Chapter Text
Alexander’s never been a fan of cooler temperatures. In fact, when he reviewed the pros and cons of moving from Nevis to Manhattan last year, it was the promise of bitterly cold winters that almost kept him from leaving the familiar heat of the Caribbean.
Ok, well, Alex wouldn’t have let some snow deter him from the offer of heading the financial department at Washington & Steubens Co, perhaps the most prestigious accounting firm currently operating in New York City.
He worked so hard to get to be where he was now. He recalls applying as a hopeful intern from Columbia University, bright eyed and optimistic. He'd struggled to even achieve that. Alexander recalls countless Business Insider reviews submitted to local papers, mountains of excel spreadsheet work, and to top it off -- all that fucking community service. And that was just to be considered. When he got the place? He just moved to to drilling out essay upon essay a week and being the designated coffee man for his asshole superiors.
Well, it was never going to be easy.
He wouldn’t have traded his job for anything else, though, he thinks proudly. Working at W&S has been the ride of his life. A ride he doesn’t want to get off for a long time.
No, he definitely wouldn’t have sacrificed this opportunity for anything.
Well.
Maybe he spoke too soon.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me .”
When Washington emailed Alexander that the annual Schyler Conference would be held in British Columbia this year, he didn’t expect it to be different from any of the other years. The usual firm handshakes, flute glasses of champagne, forced smiles and a lot of discussion on the residual value of major companies and “gods, have you seen the state of the stock market ?
He blinks owlishly at the address punched into the Google Maps app on his phone and looks up at the sight infront of him. He has to have gotten something wrong here, because the ornate lamp posts and chair lift reminds him suspiciously of a ski lodge, and that’s ridiculous because this is a professional business conference and couldn’t possibly be the venue for the conference.
I must have gotten the address wrong, Alexander reasons, swallowing down his dread and pulling up his work email with shaking fingers.
That day he remembers being swamped with work, some misdirection of funds which left the financial department practically scrambling to scrape something together for marketing when he saw the subject line Schuyler Conference - 12/12/16 - British Columbia drop in his inbox. At the time he reasoned that he’d get Laurens to give him the details later and just checked the box to confirm his attendance. I mean, he had more pressing matters at hand, and it wasn’t like he could say no anyway.
Scanning through the email with wide eyes, he threw his head back with a groan.
Mr Hamilton,
I’d like to extend you a welcome to the 10th annual Schuyler Conference this year! 10 years of a successful business partnership with our esteemed companies gives reason to celebrate accordingly. As such, this year we invite you to join us at our own ‘Le Jour de L’Hiver’ Ski Lodge in the beautiful Whistler, British Columbia. Whilst this atmosphere will be less formal, we encourage you to network with our other sister companies to make the most out of your business stay.
For more information please see the attached files - an itinerary, recommended packing list and the address.
For any further queries do not hesitate to contact me.
Warmest Regards,
Angelica Schuyler
(Head of PR)
Schuyler Enterprise
He pulls open the attached files and cross-references the address with the one punched into his Maps app. Yep, 2961 Blackburne Way, Whistler alright.
He’s going to kill John Laurens.
If he doesn’t die of hypothermia first.
With a huff, he hurls his suitcase over his shoulder marches up the concrete stairs two steps at a time to come face to face with the fanciest revolving doors he’s seen in awhile. Pushing through, he immediately sighs in relief at the warmth that greets him.
Wow. The Schuyler’s don’t fool around, Alex thinks glumly, taking in the grandeur of the room.
It’s got that fancy rustic chalet feel, with high white ceilings and dark polished wooden panelling lining the walls. Plush burgundy leather couches line the lounge side of the lobby where a few suited men are chatting casually around a flickering fireplace. He spots a marvellously stocked bookcase to the side and takes a mental note to check out the titles later to see if there’s something he hasn’t read yet -- he could at least do that this weekend.
Caught in his thoughts, he startles when a couple of burly men push through the doors behind Alexander, dressed head to toe in ski gear and Alex almost bounces back in shock, moving forward a few steps so he’s not clinging to the front door. One of the men stops for a beat and turns around, pulling off those ridiculous ski goggles and --
“Alex?”
“John?” He gawks, taking in the mess of puffy, shrinky red material in front of him. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“What does it look like? Just went to the hills to snowboard”, John sends the man next to him a smile and a dismissive wave and the taller man nods and walks off. He smiles after the man’s retreating form before dragging his gaze back to Alexander. “You’re late y’know. Most people have checked in already.”
Alexander can’t believe how nonchalant John is being about this. “Well, you’ve got some fucking explaining to do because when I entrusted you to give me the details for the Schuyler Conference--” Alex wildly takes in his surroundings,“I certainly did not sign up for some fucking ski, “ fun-time getaway” ”, using his fingers to emphasise his utter distaste, “with my work colleagues!” his voice squeaks high at the end, causing a few curious stares from others in the lobby. He bites his lip in embarrassment but steels his glare.
John just shrugs innocently and gives him a wide smirk. “Should’ve read the email then, buddy!” he sings, throwing his snowboard over his shoulders and retreating making movements to leave the room.
“I trusted you! I asked you what we needed to do-- wait, where the fuck do you think you’re going ?”
“You never would have come if I didn’t… omit certain details,” Laurens says, waving a nonchalant hand and shooting Alexander a wink over his shoulder. “And about me leaving? Well, in hindsight, that guy had a great ass. I was thinking maybe I could grab his digits. Y’know, make the most of this business trip” he purrs, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, a smug smile creeping across his freckled face.
Alexander just stares slack-jawed at him as John shrugs off his ski jacket and places his snowboarding gear in the storage area of the lobby with a quick thank-you to the staff.
He can’t believe this bullshit, so he charges all of his frustration and shoots Laurens daggers with his eyes. He watches as his freckled smile falters and he lets out a weary sigh, leaning back against the wall to gaze down at the shorter man.
“This is gonna be good for you Alex. You need a break dude. You’ve been working yourself too hard.”
“That’s none of your concern.” Alex sighs, bringing his fingers to massage his temples. “I’ve been getting better anyway, since, y’know...” he stammers, and before Laurens can pipe up and mutter some stupid words he doesn’t need to hear, he mutters, “Where’s everybody gathered again?”
Laurens shakes his head in resignation before firmly linking Alexander’s arm with his. “The lounge just off the lobby. C’mon, I’ll come with you.”
They make their way into the lobby in short time, Laurens enthusiastically updating him on who from the sister companies would be joining them for the weekend.
With all this news, Alexander was actually taken aback to hear that only one of the chairman’s daughters, Angelica, would be attending the conference this weekend. Apparently the other two were preoccupied with, as John eloquently puts,“ some kinda PR business-y shit in the South”, and weren’t able to make it.
It’s a shame, Alexander thinks, because he remembers really hitting it off with of the daughters at his last networking event. He recalls a petite woman with a slender frame and black hair pulled into a chic bun. She had the cutest button nose and a smile that crinkled at the corners of her mouth and this… distinctly feminine air of carrying herself that had Alex weak at the knees and fumbling uselessly over his words. He had almost built up the courage to ask her to grab some dinner with him sometime before he’d been harshly pulled away by Jefferson who, for some reason or another, found it absolutely imperative that he introduced Alexander to an IT guy from another company.
That reminds him.
“Laurens. Please tell me Jefferson miraculously caught a severe cold and won’t be gracing us with his presence.” Alexander pleaded through gritted teeth.
Of course, it was wishful thinking. Doing the mental math in his head left it highly improbable that the man wouldn’t come. He was fine last week, suffering from merely a common cold, perfectly healthy minus a couple of carefully timed sneezes when he walked past Alex’s desk. He seethes at the memory, clenching his fists slightly before being dragged back to the present.
“You’re just going to have to wait and see, aren’t you, Hammy?” The real answer hidden carefully behind Laurens’ trademark smirk, giving absolutely nothing away as he leads them through an ornate wooden doorframe. Alexander follows with a frustrated huff as they make their way into the ski lounge.
It’s a wide room, similar aesthetically to the lobby with burgundy accents and polished dark wooden beams stretching out across the ceiling to create a cabin-like sense of comfort. The room hums with chatter and god , there has to be at least 60 people in here, all dressed casual-formal, in button downs and pencil skirts. Scanning the room, he spots a few familiar faces from their work.
James Madison is sitting on the couch, talking to two men before entering into a coughing fit, hunched over, with one hand raised apologetically and the other curled around his mouth to stifle the sounds. Poor guy, Alexander has never seen the man not in a state of illness. He spots Washington by the corner of the fireplace guffawing to a shrewd looking Philip Schuyler, a glass of red wine eloquently raised to his lips.
Well, time to do business, this is a business trip after all.
It all goes by quite uneventfully as Alex lazily flitters through the crowd, making the usual rounds of polite introductions and silent battles for who can give the firmest handshake. He greets the other company’s financials team, getting into a long-winded discussion about fiscal policies and the stock market, only to be interrupted by Washington’s booming voice echoing through the large room.
“Attention, please! Hello, everyone!” he calls, his full, deep voice filling the room to its brim. The murmurs quiet down as everyone turns to look at the man.
“It’s great to see so many familiar faces under one roof. On behalf of Washington & Steuben Co, we’d like to thank the generous Schuyler's for organising this wonderful weekend.” He gestures to Mr. Schuyler to his right, an obligatory round of applause reverberates around the room as the man gives a polite nod in acknowledgment of the attention.
“Without their generosity in funding our company, W&S would not have managed to achieve best firm in New York for the third year running. I ask you to join me as we raise a toast to their ongoing and valued support!” he calls, smiling as he raises a tall champagne flute in the air, leaning it slightly in the direction of Philip Schuyler, and giving a nod . The room follows suit, raising their glasses and mumbling a cheers. Alexander sips from his own glass before recoiling at the taste. Gross. He never got used to the taste of wine, no matter how many of these functions he has been to.
“If you haven’t yet done so, I suggest you check into your rooms. There will be a dinner at 7 sharp, so be there or you might go to bed hungry and I’m not paying for room service” Washington jokes, the room gently chuckling at the comment. “That’s all! Enjoy your evening, ladies and gentlemen!”, Washington turns back to Philip Schuyler to resume his previous conversation, standing tall and important next to the stoic pose of the head of Schuyler Enterprise.
With that, everyone continues on with their previous engagements, some making their way to leave the room, possibly to check in after Washington's threat of no dinner. Alex politely removes himself from the room, saying his goodbyes to the group of business men he had become acquainted with, before making his way over to the reception desk to pick up his room number. He enjoys talking about financials any day, but at this stage he just wants to relax and collect himself. He needs to plan what he’s going to get done to get ahead this weekend whilst everyone else frolicks in the snow.
He makes his way over to the reception and plants his hands firmly on the dark wood of the front desk. “Excuse me, I’m looking to check in?” he calls to a lady at the back.
“Will be with you in just a minute sir”, she nods, “I’m currently helping this other gentleman.” Alex moves to apologise for not paying attention to the man before he realises who it is. He feels his mouth curl into a familiar scowl reserved for a certain asshole colleague.
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Hamilton!” the sound of Alexander’s name in the Southern drawl raises the hairs on his neck in disgust.
“Jefferson. What a pleasure.” Alexander replies dryly, forcing a fake smile that quickly morphs into an obvious scowl in less than a second, unable to hide his utter hatred for the man standing before him.
There he is. Thomas fucking Jefferson. The arrogant, pompous head of marketing asshole who finds pleasure in making every conference meeting a living hell for all of the financial department. But mostly he prides himself on making Alexander want to pull his hair out.
He stands tall, holding his head obnoxiously high, dressed as if he were attending a high class function in an expensive looking tailored suit, because of course he’s wearing a fucking suit, this is Jefferson . Over the top, he dons a lavish brown coat, which Alexander thinks is extremely unnecessary; this is a business event not a fashion show. His whole ensemble screams I have money and it makes a small part of Alex feel inadequate, with him rocking up in his battered jeans from college and his own Goodwill black coat. He quickly shakes away the thought, he is Alexander Hamilton, not some pompous twat that needs expensive clothes to feel important.
Alexander burns his gaze on a smudge on the wall and starts drumming his fingers against the wood impatiently, avoiding having to even look at the arrogant man next to him . Of course, he hopes that his overt body language and back turned to the taller man gives him a clue that he’d rather not have a conversation right now, but of course the asshole talks through it anyway.
“Didn’t think this was your scene?”
Plastering the most strained smile he can manage, he waves his hand dismissively. “It’s not, really”, he says flippantly, not even bothering to spare him a glance. “But this is important to Washington and beneficial for the company’s corporate functionality”. He lets out a laugh to himself before turning his gaze to his hands.
“Not that you’d know anything about that.” He mutters under his breath.
“Oh, Alexander!” the man beams, and suddenly Alex is smelling the man’s expensive cologne and he avoids retching right then and there. “You’re not still upset about last week, are you…?”
Seething, he pushes back firmly on the desk to glare up at the man. And wow, to complete his perfectly crafted asshole picture, he’s even smirking , looking down at Alex through thick black lashes and brown frames.
“It’s Hamilton to you, thanks.” Alex grits his teeth, “Oh, and yes. I am.”
“Christ, really?” he wipes mirthful tear from his eyes, pushing up his frames before shooting him a pitiful look. He feels blood start to boil. “You should probably get over that soon. As you said we’re here to improve corporate functionality.” Oh! And here’s my cue to leave.”
The receptionist returns and glances between the two of them with a confused smile before handing Jefferson his keys. The man flashes her a charming smile and a Thanks, doll before spinning around, stepping away from the desk. He stops and lets out a resigned sigh, looking back at Alex. “Let’s just steer clear of each other this weekend.”
“As if you even had to make that point” Alex scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Hope you enjoy your weekend, Mr Jefferson.”
The man leaves, and Alex brings his attention back to the receptionist. She disappears briefly and takes much less time sorting out Alex’s details and luggage, which he attributes to Jefferson probably bringing along his whole wardrobe for the weekend. He grabs the key and with a thank-you makes his way to the elevator, punching in the 3rd floor.
He spots Jefferson at the end of the hall, walking towards him and chatting casually with Madison. He grits his teeth. Of course Angelica would put them all on the same floor, it’s common sense. Doesn’t mean it’s not going to be a pain in the ass to have to stomach Jefferson’s yabbering. He ignores them and strides purposefully down the halls, counting down the numbers on the doors.
301, 302, 303…
As Jefferson stalls at a door a few steps in front of him, Alex sends out a silent prayer for his room to be as far away from the Virginian as possible.
Should be fine anyway , there’s 20 rooms on the floor.
304, 305--
No.
No, no, NO.
There has to be some mistake here. Some stuff up because Alexander refuses to believe that the world would be cruel enough to play him like this.
Jefferson stands to his right, key half in the lock and staring at him with horrified eyes. Alex gulps and desperately looks down at his key.
- 306.
Their rooms are next to one another.
They both let out a groan.