Chapter Text
It was going to be a busy day at Corvo Bianco. The staff had come in extra early to do scheduled maintenance and cleaning, and the restaurant was bustling with movement. Everyone was working to get the place looking and running its very best for the quarterly inspections the next day. They were in no danger of failing, but Regis had announced that he’d rather pass with flying colors, and had offered overtime to come in early. They would open just a little later that day.
Lambert was cleaning the grills and the fryer, while Geralt and Eskel were scrubbing out the ovens. In the dining room, Triss, Essi, and the other servers and hostesses were cleaning the bar, booths, tables and chairs, while Jaskier was polishing the hardwood floor. Eskel had brought in his stereo, and put on some loud music for them to groove to while they worked. Jaskier had managed to turn scrubbing the floor into a dance move, and was shaking his ass vigorously while he worked.
Regis was in the office going over bookkeeping, while Tissaia was doing inventory and keeping an eye on the goings-on around her. She had been managing Corvo for less than two months, and this was the first big inspection under her watch. She wanted to make sure everything was perfect.
She was also anxiously waiting for a call from her ex-husband’s lawyer. It was scheduled for “around 9:00 a.m.,” but it was currently 9:30, and she had heard nothing. She checked her phone again. Still nothing. Tissaia sighed irritably, and set her phone down on the shelf so she could count the bags of flour. Having something to do was definitely a big help. Her anxiety was easier to manage when she kept moving and busy.
She frowned at her clipboard. “That can’t actually be how many lemons we have,” she said aloud to no one in particular. She decided there must be quite a stash up front at the bar, and went to go check. After rummaging through the cooler behind the bar and finding only two, she remembered that Geralt’s hit new special, a seafood bruschetta, was served with several wedges of lemon. She made a note on the stock sheet.
The restaurant was doing better than ever, Regis had told her, and she would need to order more product to keep up with the demand. Satisfied, she beamed down at the paper, and then realized it was the first time she had smiled that day.
She glanced at the kitchen clock. 9:40. Her hand flew to her pocket to check her phone, and panic set in when she realized it wasn’t there. She was already picturing worst-case scenarios when she remembered setting the phone down on the back room shelf. The music was loud, and she worried she wouldn’t hear the phone ring. She quickly made her way to the back.
It was her own fault, really. She had her head down, attention back on the clipboard, and she rounded a corner in the kitchen at her top walking speed. She didn’t even see Eskel coming. They collided, and she shrieked when Eskel’s pail of oven cleaner sloshed all over her blouse.
“Eskel, don’t forget we still need to-” Geralt came around the corner and froze when he saw Tissaia, covered in cleaner. “Get Regis,” he told the other cook, then pulled Tissaia by the arm back to the mop sink.
“I know it sucks, but you need to take that off right now.” Geralt gestured to her shirt.
“W-what?” she stammered, shock on her face as she looked up at him.
“You need to rinse off under warm water for at least 60 seconds. We don’t want you getting a chemical burn. Eskel!” he turned to call. “Clear the kitchen. Keep everyone out.”
Tissaia couldn’t get her shirt unbuttoned fast enough. The water was still quite cold, but it was better than nothing, she guessed. The loud music had stopped, and Eskel stood there, wringing his chef’s hat.
“Shit, Tissaia, I’m so sorry…”
“It’s okay, it was just an accident.”
“You too, Eskel.” Geralt gave him a look. “Give her some privacy.”
Tissaia shivered, goosebumps rising all over her bare skin.
“You, uh…” Geralt gestured at her and began unbuttoning his chef’s jacket. “You should probably take your… bra off too. I’ll turn around. And then you can put this on.” He lay his jacket down on the counter.
She pursed her lips and her bra followed. When she was satisfied she was thoroughly rinsed, she turned off the faucet and reached for Geralt’s jacket. She froze for a moment when she heard her phone ringing, and then dashed past Geralt in a panic, pulling his coat on over her wet skin, not bothering with the buttons. She found it on the shelf where she had set it down and answered it, skirt drenched and dripping on the floor.
“Terrance, hi! Thank you for the appointment!”
“Hello, Tissaia.” Stregobor’s voice oozed through the phone.
Her heart sank. Terrance hadn’t told her it would be a conference call. She shrank against the shelf, turning just in time to see Regis come around the corner, looking concerned.
“Stregobor, I-”
Terrance’s voice came across the line, sounding pleasant as always. “Tissaia, I thought we could discuss the arrangement together. Is this a bad time?”
Time seemed to stop as Regis’ eyes met hers. She was soaked, disheveled, half-naked, and her heart was hammering just from hearing her ex-husband’s voice. Tissaia had never wanted to disappear so badly in all her life. Regis immediately looked away. She turned around and pulled the jacket close with one hand, holding onto it as though it could offer emotional support.
“Y-yes. This is a bad time,” she stammered, praying that any minute now she would wake up from what was clearly a terrible nightmare. “I apologize, but I will need to reschedule.” She took the dish towel Geralt offered her, and awkwardly dried herself as best she could one-handed.
“Alright, we can work something out for next week,” Terrance said cheerfully. “I know the call was a bit later than we had planned, so I understand. Maybe Tuesday?”
She could hear Geralt whispering to Regis, explaining what had happened.
“Maybe we can sit down in person to work things out,” Stregobor suggested. Tissaia could hear the smugness in his voice.
“I have to get back to work,” she said hurriedly. “I’ll call you later, Terrance, thank you.”
She hung up the phone, feeling the sting of tears coming to her eyes, and took a deep breath before turning around. Regis had taken off his blazer, and was pulling off the grey sweater he wore underneath. It caught the hem of his dress shirt, and she caught a brief glimpse of what looked like black wings tattooed on the pale skin of his side before the shirt covered him again.
“Put this on, my darling,” he said, holding out the sweater to Tissaia. “I’m afraid your blouse is in no state to wear.”
She nodded, eyes watering now. What was it about this man that made her cry? She almost never cried, and now this was the second time he had seen her in tears. The first time had been last month at the staff Christmas party. Tissaia had ended up snowed in at Regis’ house after everyone else had left, and she had told him a little bit about her situation with Stregobor.
“Thank you,” she managed, taking the sweater from him. It was impossibly soft. “I think I actually have a skirt in my car… It was meant for the cleaners, but…”
“If you’ll give me your keys, I’ll retrieve it for you.”
Tissaia nodded gratefully. “Thank you.” She pulled her keys out of her locker for him, then made her way to the staff washroom, trying not to imagine her coworkers staring as she passed them.
She hung Geralt’s jacket up on the hook behind the door and pulled Regis’ sweater over her head. It smelled like him, that warm, woodsy scent that she remembered from the night of the party. She let the memory wash over her, forgetting for just a moment about the cleaner spill incident and her ex-husband, and she remembered how nice it felt to be held close and cared for. Tissaia couldn’t help but bury her nose in the collar of the sweater for another moment, wrapping her arms around herself and enjoying the softness. She looked in the mirror. It was a little big, but the grey set off her grey eyes nicely.
A gentle rapping at the door startled her. She opened it a crack and Regis held out her skirt. His eyes immediately went to the sweater and he swallowed audibly.
“Is the sweater… okay? It looks… lovely. On you, that is.”
Tissaia could swear a faint flush was creeping into his cheeks. She couldn’t remember Regis ever seeming even the tiniest bit flustered before.
“It’s perfect, thank you.”
They both looked at each other, the silence just starting to stretch into awkward. Finally Regis cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you require, Tissaia? I would be happy to help in any way I can.” His dark eyes were wide and so kind.
To her dismay, Tissaia found her eyes watering. Again. She found herself unable to hide from him behind the walls she’d spent years building; her emotions were laid bare, simply from the gentle way he looked at her.
“Oh, my dear.” He reached for her, and before she knew it, Regis had wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close, seeming unfazed by her skirt dripping onto his grey suit pants.
“Shhh. It will be alright.” His hands gently stroked her back.
“It’s just… Stregobor again. He…” A fresh wave of tears hit her and she allowed herself to melt into his chest.
And then she realized with a jolt that she wasn’t wearing a bra, only a soft, thin sweater. But the hug felt so good, and if Regis had noticed, he certainly wasn’t showing it. He did have a thick blazer on, after all. She willed herself to relax in his arms again.
A thought occurred to Tissaia, and she pulled away, looking at Regis. One of her hands unconsciously reached up to straighten the bun in her hair, recoiling at its messy, drenched state. She took a deep breath. “I wonder if you might…”
He pulled back and looked down at her. “Whatever it may be, you need only ask.”
“I wonder if I could talk through my... current situation with you. I need some advice and you’re my only real friend here.” She looked down, trying desperately not to admire how perfectly she fit in his arms. “I know you have some experience with legal matters, and I thought you might be able to offer some tips for… I don’t know. Just in general, I suppose.” Tips for not letting your ex bully you, and not letting his lawyer walk all over you, her brain screamed at her.
Regis placed a hand on his chest and inclined his head at her. “It would be my pleasure to assist you however I can. Perhaps you’d like to join me for dinner this evening? I’ve been meaning to investigate that new place over on Andromeda Street, the Bruxa, was it? Jaskier has been raving about the food, but then again he always does, doesn’t he?”
Tissaia wiped her eyes and gave him a watery smile. “Thank you so much, Regis. I really appreciate it.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to… finish refreshing. And please let me know if I can do anything else.”
He closed the door and she turned to look in the mirror again. She shook her head at her red eyes and messy bun. So far Regis had seen her at her worst. Tonight she would give him her best.