Work Text:
Fluff. All Olive Harris could see was the fluffiest, most ridiculous hair she’d ever laid her eyes upon, and it was completely blocking her computer monitor. She gritted her teeth and forced her lips into a smile, though it came out more feral than pleasant.
“Mr. Saperstein. Can you please return to your seat? I need to hear your account of the event for your court appearance next week.” Olive smoothed her jacket and re-arranged herself in her chair, straightening her spine and slowly releasing a calming breath. Those yoga classes Joan Callamezzo recommended on her show helped more than she was willing to admit when dealing with the Saperstein offspring.
Jean-Ralphio slunk back to the leather armchair and flung himself into it with a heavy sigh. “Olive, baby, don’t you think you should write this? I mean, you have such a lovely voice and can pull out all those sexy lawyer words. You know, ‘not guilty’ and ‘your honor’ and ‘I object.’” He batted his lashes, pursed his lips, and trailed his fingertips across the arm of the chair (a move now referred to as a ‘Saperstein’ around the office).
Olive relaxed her face and gave Jean-Ralphio a smile she typically reserved for toddlers. “Sit in that chair, open the pen, and write down your account of the event. Once you do that, you are free to carry on with your day. But please do not tell me what that involves, as I prefer it remain none of my business.”
“Fine,” Jean-Ralphio pouted, veering from bedroom to kindergarten classroom. He curled up in the chair and began scrawling his thoughts onto the legal pad, eyebrows furrowed and biting his lip.
Olive shifted back to her monitor and resumed working. She relaxed into the familiar rhythm of paperwork and nearly forgot about the man-child who had wasted most of her morning.
“Done!”
She jumped and rolled backwards in her chair as he slapped the legal pad down onto her keyboard. Jean-Ralphio beamed, his eyes crinkling. “I, uh, finished it,” he added, tilting his head slightly. He hooked a hand behind his neck and looked down, shuffling around the office as he awaited her judgement.
Olive eased forward and reached for the legal pad. She scanned the barely legible scrawl, which detailed an evening only believable for a Saperstein: circus animals, D-level celebrities, and drugs she didn’t realize were available in Pawnee. It did align with multiple witness statements, however, so at least this hadn’t been a complete waste of time. She could ensure the statement held up in court once her office returned to its typical state: quiet and nearly empty.
She stood and walked around her desk. Jean-Ralphio looked up, pulling his gnawed fingernails from his mouth and interlacing his fingers behind his back. Olive extended her hand and shook his firmly, pushing back her revulsion at the dampness.
“I can work with this, Mr. Saperstein.”
“Please, call me J.R. All the ladies do. J.R, gonna go far, just like on Star... Search.” His open smile drifted to a leer and Olive shuddered and yanked back her hand.
“That’s enough for today. Please, enjoy the rest of your day and we’ll contact you when we’re ready to prep further.” She turned sharply on her heel and heard the floorboards squeak as Jean-Ralphio tore for the door.
“Thank you, babydoll. You’re the best. Truly. No matter what Daddy says.”
The door slammed and she tumbled into her chair with a sigh. She read over the words again before muttering, “That sneaky bastard.” She pinched her nose and closed her eyes, willing herself into a state of zen. She picked up her phone and left herself the voice note, “Calendar note for tomorrow: text Mr. Saperstein with note stating, ‘Finish the statement. A reminder that I also work on your family’s wills.’”