Damned If You Don't
Disclaimer: Hey all! I realize it has been a very long time since I have updated my page with a new fanfic. I haven't updated Deep Blue or Southern Sweetness yet & I apologize for making you wait as I have gotten many messages about finishing the stories. I will get around to them when I feel motivated BUT in the mean time I have been working on something new so I figured I'd post a bit of it to see what you think. Please R&R, let me know if you'd like more! Means a lot, thanks all & sorry for the long hiatus! :)
Chapter One.
"Fuck," I yelp as I prick my finger with the unforgiving sewing needle. Holding my finger up to eye level I slowly squeeze the wound and let the blood drip on to the floor, "Son of a bitch..." I mumble to myself in frustration. My first day has not been going so well in the WWE. I just got a full time job as a costume designer, my dream job I should say, and I am beginning to wonder how many ways I can fuck up on the first day. As if spilling coffee on the boss, tripping and twisting my ankle, and now stabbing myself isn't enough; I have a deadline to get this costume design done for a top WWE Diva. Let me tell you, "Divas" they are indeed.
"ALAINA!" I hear an obnoxious squeal from down the hall, and I already know who it is. I quickly shuffle to get things in order, sticking my bloody finger in my mouth and sucking away at the metallic taste in hopes of making it look presentable. The door swings open and in comes Michelle McCool and all her glory. Tall, toned, tan and blond, truly a sight to see- but a horror to work with. "Alaina, honey- I know it is your first day but my ring attire is on the line here. I don't know why in the hell I am the test subject here!" She mutters defiantly as she grazes the costume design with her heated hazel eyes. "What is this?" she asks as she pinches a piece of loose thread. I roll my eyes knowing full well she can't see, and when she looks up I plaster a big fake smile on my face.
"Michelle I am not quite finished yet. I called you down here to get a final measurement of your bust line so I can make sure it fits you... flawlessly." I mutter and throw as much emphasis on the last word as I can, hoping she'll appreciate my little joke. I watch what I can of the televised series, and I know that Michelle calls herself "flawless" every chance she gets. After working with her, I am starting to believe she thinks it is true.
She huffs and drops her purse to the side, "Alright but make it quick, I'm suppose to be meeting my fiance in a few minutes. I was really hoping we'd have this done by now Alaina... not the best first impression if you ask me!" I grab my fabric tape measure and wrap it around Michelle's chest, taking note of the huge diamond ring on her left ring finger. Boyfriend must be loaded, I think to myself as I write down my measurements.
"Don't worry, Michelle. I'm confident it will turn out perfect."
"It better," she states with authority as she grabs her bag and turns on her heel. As she is about to make her way out the door she is stopped in her tracks by a huge man covered arm to arm in tattoos. His piercing green eyes stare down at her and his lips flatten into a hard line. I haven't started working on any male wrestling attire yet, so I assume the big man is not here to see me. I grab another sewing needle and place it between my teeth as I attempt to mind my business.
"Chelle, you really could use an attitude adjustment sometimes girl." He grunts deeply as he rolls his eyes at her. I perk up as I can feel those eyes burning a hole into me. "You must be the new costume designer," he states as he makes his way towards me, extending his huge hand. "Mark Calaway. I like to introduce myself to the new faces around here."
I slowly place my hand in his as he tightens his grip around it, "Alaina," I say blandly, trying to avoid his heated gaze. "Nice to meet you, Alaina. Please forgive my finance here- sometimes she forgets her manners." Michelle lets out a deep sigh as she folds her arms over her chest in protest. I shrug nonchalantly, as much as my subconscious would like to do cartwheels and flip the bitch off, I am not about to piss off my clientele. Not today anyway, today couldn't be much worse than it is.
"Come," he demands as he breaks his crippling stare from me and burns holes into Michelle's once fiery hazel eyes. Now they have gone cloudy and she submits to this huge man like a beaten puppy. Then again, who wouldn't submit? However I for a split second feel almost sorry for the girl as she looks slightly terrified exiting the dressing room. I take the needle out of my mouth and with a bit of confusion shake my head. As if you know anything about their relationship I think to myself as I resume my work.