known infamously for his budget cuts, sliding hairpiece, disrespect for the foreign people of New York, and ass grabbings that were probably the reason he was being replaced for. And just who was he? Well, everyone on the twelfth floor knew his name: he was Jace Herondale. It was rumoured around the office that he was stunning, young, had a body to die for, and money was practically falling out of his tailored pockets. Some of her coworkers heard from people working above them that he had started off in Brooklyn, and was returning from Spain to work as their boss.

On his first day, the office was in shock to see him. Though, it was this day that Clary had car troubles, and was running late. Her phone was ringing with messages from Isabelle, claiming that he was the "sexiest thing to walk the planet" and that Clary "better get her ass to work so she could take a look." Clary, being the skeptical person she was, didn't believe her long time best friend. When the redhead finally arrived, people were staring into his office window, waving at him as he worked tenaciously.

"So where's this greek god you were talking about?" Clary grumbled, trying - and failing - to close her umbrella with scattering rain water on the office carpet. Isabelle pointed to Mr. Herondale's office, sporting a grin that nearly split her face in two. "I can't see him. There's like… twenty people crowded around it!" She exclaimed.

"If you would have gotten here on time, you wouldn't have to wait to see him!" Clary scowled at her friend for raising her voice. "He's calling people into his office… I guess he's trying to get a feel of the people he's working with. His words, not mine." Isabelle winked. The redhead rolled her eyes, scratching her damp hair.

She looked ridiculous. The rain had soaked her coat, and her nylons were uncomfortably pressing cold water against her legs. Her green eyes were bright with irritation as she walked her way towards her cubicle, shrugging off her wet jacket and tossing it into her desk drawer. Isabelle was a few feet behind, going on about her relationship with Simon. Clary removed her single contact, blinking out tears before she placed a pair of glasses to rest on the bridge of her nose.

"You look dorky in those things. Do you really want to look dorky in front of the new boss?" Isabelle questioned.

"No, but I got splashed with water and the other one fell out." Yeah, it wasn't such a good start to Clary's day. Isabelle shrugged her shoulders, moving directly behind Clary so that she could manipulate her hair. "What are you doing?" Her voice was thick with suspicion.

"You have some gunk in your hair. I'm trying to take it out… why don't you go to the bathroom and wash the smelly water out with the sink?" She offered. Clary nodded her head, moving away and towards the twelfth floor ladies room. Out walked Kaelie Whitewillow, also known as the pair of walking boobs. She often dated rich guys, and with each new boyfriend, she would get a breast enhancement.

"Jesus! What happened to you?" Kaelie gasped, covering her pink lips. Though, from her stretching cheeks, Clary knew she was trying to hide a smile that had come from seeing the messy state Clary was in. "I guess is where the statement look what the cat dragged in, come from." She giggled.

"Shut up." Clary growled as she pushed her way into the bathroom. Luckily, there was no one in the restroom. They were probably all busy gawking at Mr. Herondale. Something Clary was grateful for as she removed her glasses, leaned her head down into the sink and turned on the hot water. Out of her hair slid a few pieces of the morning newspaper, and what she presumed were blades of grass.

She grimaced at the sink. "Gross."

Clary fished through her purse, retrieving a small brush so that she could at least take out the tangles in her unruly mop of hair. There's a particularly painful knot that makes her eyes water as she brushes it out. Damn rain, she thinks maliciously as she continues her ministrations. By the time she's finished with her hair, several minutes have passed, and Isabelle walks into the bathroom, holding up a fancy bottle of perfume.

"Here. You smell like shit." She explains as she sprays Clary in the face, causing a few coughs to leave her lungs. "Sorry." Isabelle apologizes as she sprays both the inside and outside of Clary's outfit. The redhead lets out a few more irritated coughs before her friend is down with the perfume. Her nose burns. "Uh, Clary, you're cardigan has a major stain on it." She comments just as they are about to walk out of the bathroom.

"Really? God, of all the days…" Clary groans, ripping off the article of clothing. She pats her tight skirt, glad that it survived the brutal rain. The jacket took most of the damage. "What am I supposed to do?" She asked Isabelle.

"I think I have something in my car… I could get it? But, downside is that it'll probably look big on you." She suggested. Clary shook her wet head, walking to her cubicle and tossing the stained cardigan on her desk.

"I'll just meet the guy and explain that I had a rough start to my day. I don't think I'll get in trouble." Her name is called through the office, and the people that once crowded around Mr. Herondale's office have spread out to make room for entry. Clary swallowed her nervousness, her heels clicking as she made her way past other identical cubicles. Their eyes were wide as they looked at her exposed arms and soaked hair, whispering to one another about what could have possibly happened to her on her way to work.

She cleared her throat, knocking twice on his door. "Come in." Someone called from the inside. Clary entered the office, eyes going directly to a very fine ass. Mr. Herondale was hanging some picture on the wall. It appeared to be one of his mother, as it was an older woman smiling at the camera.

"Once second, Ms. Fairchild." He said before taking a seat in his chair. She sat down in a leather one place on the opposite side of his desk. True to the office gossip, he was incredibly stunning. He sat tall in his chair, his hair a rich blond. His gray suit covered what had to be a body to die for. And his eyes… she had never seen that color before! They were the lightest brown she'd ever seen. Almost golden when he smiled at her. "I'm Mr. Herondale." He stuck his hand out for her to shake - which she did after she'd gathered her senses. For someone in New York, his skin was beautifully sunkissed.

"Clary." She introduced herself, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Sorry about… this," her hands motioned towards her body. He snorted.

"I was going to ask how are you, like I've done with everyone, but I can see the answer pretty clearly. Bad day?" He asked with a friendly smile.

"Bad doesn't even begin to cover it." She chuckled. "I was running to my car, and some asshole sprayed me with rainwater as he drove." A scowl crossed her face.

"To be honest, you don't look bad. Just… a bit flushed." His hand touched her cheek, making it burn with an incredible heat.

"So how is your day, Mr. Herondale?" She asked him.

"As good as it can be. I've been sorting out paperwork, interviewing the people on this floor. It's been very busy, and the constant swarm of curious workers doesn't help." He sighs, sitting up straight in his chair, adjusting his tie. "Speaking of paperwork," there are papers on his desk that he flips through. "You've been working with this company for a few years. Starting as an intern, and then moving your way up the latter." Clary nods at his words, agreeing. "Mr. Starkweather has you listed as Red in his files."

"Mr. Starkweather wasn't creative with his nicknames, sir." She explains.

He's reading from the papers, eyes skimming each of them. "A most perfect attendance." A wink from him makes her cheeks flame. "No complaints from you co workers… though, I've heard you're quite the perfectionist from a few annoyed people. "

Clary shrugged. "I throw myself in my job. For most of my childhood, my mother raised me on the money she made from selling paintings. She didn't make much, and I watched her struggle with each bill. I don't want to raise my own children like that." Her answer causes his eyes to shine in recognition.

"You said most of your childhood… I hope you don't mind, but is your mother Jocelyn Fairchild?" He asked. Clary smiled.

"Yes. Eventually, she made a name for herself in the art world. It taught me that if you work hard enough, anything is possible." She spoke.

For the next several minutes, the conversation they share revolves around her. He asked her how she would rate her workmanship, and if her coworkers would agree. Mr. Herondale prompted her with the old 'where do you see yourself in the text ten years? It was a question she couldn't answer on the spot, so she answered with 'happy'. Apparently, this pleased him. When the introduction was over, he stood up, and shook her hand once again.

"I hope to see you around the office often, Clary. It was great to get to know you." Mr. Herondale admitted, walking her out the door. One of the workers was about to enter his office just as she exits, pushing her to Mr. Herondale's chest. Not meaning to, her fingers grip to him so that she doesn't fall. Though, his instincts show as well when he hold her steady. He smells of sugar and things that are much too expensive for her to recognize by scent alone. His golden eyes stare down at her, just as she feels something poke against her hip.

"Oh! Sorry, Mr. Herondale!" Isabelle squeaks. Clary turns, noticing that her friend is grinning.

"That's alright, Ms. Lightwood." He responds, eyes on Clary as she takes a few steps backwards before turning to leave.

What the hell was that?! She thinks to herself, heart slamming against her chest as she returns to her cubicle.

AN: So what do you guys think about the first chapter to this story? Do you ship the forbidden romance?

Please review!