Hi there! So I got super grounded (over something that wasn't my fault, BTW.), and I wrote this. My first AU! Whoo! I have no idea how terrible this will be, so...yeah. Oh, and if your here because you read my other story, M&M, I WILL BE UPDATING SOON. I SWEAR.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything familiar, like, you know. Pitch Perfect, and whatnot. I do own a lot of stuff in here though! Finally!

Chapter One

"Alright, so here's the deal, Becky."

It's Beca, Beca mentally corrected the Luke. After three failed attempts to teach the British airhead her name, Beca decided to just ignore his constant butchering of her simple, beyond simple first name. Needless to say, she was failing miserably.

"This is The Barden Beat. My pride and joy. My fetus, in the shape of a high end club, if you will. This place and I have that kind of a bond." Luke rambled on about the small nightclub as he led Beca through the front doors. When Beca stepped inside, she was overwhelmed by the dusty appeal that the club held. Nearly everything was made of wood, other than the speakers that protruded from the walls, and the club had an old timey feel to it. For example, if a cowboy burst through the front doors at that very moment and challenged Luke to a showdown at noon, Beca wouldn't bat an eyelash.

Beca shifted her bag of equipment higher upon her shoulder and quickened her pace in an attempt to keep up with Luke. Getting a part-time job DJ-ing at the local Georgia nightclub wasn't Beca's biggest aspiration, but hey. A job is a job. And jobs equal money. And money equals L.A., a.k.a, Beca's real dream. Just a plane ride away, there were hundreds of labels and companies, just waiting for her, and her amazing ability to mix melodies, blend tracks, match downbeats, and make something beautiful out of nothing at all.

However, to get to that place, she needed money. Hence, her job. It could be worse, Beca thought. She could be surrounded by stuffy asswipes in a cramped office like her father wanted. Like her father insisted, rather.

"I just don't get it, Beca." Dr. Mitchell sighed a few months back. "Why can't you just try working at Sheila's firm? She really put herself on the line to get that position for you." Beca shuddered at the thought of being a receptionist for her stepmother, who laughed like a duck, and looked like she stepped out of a plastic Mattel box. She rolled her eyes as she continued to pack up her dorm years. Beca's college graduation was tomorrow, and she wished that she were out getting drunk, to be honest, but nope. Instead, she was tossing pictures into boxes, and listening to her father lecture her about her life decisions. Joy.

After depositing a stack of records into a flimsy cardboard box, Beca begrudgingly spun on her heel to face her father. "I don't need the Step-monster sticking her neck out for me, Dad. I'm fine on my own." A disappointed look settled on Dr. Mitchell's face. "Must you always call her that? It's very rude, Beca." Beca's eyes lit up a little bit at her father's mention of the nick-name that she had christened her stepmother with. "Well you know I could call her worse. Much worse. There's always a home-wrecking bi-," Dr. Mitchell interrupted her. "Drop it, Beca." Beca let a small, innocent smirk cross her face before nonchalantly tossing an old weathered t-shirt into her suitcase. Dr. Mitchell let out a small chuckle at his daughter's actions before shaking his head, and trying again.

"Beca, it's a simple receptionist gig, with decent pay. Why can't you just give it a shot?" Beca's eyes flashed, and she threw her hands in the air in an act of frustration. "Because that isn't what I want to do with my life, Dad! Don't you get that? I don't want to be some kind of stiff, boring receptionist at Sheila's firm!" After taking a deep breath, Beca lowered her arms, and her voice. Turning her back to her father, she continued. "Look Dad, I did what you asked. I came to Barden, and I took advantage of my free education. I'm done here. It's time for me to do what makes me happy, and I honestly don't care if my plans don't exactly correspond with yours." Beca threw Dr. Mitchell an incredulous look before throwing open the door to her dorm room, and stalking out.

A random passerby on the street would be able to tell that Beca's relationship with her father and Sheila was strained and awkward. Beca loved her dad. She really did. She just had problems understanding him most of the time. Four years ago, Beca's father had begged her to go to Barden University, and get a degree before heading out into the world. With loads of hesitation and protest, Beca obliged. She went to college, maintained decent grades, and kept to herself. Now that college was over, and she had escaped with a diploma and a few unshakeable friends, Beca was ready to move on with her life, and she couldn't do that while constantly being under the watchful eye of her father and Sheila.

So, she distanced herself from them as best as she could. She got an apartment with one of her friends from Barden that wasn't more than a few miles away (It was a small movement, sure, but a movement nonetheless), and she got a temporary job in an itty-bitty night club while plotting her final journey to L.A.

"…why you never hook up strobe lights with wet hands, Becky."

As Luke stopped to take a breath, Beca snapped back to attention. Right. Strobe lights, plus wet hands=bad. Got it.

"Got it." Beca replied with a reassuring nod.

"Good. Alright then, let's get you set up." Luke said as he made a beeline for the bar, where an Indian guy with thick, dark, glasses was wiping down the counter. At the sound the sound of Luke's footsteps, his head snapped up, and he nodded Beca's way. "Becky, this is Donald. Donald, Becky here is out new DJ. Have you seen Jesse?"

As if on cue, a lean, toned young man with a rumpled shirt, and messy brown curls came bustling through the back door. "You're late." At the sound of Luke's crisp, irritated British accent, Donald ducked into the storage room, and the guy spun around to face Luke with a sheepish smile on his face. "Hey, man, I'm sorry. My car broke down." Luke narrowed his eyes, clearly still annoyed, and walked closer to the counter. "Right. Well Becky, this is Jesse, my main bartender-slash-busboy-slash-bouncer-slash-whateve r. For now." Luke added throwing another stern look at Jesse.

Jesse's eyes shifted over to Beca, and froze on her frame. A short second later, a flirty smile graced his face, and he let out a breathless 'Hey'. Beca, seemingly unfazed, shot him a tightlipped almost-a-smile and an awkward 'Hello' as she rocked back and forth on the heels of her boots. Luke looked between the two young adults before shrugging his shoulders, and proceeding with his directions.

"Okay, well Jesse will be finishing up your tour of the club. Now, you two will be spending a lot of time together, so please, just…no sex on the counter." He emphasized this statement with a few swift taps on the counter, and a disapproving look aimed in the direction of Donald's departure. "I've been burned before." Luke retorted before traipsing off to his office.

Beca balked at Luke's exiting figure before she returned her attention to Jesse, who had grabbed a set of keys from behind the counter, and was now motioning for Beca to follow him.

"So, Becky-"

"Nope. Don't call me that. Ever. It's Beca. With an 'a'." Beca interrupted. A grin spread across Jesse's face. "Why let Luke call you Becky, then?" he inquired.

"Because Luke signs my paychecks."

"Fair enough."

Jesse led Beca up the back stairs, which led to the DJ's booth, his eyes not leaving Beca once. Which totally caused him to slightly trip up the steps. Just a little bit. Which Beca absolutely saw, by the way. Jesse tried to play it off as if he were tying his shoe, and Beca held in a laugh as she waited for Jesse to continue walking. "So Beca-with-an-'a'," Jesse started again. "This is the Barden Beat. It's pretty slow until about six, because seriously, who goes clubbing at three in the afternoon? I tried explaining this valid point to Luke in an attempt to get permission to come in later, but nope! The douche was hell-bent on having me report to work at noon every Monday through Saturday. I personally thinks it's because he gets lonely, but that's just me. The whole thing is pretty stupid to me, actually, but like you said, Luke's the boss, and he signs our paychecks."

Jesse took a breath and glanced over at Beca who was staring at him with a slightly bored expression on her face. Jesse smiled again, and continued talking. "Anyways, like Luke said, we will end up spending a lot of time together, much to your obvious delight." Jesse rambled.

"You talk a lot." Beca broke in.

Motivated, and fueled by Beca's four words, Jesse replied with a bust of confidence. "And you don't talk a lot. You know what that means right?"

"I'm sure you're gonna tell me."

"It means that we complete each other. It's official. We are destined to become best friends, and or lovers."

Beca rolled her eyes, and snorted slightly at Jesse's comment. "Wow. Quick question, do you shamelessly hit on all of the staff around here?"

"Well Donald and I sometimes have our back and forth…"

"Right."

"But other than that, no. Just you. I'm sure you feel pretty special." Jesse said with a cheeky grin.

"So special." Beca said dryly with a smirk.

Alright, so the guy was cute, and clearly interested in her. A smidge awkward, and dorky in every sense of the word, but cute all the same. Nothing like the ultimate sleaze-bags Beca had dated in the past. It was somewhat…refreshing to be around Jesse in a way that Beca couldn't explain. It was pretty nice though. Not that she would ever tell him that.

"Okay, so here's the booth." Jesse said as they stopped in front of a clear glass door with an applique record on the front. Jesse unlocked the door, and he and Beca stepped inside. The room was empty, other than a small table in the corner, a desk with a computer and a simple mixing board, and a ratty, old swivel chair. Beca walked over to the empty table, and set her bag down before turning back to face Jesse. Beca's eyes widened when she discovered that Jesse was a few feet closer to her than she had originally believed. Jesse smiled at Beca's slightly shocked expression, and inched closer until their noses were about four inches apart. Weirdly enough, Beca didn't mind very much.

Jesse reached down and gently grasped Beca's wrist. He dropped a key onto Beca's palm, and curled her fingers around it, holding onto her hand for a moment longer. Beca was embarrassed to know that she might have felt sparks. Just a little bit. "Your key to the booth, madam." Jesse said. "And if there is anything else that you need, please don't hesitate to call me." He tacked on with a smoldering gaze. Jesse slowly dropped Beca's hand, and backtracked out of the booth, leaving her with a cold key, a flirty smile, and a 'WTF' look on her face. The good kind of 'WTF' look though. The kind that translated to, "Holy crap. What do I do now?". That crafty bastard.

Overall, from what Beca had picked up from her first twenty minutes on the job, her life would soon be entangled with a uptight British boss, a semen-smeared counter, and a flirty, cocky, persistent bartender who seemed to think that 'personal space' was a myth. No biggie.

Eh? What are we thinking? Too OOC? Should I keep going?

Hey you just read this!
And this is crazy!
But there's the review box!
Review this maybe!

That was...terrible beyond terrible, but I have no shame. Thanks for reading!