Santana was the most successful person she knew. She was the CEO of a massive PR firm that handled millions of dollars of product and merchandise a day. They handled the biggest names in entertainment and media. She was captain of her empire at the tender age of twenty-three.
In college she worked full time for this company's LA firm and transferred to the New York firm when she graduated, making her way to the top only a year later. She wasn't just good at what she did, she was great. She was feared, loved, and hated, but she didn't care.
Everyday she'd stare out the window of her high-rise office and wonder where was she? Was she happy? Did she graduate from the dance academy? Where was she now?
For a long time she kept track of her. Santana would call and ask their mutual friends how she was and what she was up to. That faded out when she started working here. Her world revolved around the firm. Her office was her home and her apartment was her place to sleep.
She managed current singer-songwriter superstar Noah Puckerman, Broadway stunner Rachel Berry, and R&B diva Mercedes Jones. She ran PR for Hummel Fashion House. She had a Chief Operations Officer who was almost as feared as she was. Quinn Fabray ran her division with an efficiency that finally managed to gain Santana's respect and eventual friendship.
"Mark," Santana said with her phone to her ear, her personal assistant on the other line, "Look up the best private investigator in the city. I need them to find someone." The second she hung up the phone it rang again. She answered it, "Yeah?"
"Miss Fabray to see you," her new secretary told her.
Santana rolled her eyes, "I already told you. When Quinn wants to come into my office, she can come into my office."
"I-I-I'm sorry Miss. Lopez," her secretary stuttered.
Santana dropped the phone in its cradle and started to look through one of the files on her desk. Quinn walked in a few seconds later. She plopped down into the chair in front of Santana's desk and tossed a file onto Santana's desk, "If you didn't harass your secretaries, it wouldn't be so hard to keep a good one."
"I don't harass my secretaries," Santana picked up the file Quinn threw to her.
The blonde shook her head, "You went Naomi Watts on your last one."
"Allegedly," Santana peered over the file, "Why did you bring me this?"
Quinn leaned back in the chair putting her feet up on the desk, "He wants to know if we'll represent him. I know you don't like him….for making out with Brittany in high school, but his dance group is gaining popularity like you wouldn't believe."
"You're right I wouldn't believe it," Santana dropped the file on her desk, "Get your feet off of my desk."
Quinn ignored her and took out her Blackberry. She punched a few buttons and handed it to Santana, "His group's Facebook and Twitter pages have over a million followers. I'll bet my job that he'll be turning a huge profit in four months."
"Can I get that in writing?" Santana looked over the page and handed it back.
"You need me too much to fire me even if I'm wrong," Quinn took her phone back and stood up, "C'mon I need your yes or no."
"Fine," Santana shrugged, "But I can't promise that I'll be at his welcome party."
"You never come to anyone's welcome party," Quinn toss over her shoulder as she walked out. She called over her shoulder, "Go home. It's after six."
The brunette sighed. She probably should leave. It was only a few minutes after six and that was pretty early for her to be leaving, but she'd finished all the work she needed to do for the day. She gathered her things and hoped that it didn't take too long to hail a cab.
Santana walked into her massive loft. She dropped her keys on the table by the front door and dropped her bag on the ground. Before she flipped on the lights, she momentarily thought of just going back to her office. She shook her head at herself. Quinn was right. She needed a life.
She dropped onto the couch and fumbled around trying to turn on the lamp. She'd only had it for a few days. She had to buy it after she hurled the only one at the wall. The maintenance guy shook his head while he fixed the dent in her wall and the maid acted like it was the natural thing in the world.
She slowly walked to her bedroom. At the doorway, she stopped and placed on hand on each side of it. She'd bought a king sized bed to make the massive room look less empty. All it really managed to do was make her feel more alone.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw a text from her personal assistant. It was the contact information for the PI she wanted. She immediately called the number although the PI office was probably closed.
"Nick Chase," the man on the phone answered, surprising her, "Can I help you?"
"Yeah, I need the best PI you have to find someone for me," Santana fell back on the bed.
"Okay well we charge-"
"I don't care what you charge," Santana cut him off, "I want your best person."
The man paused, "Okay well let me get your information and we'll have in investigator meet with you tomorrow."
Santana rattled off the address of her office, "What time should I expect him?"
"She'll be there at nine," the man answered.
"Okay," Santana answered and hung up. She looked up at the ceiling. She listened for any sign of life in her loft or next door. There was none and she sighed heavily. She needed to get a dog or something.
She was at her office again a little before eight in the morning with Quinn. They were both on the phone with different people, but they were talking about the same thing. A crisis had swept over the office. The crisis's name was Rachel Berry.
"I swear to god if Berry makes one more stupid comment or storms out for not winning a Tony we're going to drop her…then I'm going to kill her," Santana spewed.
Quinn yells into the phone, "Who do I have to pay to get her a goddamn Tony?"
"I'm going to throw her out of a window."
"Who do I have to threaten to get her a Tony?"
"Then tie her to some train tracks."
"Who do I have to sleep with to get her a Tony?…okay that is so not happening…"
They hung up at the same time and stared angrily at Santana's desk. Quinn was the first to speak, "I'm calling her to my office. We need to have a little chat."
"Good," Santana nodded, "Tell me when she's coming. I want to watch. You two go at it like alley cats."
Quinn broke out in the smile, "Whatever."
Santana's intercom buzzed. "There's a PI here to see you, Ms. Lopez."
Santana pressed the intercom button and replied, "Send her in."
"PI?" Quinn asked, her eyes flickering to the door.
"Yeah," Santana nodded, "Go call Rachel and get her into your office so you two can verbally abuse each other until you both feel so bad she'll do what we want."
The blonde rolled her eyes as the door opened. A woman in a gray form-fitting suit walked in. Her black hair was up in a ponytail and she was carrying a leather messenger bag over her shoulder. Quinn eyed her before walking out and closing the door behind her.
Santana shook the woman's hand, "I'm Santana Lopez."
"Nora Wynant," the woman replied and sat down in one of the two chairs in front of Santana's desk.
Santana lowered herself in to her chair, "You're the PI?"
"Yes," she took out a notepad and stated matter-of-factly, "The best one in the city." She referred to her notepad, "Who do you want me to find? Full name."
Santana leaned back in her chair, "Brittany Susan Pierce."
"Last known location?" she asked, jotting things down on the little notepad.
Santana shrugged, "She lived in Santa Barbara a few years ago, but she moved to New York. Now I have no idea."
The PI stood up, "Occupation?"
"Dancer?" Santana answered unsure, "At least it was when she moved here."
"It's my legal obligation to tell you that if this person has a restraining order against you that I'm barred from finding her for you," the PI rattled off like she'd said it a million times.
Santana stood with her and shook her head, "No I-she just moved. We grew apart…"
Nora nodded, "Alright, well I'll let you know of my progress tomorrow."
"That's fast," Santana commented as the woman made her way to the door.
"I am the best," the woman stated with little emotion and walked out the door.
It wasn't an hour later that Santana was refereeing a screaming match between Rachel and Quinn. She sat at Quinn's desk while the other two stood in front of it trading insults and trying to tear each other down. She couldn't help, but smile. This was pretty hilarious to watch. She knew it would never come to blows. It never did.
"Okay," she finally stood up when she started to worry that people down the street could hear, "Let's tone it down a little."
Rachel crossed her arms and huffed as she sat down on the couch in Quinn's office. Quinn took a deep breath and leaned on her desk.
"You can't keep telling people that you should have won the Tony. You need to bow out gracefully and congratulate whoever wins," Santana explained evenly.
"But I deserved it," Rachel whined.
Quinn nodded slowly, "Yeah you did, but awards nowadays are getting more and more political, but Marion Cotillard was really good too."
"Be happy you were nominated," Santana added, "There are thousands of actresses on Broadway and you were in the five that were nominated."
At the look on Rachel's face, Santana knew she said something that she shouldn't have. Rachel went off again, ranting about how she was better than thousands of other actresses and how she worked harder and she deserved it.
"Rach," Quinn finally got her to calm down, by placing a hand on Rachel's forearm, "Listen, you definitely deserve it. You're talented and beautiful and intelligent. You will win one someday."
Rachel thought it over. "Fine."
Quinn smiled, "Great. How about I take our best client out to lunch?"
"Perfect," Rachel smiled back.
Santana shook her head at the two. They could go from screaming at each other to taking each other out to lunches and dinner, talking like they're best friends. It was weird.
Santana spend the rest of the day and most of the evening in her office, negotiating deals and putting out fires caused by celebrities who got a little tipsy and decided to drunk tweet.
By the time she was done for the day, Santana needed coffee just to get home. If she didn't have the next day off she would have just slept at her office. She stepped into the deserted coffee shop that she sent her PA to all the time. The coffee was delicious and always strong.
As usual, when she wasn't speaking to someone her face was buried in her Blackberry. At the moment she was checking Twitter for any unapproved tweets.
"Can I help you?" the barista asked.
Santana nodded, "Um, just a large of whatever has the most caffeine in it." She didn't wait for him to tell her the price before she handed over her credit card.
"Alright Ms. Lopez," he said happily, "It'll be ready in about two minutes."
She glanced up at him to thank him and take her card back. She had a seat at one of the small round tables and proceeded to log into Rachel Berry's Twitter account to delete her last tweet offering Gwyneth Paltrow voice lessons.
"Here ya go," the guy set the coffee on her table.
"Thanks," Santana put her phone away and stood with her coffee in hand. She turned and placed her hand on the frost handle of the door. When she pushed it open the door, the cold air rushed in making her pause to tighten the scarf around her neck.
"Hey Brandon. Where is the key to the back door?"
Santana looked over her shoulder, wondering if her ears were deceiving her. Perhaps a symptom of sleep deprivation.
She realized that if she was hearing things, she was seeing things too. Standing in the middle of the doorway behind the counter was Brittany.