Quinn Fabray was the nation's celebrity cupid. Daughter of a priest and successful lawyer, sister of a famous entrepreneur, it only made sense that the blonde would make a name for herself. It didn't just make sense, it was expected of her. Instead of having to take up any of the things that made her family members so notable, she lucked out and was able to do something that she actually didn't hate: being a celebrity matchmaker. She was 'the' couple maker in Hollywood; Selena and Justin, Adam and Behati; Katy and John. It didn't matter if the couples would last, all that mattered was that they were able to get together in the first place. Despite this, she still managed to boast a seventy-six percent success rate in couples lasting more than a year. She figured that if a couple was able to make it that long, then her job was done at that point; the longevity of their relationship beyond then was up to them.
"Blondie, a client wants to speak to you. Now," a tanned woman appeared in the doorway to Quinn's office.
"Can I get a name?" Quinn questioned without looking up from the stack of papers she was sorting through on her desk. So many requests for relationship advice, interviews and new matchmaking profiles – "and did you actually sort through these, Santana?"
"Three times, actually. I figured you'd want to take a look at those though. Pretty high profile cases in there. Joe Jonas and Zayn Malik, for example."
"Yuck, boy bands. But I actually didn't mind the Jonas Brothers, so maybe I'll put Joe's at the top of the file."
"Good look. And yeah – would you like his real name or my nickname? The latter is commendably creative, if I do say so myself."
Quinn smirked, straightening one stack of papers she finished looking through. "I'm sure it is, but it can wait until tonight. I think a few drinks would allow me to appreciate it more."
"True. Well, we have one impatiently desperate Finn Hudson on hold for you."
"Hudson?" The name did ring a bell, but if she was honest with herself, Quinn knew her knowledge of celebrities barely went beyond the realm of actors or singers.
"Footballer. He's the backup quarterback for the San Diego Chargers. Second string," Santana provided. "The interns already told him that most requests undergo consideration for about a week before we decide to go forth with the matchmaking process, but he refused to wait. He just kept calling back after being told the same thing over and over again. It's really fucking pathetic if you ask me, you ought to –"
"Thank you, San," Quinn managed to stop the Latina before she could get any further. "I'll take his call just so he can stop disturbing my interns."
"Okay. Cool. He's just been transferred to line four. Have fun with the asshole," Santana smiled, the small glint in her eyes not going unnoticed by Quinn who returned the sarcastic gesture with her own lopsided smile before picking up the phone to the left of her papers.
"Hi, Quinn Fabray speaking."
"Ms. Fabray! H-Hi there, this is Finn Hudson!"
"Yes, I'm aware. I heard you've spoken more to my interns today than I probably have since they started working here."
"Oh, no, I mean – I called back a few times but I never meant to bother anybody. Sorry."
"It's okay. Well, I'm sure you've been calling today for a reason. What can I do for you, Mr. Hudson?"
"Uh, well, I, uh, I know you're like, super good at getting people together. So I called to see if you can help me."
"I see. Well, Mr. Hudson, I'm sure most people aren't aware of this, but every client's case that gets put on my desk goes through extensive analysis beforehand. You know, probability of success, difficulty, data collection for compatibility profiles, and so forth, so I'm afraid that at this very moment, I can't do much to help you–"
"Wait! Please, I-I'm not trying to be a nuisance, I just, it's just that I don't have much time to even try this thing." Quinn frowned a little, taking the pen on her desk and resting its capped tip at the corner of her mouth.
"What do you mean?"
"She's only going to be in California for about five months, tops. The girl – her name's Rachel – she's only here to work on some indie film, but apparently she's a Broadway star."
"Rachel? Rachel who?"
"I… I don't know." Quinn sighed as she leaned back into her cushioned, leather desk chair.
"So what's the deal here, Hudson?"
"I don't understand?"
"I mean, what would I get out of this if I decide to go out of my way to help you? You're telling me that this is urgent, and to be clear about how much of an exception I'd be making, any other case would probably take a month or more to compile all the information we'd need to go about this logically, as we usually would. You want me to help you win this girl's heart with as little as her first name and some vague details on her career?"
"I-I can pay you extra!" Quinn took the end of the pen between her teeth. Money was normally the answer she'd be looking for, but the quarterback's nervousness seemed to affect her conviction.
"…Don't worry about that."
"Really, so you'll do it then? You'll help me?"
"I never said all that. Just – do you have anything more than her first name? Like, where she lives, by any chance?"
"No?"
"Jesus Christ, do you even remember meeting the woman?!"
"Yes! Yes, I do! Very vaguely, I'll admit, but I saw her at a bar." Quinn felt her patience slowly starting to wither.
"And?"
"And… I also vaguely remember her telling me that she was staying with a friend. With a guy… a gay guy friend," Finn emphasized before Quinn managed to jump in with a comment, "she said he was a fashion designer… um, I can't think of – wait, Kurt! That was his name."
"Are you sure?"
"As sure as I can be."
"Well great. Now I have Broadway, the fashion industry, and the names Kurt and Rachel to go off of." Quinn couldn't help the sarcasm. It was a habit she couldn't break since high school.
"And Kurt's gay."
"You act like there aren't millions of gays in California," Quinn deadpanned.
"Uh, well they can't all be named Kurt, can they?"
"I'm sure a few thousand of them are."
"Okay, you win."
"Great! Does that mean I can pretend I imagined this call?"
"Wait, what? No! I was being serious, I really, really need your help and –"
"Hey, hey, I'm just messing with you. I'll do it, okay?" Quinn could picture the footballer silently fist-pumping to himself. "And I won't charge extra. Unless you can't come through with your end of things."
"My end?"
"Look, just do as I say and this whole thing should work out in your favor. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Okay. Good. Anticipate getting a call from me in the next two days. I'll try to do what I can in terms of building her profile and background together in order to determine you guys' compatibility. Send me anything you think I should know about you to help your case via email please." Quinn ended the call before Finn could say anything else, and honestly, she felt like slapping herself after realizing what exactly she had done.
"Shit."
She reached for her MacBook, thinking about the few contacts she had in New York. She was sure at least one of them would have connections to the theatre circle. As she waited for her laptop to start up, her eyes mindlessly roamed the interior of her office, suddenly coming to a pause to take in the list of rules, which she coined herself for her line of work, laminated and resting on the wall next to the door. She keyed in on number seven – 'never force a couple'. She honestly had no clue who either Finn or Rachel were. Their careers already seemed incompatible, especially since Finn would be traveling all around the country with his team and Rachel would be stuck in New York. Long distance barely worked these days.
Returning her attention to her laptop, Quinn had no clue that rule seven wasn't the only code of conduct she'd end up breaking. Six spots above, and undoubtedly the most important of them all, was rule number one: never fall in love with a client's match.