My Boss, My Boyfriend: Chapter 2

"So tell me about this girl."

Lelouch fidgeted like a pupil made to sit before the schoolmaster's desk. He had no choice; there were no other male role models that he could see for advice on relationships: Jeremiah and Villetta went way back and he didn't wish to put his right hand man in an awkward position. Darlton, his military mentor, was a bachelor at age forty-something; hardly promising. Schneizel was eminently qualified, but Lelouch was wary of sharing his intentions with the Chancellor who had more layers than an onion.

His father was out of the question. That left Clovis. The governor, to his dubious credit, cleared his calendar for the rest of the afternoon when his call came. "I'd rather not."

The self-titled Love Doctor wagged his finger. "How can a coach game plan if he doesn't know the opponent? You have to give me something to go on."

Lelouch conceded the point. "Okay. She's intelligent, self-disciplined, and loyal."

"Sounds like the ideal employee."

"She's driven to succeed and has a surprisingly caring side, though she does not often show it."

Clovis jotted down a few notes. "Age?"

The uneasy feeling returned. "Older."

"One year? Two?"

"Nine…. Well, eight."

"Eight years! Punching above our weight, are we? Well, that's normal for boys your age." The governor mused nostalgic for a moment before scribbling some more. "Married?"

Lelouch dropped his biscuit. "Why would I be interested in a married woman?"

"Many attractive women are married." Schneizel stated matter-of-factly, "Some are easier to approach because of that; boredom, mainly. Just look at the divorce numbers."

The eleventh prince muttered something beneath his breath and crossed his arms. "No. Single."

"That's good. Don't want to try flying before we learn to crawl." Lelouch was about to say something, but couldn't think of anything responsive to his brother's logic; Clovis continued. "Line of work?"

"Military officer."

Clovis looked up from his notepad, suspicion and horror creeping across his face. "It's not Cornelia, is it? Because I tell you right now that that would be…"

"No!"

About half an hour later Clovis put down his pencil. "And now the most important question: How does she feel about you?"

Lelouch crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side—It was impossible to know what women were feeling, especially since they never gave hints. "I'm not sure. One time I brought her flowers; a week later she took me out to the field and nearly PTed me to death."

"Sounds like we have an uphill battle ahead of us."

XxXxXxXxXxX

There was a knock on her door. "Come in."

Lelouch walked in wearing the doubled breasted uniform of Ashford Academy. He tugged at his sleeve self-consciously. "Just came from school. This helps me blend in when I move around campus."

"It suits you very well."

"Thank you." He remained standing, and Villetta waited; surely the prince wasn't here just to show off his new wardrobe. Finally he produced from behind him a pair of tickets. "Um, I have these. Clovis' box, best seats in the house. He's busy tomorrow night and I overheard you say that Les Miserable sold out three months ago."

"That's awfully generous of the Governor." She looked from the tickets—worth more than their weight in gold—to the man holding them. "I didn't know you liked musicals, sir."

"I don't dislike them. I've just been to more operas." He cleared his throat. "In any case, officially, I am in Area Eleven on vacation. You are also officially on vacation. It would be appropriate if occasionally we were seen in public acting like we're on vacation, to allay suspicions of our purpose being otherwise."

"I see." He was impeccably rational as usual. She clicked her mouse a few times on a blank spot on a webpage. "How about Miss Stadtfeld or Miss Ashford? I'm sure they'd be thrilled if you asked them."

The corner of his eye twitched. "They wouldn't like musicals."

She suppressed a smile—Villetta did not know about Kallen, but she knew Millicent Clara Ashford was an accomplished pianist and soprano. Musical inclinations aside, she doubted either would have said no even if he asked them to a monster truck rally. "In that case, I'd be glad to accept your generous offer."

XxXxXxX

"Now listen carefully, Lelouch. Courtship, at its most basic, has not evolved much over the centuries. In the age of Neanderthals, you went out, found a female, clubbed her over the head and dragged her back to your cave."

"I'm pretty sure that was from the Sunday edition, and not…"

"Father's approach is similar, except instead of a club, he knocks them silly with a palace and the promise of luxury and leisure."

"Is that what you're suggesting?"

"Of course not. Mere princes like us have no spare palaces; we must charm. Lesson One: Always pretend you're listening to their troubles. That shows empathy and sensitivity, two very important qualities that women find attractive."

Lelouch looked up from his notes. "You're assuming they'll talk a lot about their troubles. And why would I pretend to listen when I could just listen?"

Clovis laughed.

Lelouch found it difficult to remember all the dos and don'ts that the governor made him remember as he admired the woman sitting across the table. Villetta wore a rich wine-colored evening gown that flattered her figure far more than a stiff uniform ever could. The room felt warm; he drained his water and signaled the waiter for more. "So, any troubles in life?"

"No, not really."

"Nothing to complain about?"

The baroness shook her head. "No."

"I see. That's nice." Lelouch picked up his fork and knife and attacked his appetizer, cursing his brother and himself for buying into his brother's snake oil. "This octopus is a bit overcooked."

Afterwards they proceed to the theater, where they received a standing ovation from the audience. When the curtains were raised the pair was paid little further attention. The show was superb as reviewed, and Lelouch was gratified to see that his companion was enthralled throughout the performance.

It was late when the show concluded. Lelouch instructed the chauffeur to drop Villetta off first. In the confines of the rear compartment, her scent—a deep, dark fragrance—and the vision of her profile formed an intoxicating cocktail that the prince drank in.

"I can see tomorrow's headlines." She turned to him with a look of mischief, "Black Prince Attends Dramatization of French Revolution; Heard Humming La Marseillaise Afterwards."

"What scandal." He chuckled, tilting his head towards his companion. "I want a draft press release on my desk first thing Monday morning. Say my date for the evening, Baroness Nu, has unduly influenced me towards the cause of the Third Estate."

"To assuage Pendragon, we should also say witnesses saw the Prince stand and cheer when the king's soldiers stormed the rebel barricade."

"Naturally. I am nothing if politically correct."

He walked her to the glass-enclosed lobby of the tall apartment complex. Despite mixed results from Clovis' bag of tricks, he was sorry to see the evening end. It was only when she swiped open the door with her keycard that he remembered one of the lessons Clovis kept repeating, repeating, and repeating, and which he forgot the moment he laid eyes on her earlier in the evening. "Villetta!"

She turned around, and the words stuck in his throat before he finally gathered his courage.

"You look beautiful tonight."

The words had a magical effect, lighting up her face with pleasure. It bewildered Lelouch how stating the plainly obvious could be so powerful.

She stepped back across the entrance, and with a moment's hesitation, leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Good night, sir."

The prince remained rooted to the spot for he did not know how long. His fingers lingered on the spot, which emanated warmth that spread as far as his toes. When he finally came to he started back, whipped out his phone and speed dialed five.

"Clovis? I'll need the box next week; actually, for the foreseeable future… Well, Lady Lorelei will just have to go general admission."

XxXxXxXxX

Villetta collapsed onto her bed. Her heels lay in the hallway, her handbag flung into the corner. She was still dazed by what just happened and her mind was a whirl. She had just broken whole pages of regulations, regulations in place for very good reasons.

"It was nothing." She hugged an oversized pillow to her chest and drew her knees up into a curl, "A greeting, like saying goodbye or hello."

But she knew she had not been saying hello. She should have known something was off when she spent an hour before the mirror—her entire wardrobe spread over across the room—regretting declining Monica's invitation to shop for new clothes before her trip to Area Eleven; when he showed up in a tuxedo, sharp and suave, and she thought he could have passed for twenty-one; when he said she was beautiful, words she didn't know she'd be waiting for all night.

Panicked realization set in and she buried her face in the pillow. "Oh God."

XxXxXxXxX

"You've been spending time with Baroness Nu."

"Of course." Lelouch glanced from the board to the Chancellor's face on the screen. "We work together."

"I think it's wonderful." Schneizel moved a pawn. "Many social occasions require a companion, and having someone to help remind and remember details is always useful."

While what the Second Prince said was completely true, the value of Villetta's company had long since ceased to be merely useful to him. Schneizel did not need to know that though. "I'm also building cover. You must know how many countries are paying attention to what I'm doing here."

"True, we can never be too careful." The Chancellor turned briefly to listen to an aide before thanking her.

Lelouch exhaled. Truthfully, his secret mission as Schneizel's liaison to keep an eye on Camelot took up so little time it hardly qualified as a part-time job. This gave him time for other pursuits, like building cover—never was the saying "my work is my pleasure" more true.

"On the subject of cover; you might consider spending time with different girls, so as to not impose too much on Lady Nu," Schneizel picked up Lelouch's bishop. "And create false expectations."

In retrospect, Lelouch was glad he ignored Schneizel's sage counsel.

XxXxXxX

For a week after, Villetta and her boss carried on as if the fateful evening never took place. She was privately relieved. Their relationship had been simpler when they were in Africa: Faced with dangers daily, survival demanded they trust each other completely. Now, as evidence of her unprofessional feelings for him mounted, she was forced to dismiss those feelings—it was the third glass of champagne; the show had left her sentimental—in order to hide them from him.

By the second week of returning to normalcy, she began to wonder what if any reaction he had to her kiss.

And if none, why not?

Could it be that the prince was so used to women that a kiss was indeed like saying hello? She remained firm in her belief that what she saw at the hotel—Kallen Stadtfeld straddling the prince in the steam-filled shower—was not what it seemed. Now she began to doubt.

Before the Prince and Princess moved to Ashford Academy, Villetta screened the handful of people who had regular access to the clubhouse: With the exception of Rivalz, all were female; all pretty, all young.

Perhaps he only responds to girls his own age.

Twenty minutes later, Lelouch's was dismayed when his office door flew open and Villetta marched in dressed for workout. "I thought our session was not until Thursday."

"Something extra to help blow off steam."

XxXxXxX

Lelouch phoned Clovis, his body in knots from the afternoon's grueling regimen, where Villetta made him do things with poles he never cared to repeat. Clovis assured him that this was a good sign and everything was proceeding according to plan. "The best way to catch an opponent is to draw back and let them chase you. You of all people should know this."

"You imply being caught is a good thing. I fail to see how being left in a mangled heap is desirable."

"Semantics. Anyhow, you've bid your time long enough. Time for action."

The phone rang in Villetta's apartment. Feeling much refreshed from the afternoon's workout, she answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi. It's me."

"Hello." He sounded worn-out; her satisfaction from seeing him carried off the field on a stretcher was fleeting, and she felt awful afterwards. "How are you doing?"

"Sore."

"I see. I apologize for being a little… rough today. We can skip Thursday, if you like."

"I would like that very much."

"Okay." She toweled her silver hair as she waited on the silence from the other end; she could visualize him doing the very same thing. Maybe that was their problem. "Is there anything else?"

"No, yes. I mean, it seems we have not talked lately. I thought I should call."

She was puzzled; they saw and talked to each other almost every day.

"Outside of work."

Villetta's hands stopped. "Is there a need for us to talk outside of work?"

The words came out harsher than she intended, and she regretted them.

"I hope so. I rather enjoyed the last time we did." Her breath caught. "I meant two weeks ago, not today. Today was no fun."

"It was not that bad." She laughed—not because of the dread in his tone, but his earnestness—and rolled onto her back feeling something light bubbling up inside. "But I agree; I had a lot of fun that night."

"Good, good. So, I will call you from time to time, perhaps see you outside of work. Would that be alright?"

"Yes. I would like that very much."

To be Continued

Author's notes: Thanks for waiting. Part two is done; part three, the final part is next. I have been exhausted by work lately and as a result writing has suffered, supplanted by sleep on train rides and on weekends.

I have also fallen in love with Chihayafuru, the anime, which a friend recommended to me. I'll be writing fic of it shortly.