Nine

                                    

                                          
A sweet scent of vanilla and pressed coffee wanders its way from the kitchen to a dozing Remus. His feet dangle off the edge of the couch, poking out from under two quilts. A tuft of sandy blonde hair falls in front of his eyes as he shifts to sit up. When he rubs the sleep from his eyes, the sight of Peter standing across the room becomes clear.
                          
"Morning," Peter says.
                          
"Morning," Remus drawls. His voice has a raspy quality this early in the morning, sounding much deeper than it usually is. 
                          
"Hungry?" Peter holds up a plate piled with the delicious breakfast foods and sets it on the table. 
                          
Remus arches his back, feeling his tight muscles strain against the pull before relaxing. His new phone lay untouched on the couch along with a folder and his notebook. Another buzz shifts the phone slightly to the left. Its screen lights up and Remus' eyes widen when he sees the abundance of messages left on it.
                          
Fourteen texts. Three missed calls. 
                          
"Your phone's been going of all morning," Peter tells him. 
                          
"Why didn't you wake me?" Remus asks, hastily scrolling through his messages. 
                          
"I tried." Peter sits himself on a chair comfortably, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "You sleep like a log."
                          
Remus groans, raking both hands through his hair. "I've got to get ready." He stands up in nothing but black briefs. His body is lanky, with just enough muscle over his bones to be considered fit. "Can I take my breakfast to go?" 
                          
"Be my guest." 
                          
Hurrying to the shower, Remus doesn't even wait for the water to get hot before jumping in. The water falls against his face like rain, washing over his eyelids and sliding down his jawline. Its touch is soothing. Like a million kisses. His chest is red from the coldness, but soon grows numb to the feeling. The momentary peace is disrupted when his phone rings. The repetitive alarm slices through the bathroom's serenity, causing Remus to drop the conditioner bottle. 
                          
He swipes open the curtain and blindly reaches for his phone, blinking through the water to read the caller ID. There is no name but a number - a number he should've saved last night. But he knew who's number it is. The first number at the top of his list. And there is no way he can send him to voicemail. 
                          
"H-hello?" Remus answers, pressing the phone up to his ear. 
                          
"Remus," Sirius' voice speaks through the phone. "There's been a change. Instead of the luncheon there's a dinner tonight. I need you to pick up my dry cleaning on the way in. Braxton will take you."
                          
"A dinner?" 
                          
"Yes -" A pause. "Are you in the shower?" 
                          
Remus immediately shuts off the water, stumbling over his own feet to step out of the tub. "Erm no," he grits through his teeth while attempting to wrap a towel around his lower half. His mind registers the order Sirius gave him moments ago, but before he can ask who Braxton is, Sirius has already hung up the phone. 
                          
He quickly brushes his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror. The face of a model. He scoffs, pressing his hands against the side of the sink while taking a small sip of running water to rinse his mouth. A knock at the door sounds when he wipes his lips, and Peter's voice calls from the other side, "Remus, there's a car out front."
                          
A small bagged breakfast and a spare blueberry muffin is sitting on the table when Remus emerges. His attire is a clean, white button down with a dusty blue vest on top, paired with a soft tan trouser. "I appreciate the meal, Peter," Remus says with one last look into the mirror hanging by the door. "Maybe next time I'll be able to enjoy it with you." He swipes up the bag and gives a nod of thanks before stepping out into the street. 
                          
Braxton is Sirius' driver, so it turns out. The man wears a tailored uniform consisting of all black. "Good morning, Mr. Lupin," he greets with a thick accent. He opens the door swiftly, waiting until Remus is completely inside before shutting it. 
                          
Remus runs his hand over the black leather and admires the luxuriousness of the car just like the one Lily had taken in him days ago. "Um, you can just call me Remus," he says when Braxton starts the engine.
                          
"Remus it is."
                          
Remus leans back against the seat and pulls out the folder from his backpack. Last night he'd gone over all of Sirius' schedules, making sure to memorize the upcoming events that were starred. Most of it consists of meetings scattered about the day, a few phone calls, and now a dinner. He takes out his pen, crossing out the 11 am luncheon printed between the 10 am conference call and 1:15 marketing meeting. 
                          
A quick stop at the dry cleaners and six suits later, Remus finds himself sitting behind his new desk. The room is much larger than needed for one person, and bare. The walls are slate gray, the desk is black, and a dead potted plant remains in the farthest corner. He lays out his personal items neatly across the surface of the desk and turns to the large windows behind him. They show most of the city, though nothing compared to the view in Sirius' office. 
                          
"Remus," comes a sharp call along with a rap at the door. Remus flinches, turning to Lily standing in the doorway. A sense of familiarity calms his nerves when she walks up to his desk. "Mr. Black sends you this." She drops a rather hefty binder before him and presses her lips into a thin line. "Not regretting this, are you?"
                          
Remus shakes his head. "Of course not," he answers. His fingers run over the cover of the binder, reading the fine print. "Um, Lily -" The redhead half turns back to him with a raised brow. "This office. It's all mine?" 
                          
"Yes Remus, it's all yours." Her eyes flicker over to the plant in the corner and her expression wavers. "Make yourself comfortable. I suspect you'll be here a while."
                          
Remus waits until she's gone before opening the binder. A catalog of every news article, magazine, and print released about Black Inc. since its opening. The company is new, in retrospect to other name brands, considering Sirius was only 16 when he released his first line - according to the articles. A newspaper clipping of the young boy has faintly yellowed, and standing at the end of a long runway is Sirius Black himself. His hair was longer, reaching to his shoulders and slightly disheveled, but an unforgettable smile across his face shines through the photo. 
                          
Flipping through the articles and interviews of Sirius, a question begins to form in the back of Remus' mind. There's no mention of his personal life whatsoever - no family, no friends, no relationship. It begs the question: why did Sirius start in the fashion industry? The answer is the same repeated quote from Sirius: "A passion isn't something you develop. It's always been on the inside, you just have to find it." But that isn't an answer - not really. Not to a journalist. There's a story behind everything. And it seems that Sirius Black is very good at keeping it hidden. 
                          
"Knock knock," another sing song voice calls. James Potter strides in looking dapper as always with a roguish grin. "Might I say, for a stray you're looking right at home." He takes a quiet lap to the window and back, narrowing his eyes on the dead plant. "I hope you don't handle business like you do horticulture."
                          
Remus chuckles, moving aside the binder. "It was there when I walked in. I suppose it was whoever had the office last."
                          
"Ah." James clicks his tongue. "Good ole Alfred. Alfie, if you will." He leans against the doorframe casually, tapping the shiny point of his brown shoe on the floor. "Just so you know, there's a bet running around the office today. Ten pounds says that Alice can't go ten minutes without telling somebody she's engaged."
                          
Whomever Alice is, Remus doesn't have the funds to bet on her running mouth. "I'll have to pass," he replies. "Maybe next time I'll wager in."
                          
"Fair enough. If you need me I'm just across the pond."
                          
Remus clicks his pen, listening to the echo bounce off the empty walls. From an outsiders point of view, business is foreign. All the cutthroat drama to be the biggest, most successful company is kept well beneath the surface from critics. But the ugly parts of business isn't new to Remus, not after his last piece at the Harper Post. A small town journalist now sitting in the heart of the biggest fashion company in London. Right under the nose of the CEO himself. Perhaps this isn't the job he always wanted, but maybe it's the one he needs.