Chapter Text
In the backseat of a large black Mercedes sedan, Gerri rests her hand on Shiv’s knee. She quickly draws up the partition between her and the driver and leans over to Shiv. “Siobhan,” she whispers. That name, the comforting tone from such a hard-ass, the memory of Gerri being even harder then soft again the night before makes Shiv want to sob. She thought she herself was hard, but there she was softening Gerri Kellman. She could see it in Gerri’s eyes, her furrowed brow, that concerned look.
“I know it has to be over.” Shiv says softly.
Gerri purses her lips. “Maybe,” she says. “I want you to take some time. Think about it, all of it. But know I support you, Siobhan. In whatever you decide.”
Gerri unclips a gold bracelet from her left wrist and puts it around Shiv’s wrist, then clasps it shut. Shiv feels her chest flutter. She wants to look up at her, to kiss her, but her helicopter is approaching and Kendall and Roman are getting out of the car ahead of them into the rain.
Shiv reaches for the door handle as Gerri looks down at her phone. Shiv opens the door and steps out under a black umbrella held by the driver. She considers not looking back at Gerri, that is, until she hears her voice. “If you want to discuss this again, just let me know you want to talk about Zurich.”
Shiv turns back, protected by the black umbrella. “Thanks, Gerri,” Shiv said cooly as if Gerri had just updated her on a stock trend. But she feels Gerri’s bracelet, smooth and unfamiliar, against her skin.
—-
Much like Shiv, Gerri likes to work at night. So Shiv isn't surprised to see a circle of light fall into the deserted hallway outside her office door late on Thursday, about two weeks after she’d last seen Gerri in anything more than passing or a crowded room.
"Hey."
Shiv is walking while scrolling through her phone and purposefully walks past Gerri's office, the floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the city lights over the cool glow of two monitors. She has half a mind not to stop at all, but steps back into the circle of light just as Gerri looks up, as if Gerri had willed Shiv to be there. Shiv feels a knot in her chest. Maybe she had.
"Hi." Gerri says, cooly, charts flickering on the screens behind her, dancing off the blue tint in her glasses. As quickly as Shiv perceives Gerri to be happy to see her, Gerri looks annoyed. "You're here late."
"Oh, you know," Shiv shrugs, then gestures down the hallway toward her brother's office. "Kendall was...it's not important." She's wearing a cool gray suit and recently she's cut her hair and wears it straight. It feels somehow lighter, though she can't even remember that heavy thing it was that made her cut it in the first place. Certainly it wasn't anything with Gerri; Gerri didn't cause problems. She was a blank canvas, a soft but solid reinforcement that things would work out. To Shiv, Gerri was new, safe. Part of a version of herself that isn't so wrapped up in family bullshit. A version of herself who has a nice public cover. She makes a comfortable stride toward one of the black modern chairs in Gerri's office and sits down. "I wanted to talk about Zurich."
Gerri opens her mouth slightly, then closes it.
"You said I should bring it up if I ever,"
"Do you feel uncomfortable about it?" Quickly Gerri has lost her hardness. She walks around from behind her desk and approaches Shiv, poised to comfort her.
"No, no!" Shiv hates the thought of Gerri thinking of it that way. Besides, she won't waste that level of softness on a day that hasn't been so bad. "I just wanted to talk about it, that's all, really, I can go if now isn't a good..."
Gerri smiles and reaches out to touch Shiv's arm, fingers on her wrist, thumb tracing over a gold bracelet of her own that she'd put there over that weekend in Zurich. "I have to finish this, but take a car to my place on 71st and we'll have dinner."
"Dinner and...?" Shiv smiles, her bob shaking loose from behind her ear. She doesn't really think about her hair or her looks during the day when she's not directly in front of a mirror or when she's thinking of herself through Gerri's eyes. She immediately regrets the boldness of it. She wasn't expecting dinner. Maybe a pointed critique of something related to Waystar, if she was lucky, a slight smile and a gruff compliment. Gerri is a busy woman, and so is she, so she’s lucky to get dinner.
“Dinner and a drink if you’re good,” Gerri says, reaching into her structured leather purse and pulling out her keys on a nondescript leather fob. “I’ll tell the doorman you’re coming.”
After that she doesn’t look at Shiv at all, just turns back to her screens and a moment later picks up the phone. But Shiv is already halfway toward the elevator bank, headed to the garage and feeling light as air.
—-
Shiv hasn’t been to Gerri’s home. Their previous engagements, three in total, occurred while traveling for work. Something about the anonymity of an old, damp Scottish house or the messy, drunken sexiness of a Berlin hotel pale in comparison to the thought of seeing Gerri’s bed. Gerri’s night table. Gerri’s kitchen.
So Shiv is disappointed to find an exquisite but plain space that gives little away. It’s decorated in cool neutrals in a simple but cosy style. Shiv realizes at once that she's in one of Gerri’s many apartments, not her home. Shiv suddenly imagines Gerri with a cohort of other women’s college-then-Wharton educated not-so-closeted lesbians bragging she was fucking her boss’s daughter. Shiv bites her lip. At least she’d almost made Gerri come in Zurich.
The apartment didn’t reveal anything real about Gerri: no family portraits, no evidence of a presence, or absence, of someone else. But there were little hints of her everywhere; sneakers on a rack by the front door, a paper bag from Saks holding paper copies of The Wall Street Journal and The Financial Times. Despite being sparse and elegant, it is lived in. A cashmere throw draped over the leather couch and a Waystar Royco labeled iPad sit on the kitchen table. Shiv examines a stack of art books on the table with a large sandalwood candle on top of them. Since it had already been lit, a homelike touch, Shiv picks up the decorative lighter beside it and lights it again. The room fills with a familiar, masculine smell. For a moment Shiv imagines she's playing house with Gerri instead of Tom. A much more enjoyable project, she thinks.
She goes into the kitchen, sees a meal prep kit in the fridge, and contemplates making it. But she doesn't want to seem too eager. She eyes a small but high quality selection of hard liquor in a small bar nook between the kitchen and the main space of the apartment. But even that feels presumptuous. So she sits down on one of two modem upholstered chairs and waits patiently for Gerri while she scrolls through her phone.
She’d caught up with her brothers in the car on the way over, making an excuse about a network event to back out of Kendall’s daughter’s birthday. She tells Roman to fuck off, then after composing her thoughts, recycles the same story on Tom.
9:15 pm
Tom Wambsgans
Bullshit. You don’t have any friends.
9:17
Siobhan Roy
Fuck you. I have friends.
But she and Gerri aren’t exactly friends, as evidenced by the turning in her stomach and the heat between her legs when she thinks about hearing Gerri at the door. She looks down at her phone, then at her wedding ring, and slips the ring into the pocket of her blazer, as if Gerri doesn’t see it every day. She thinks about asking Roman if he’d ever done this. Not with Gerri, just with anyone at the company. Surely he had, surely he’d told her he had, but it never crossed her mind. The family and the company were one thing; her sapphic desires were another. As long as she kept the two completely separate, she would be successful and safe from heartbreak.
But there she is waiting for Gerri to come home, there she is in Gerri’s apartment. She leans back in the char, taking it all in, riding the rush of anticipation.
Soon enough, Shiv hears Gerri knock. She'd know that knock anywhere. Gerri was perhaps just minutes behind her, and Shiv wonders if Gerri though about the two of them not leaving the office together. Shiv's chest swells warm thinking of Gerri thinking of her on the way over, but she quickly dismisses the feeling, recasting herself as a celebratory conquest after landing some deal in the time it took to be driven uptown.
“So the keys aren’t just for whatever girl you’re bringing home,” Shiv says opening the door. She wishes she’d at least helped herself to a glass of wine.
Gerri closes the door, taking it from Shiv. “No,” Gerri says and sets her bag down on the foyer table next to a small arrangement of eucalyptus. She kicks off her Stuart Weizmann heels and sets them beside the running shoes. “I don’t really do this. At least not lately. What about you?”
Shiv scoffs. “Oh surely you’ve heard the stories.”
“I haven’t gotten this far believing everything I hear. Besides,” Gerri checks her phone and looks pleased with the result. “It felt too much like wishful thinking.”
Shiv laughs.
“And now here you are in my living room.”
“For the moment.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Gerri says confidently and sets her phone on a sleek charging station on the foyer table. Shiv is surprised by how right she is; she would hang on the general counsel’s every word. “I’ll make dinner. Take off your shoes.”
Shiv obediently slides off her pumps and places them neatly beside Gerri's shoes. It's only after she's obeyed unthinkingly and perched herself at the bar in the renovated kitchen that she realizes she doesn't have to take that from Gerri. She watches Gerri remove the meal kit from the fridge and place it on the counter, thinking to herself that enough time in her father's good graces and one more issue with Kendall she would be Gerri's boss. And Gerri isn't even her boss now, Shiv doesn't technically even work for Waystar, but she would do anything Gerri said. Her advice is reliable, and reliably good, solid. Warm. All the things Shiv longs for.
"You do eat red meat, don't you?” Gerri asks, examining the instructions in the meal kit.
"Yeah, of course," Shiv answers, absently worrying the corner of a linen placemat in front of her between her fingers. Usually she's not this twitchy, this out of her element. She can feel sweat prickling against her armpits and goes to take off her grey blazer. She hadn't felt at all warm until Gerri walked in.
As soon as Shiv’s arms are bare she feels Gerri’s eyes on her, but when she looks up, Gerri is looking away, stir frying vegetables in the pan. They hardly speak as Gerri makes their dinner, plating it beautifully on simple but elegant plates.
“Wine?” Gerri asks, taking down two glasses.
Shiv’s mouth feels dry suddenly. “Please.”
The glasses are the large, trendy ones Shiv sees on the pages of the magazines set out in the jet, or the endless open tabs in her phone looking at luxury home goods.
Gerri sits beside Shiv at the bar, dimming the lights slightly by touching a button on the side of the counter. “Okay,” she says, “You wanted to talk about Zurich.”
Shiv takes a bite of steak and pan seared vegetables. She nods.
“I need to to tell me what you want, all right? Honestly. I’d never let this cloud my judgement, either way, of course.”
Shiv swallows, and takes a sip of her wine. “I want this,” she says. “No bullshit. This is really good, by the way.”
“Thank you. I can’t say I’m not thrilled to hear you say that given everything else that went on today. But I do want to be sure you want this. For my own,” she waves abstractly with her fork. “Peace of mind.” Gerri takes a sip of wine.
“No, Gerri, I want this. I like this. I fucking blew off family shit to be here.”
“Be careful with that, Siobhan.”
The use of her full name makes her stomach dip with desire. From anyone else she’d be irritated, but she adores hearing Gerri say it.
“If you want this, you have to be careful.”
Shiv takes a sip of wine. “I know. I will be.”
“Good,” Gerri says, then runs her hand over the light wool of Shiv’s pants, squeezing the soft flesh of her upper thigh. “Good.”
Shiv bats her eyelashes, diving into a comfortable role at the thrill of this agreement. “Especially if you cook for me like this at night.”
“It’s nothing,” Gerri says quickly. “I worry you don’t eat all day when you’re down at Waystar.”
Shiv laughs, twirling veggies on her fork. “Are you keeping that close of tabs on me?”
Gerri looks down at her last bite of steak. “I keep an eye out,” she says softly.
—-
After dinner they sit in the living room, Shiv tucking her feet up under the cashmere blanket on the couch.
“You’re sure?” Gerri says, running a hand through Shiv’s bob, pressing her fingers softly against her and looking into her eyes. “And if I get too mean…”
“I’ll tell you,” Shiv says. “I promise. And I appreciate it.”
Gerri kisses Shiv hard, pressing her hand against the small of her back. “Then maybe I’m in the mood to be a little rough with you. Would you like that?”
Shiv feels the heat around her rising again. “Yes, please,” she breathes against Gerri’s chest. They kiss again, harder this time. Gerri presses her hands against Shiv’s ribcage through the delicate silk of her blouse, repeatedly pushing back her bob with each kiss. Her fingers find their way back down Shiv’s body to unhook her pants. Shiv stands to take them off, standing in front of Gerri in a silky creamy white sleeveless blouse and a nude colored thong, worn only to avoid panty lines. She sets one knee on the couch to curl back up beside Gerri, but Gerri stops her.
“No, no,” she says, “Turn around. Let me see.” Shiv obeys. Gerri smiles. “Very pretty,” her eyes rake over Shiv’s pale skin with an intensity that almost hurts: a good, well-earned kind of sting. “Now come here,” she says to Shiv and pulls her close, drawing her up under the blanket. Gerri reaches around behind Shiv’s back and unhooks her bra in one practiced motion then guides each strap down her arms. She reaches under Shiv’s shirt and guides the whole thing off, then presses Shiv’s nipple against the silk of the shirt before lowering her mouth over it to kiss it. Shiv is practically naked, a blanket draped over her on Gerri’s couch while Gerri herself sits beside her: fully clothed, glasses on, hair clipped nearly, perfectly poised to destroy her. Gerri drags her lips over Shiv’s nipple again, sucking it and leaving a wet trace of her mouth against the silk. Shiv gasps.
“Take yours off too,” she pouts.
Gerri laughs. “No, darling,” she says. “Remember in Berlin how submissive you were? That’s what I like most of the time.”
“Most of the time?” Shiv raises one eyebrow.
“Unless I organize alternative circumstances, all of the time.”
“I like this,” Shiv says without prompting.
“Good,” Gerri says and takes Shiv by the wrist to guide her close enough to kiss.
Then Shiv is straddling Gerri’s leg and kissing her as Gerri’s fingers move Shiv’s thong aside to slip a single finger inside of her. Shiv gasps first with excitement then whimpers in desperation at the softness and thinness of Gerri’s touch. “Disgusting how badly you need this,” Gerri says, taking her glasses off with one hand and fingering Shiv harder with the other. Shiv catches a moan in her throat and buries her face in the collar of Gerri’s navy blue blazer. She doesn’t notice how flushed Gerri’s own cheeks are as she comes, then presses her forehead against Gerri’s shoulder.
“You’re hardly finished,” Gerri says softly. Shiv gives a little whimper. “On your knees.”
Shiv does as she’s told, kneeling at Gerri’s side, the rough carpet against her knees. Gerri leans back against the couch. She unzips her navy skirt on the side and lets it ride up under the blazer as she gets comfortable. Shiv feels herself get wetter as she kneels there in front of Gerri as her nipples harden under her blouse. She feels the coolness of the room against them and becomes aware for a second of the world beyond her and Gerri. The city exists somewhere beyond this room, but she can hardly think of it now.
Gerri reaches over to the table beside her and puts her glasses back on. “I do need help seeing you up close,” she says dryly. Even if it was meant to be self-deprecating humor, it works on Shiv’s desire to be observed, scrutinized. She wants her perfections noticed and her flaws pointed out and corrected. She wants all of this done by Gerri.
Gerri leans down to kiss her. “Very pretty,” she says tracing her fingers over Shiv’s nipples again.
Shiv lowers her mouth so her lips are just touching Gerri’s thigh, the ordered pattern of sheer nylons pressing back against Shiv’s lower lip. She kisses Gerri softly. At first Gerri grabs a handful of Shiv’s hair, but she doesn’t pull Shiv back. She gasps quietly instead and Shiv kisses softly up Gerri’s thigh, feeling the warmth between her legs before Gerri pulls her back softly.
“Maybe I should have said I wasn’t finished with you,” she says, taking Shiv’s arm firmly and bending her over the edge of the couch before reaching between her legs and rubbing her clit. Her breath is hot against Shiv’s neck, but everything feels hot. Gerri spews crude and rapid fire insults, telling Shiv what a filthy little power-grubbing dyke she is. It feels good to hear them so accurate, it feels incredible to hear them from Gerri. Again quickly, humiliatingly so, she comes.
Gerri kisses the top of her head and laughs contentedly.
“Please,” Shiv says once she’s caught her breath. She looks up at Gerri through her eyelashes. Her simple makeup is smudged under her eyes. Her hair is a mess.
“Not tonight,” Gerri says. “Fucking you is the part I like the most.”
Shiv blushes and reaches for the blanket. She curls up beside Gerri, her head on her shoulder, but a moment later she’s reaching for her pants and pulling them on, reality creeping in. “Then I should go,” she says.
Gerri nods to their empty wineglasses. “You can stay for another glass,” she says. But what Shiv wants is for Gerri to invite her into her bed, to be even more cruel to her, to humiliate her with her own desires. To hold her and kiss her after. To let her fall asleep beside her.
“No,” Shiv says, “I’d love to, but I should go. I have to fly out in the morning.”
“L.A.?”
“Are you going?” Shiv asks, horrified by the childish excitement in her voice.
“No,” Gerri laughs. “But I’d love to see you in a little sundress.”
Shiv gathers her blazer up from the kitchen chair and walks back into the living room, putting her phone into her bag.
“Siobhan,” Gerri says, leaning back in her chair to see into the foyer. “I want you wearing a skirt the next time I see you.”
Shiv’s brow furrows. Being told what to wear—being told to wear a skirt—makes her angry and aroused in the same instant. Being told by Gerri is more than she can handle. “Uh…okay.” Is all she can manage.
As she pulls on her pumps, aroused again by this request, Gerri approaches her and kisses her forehead. “Very good,” she says, and walks her to the elevator.