AN: Hi there! This is my first attempt. I promise it'll pick up from here
Credit goes to lovely Jane Austen for being my inspiration.
If he is rude, conceited and arrogant, he is a douche, not Mr. Darcy. He is not mysterious because he refuses to talk to anyone, he is not contemplating the pleasure of your beautiful eyes when he spends his time keeping the wall from falling instead of dancing with you, he may be shy but that does not justify him saying you are not handsome enough to tempt him. It is not commendable pride when he thinks himself above the rest. He is a douche, not Mr. Darcy.
Now I owe you an explanation.
Mother used to say I spend too much time inside my favorite four walls, the so called library. She used to say I should go out and make real friends; she was under the impression that Elizabeth, Emma, Marianne, Fanny, Catherine and Anne, were not enough. She also used to say that if I was out to catch my Mr. Darcy, I probably wouldn't find him between my precious bookshelves. Now, I don't like to speak ill of the dead, but she was wrong.
Mother and I were never the best of friends, she was a former super model with an Economy Major, beauty and brains, she used to say, until I came along and messed up her figure. Of course I grew up to be the complete opposite, not that I'm stupid (just checking). We had our first fall out when I was in Junior High and refused to wear the dress and make up she decided would be perfect for home coming; Mother thought it was bubbly and flirtatious, I thought it was too red, and completely not age appropriate. Dad couldn't care less, and everything went down the hill from there.
I don't think I surprised anyone when I left to Major in English, still Mother couldn't held her horses, she was convinced I would drive us to ruin, there was no way I'd inherit dad's company because I don't know the first thing about stalk management, and with my nonexistent social life odds were I would never get married and provide an heir to their empire. She had a thing for overreacting, you see.
Anyway, a year after I came back home, she passed away from cancer, never forgiving the fact that she didn't have a chance to meet her grandchildren, not that she thought she would be getting any. I don't want to sound like a heartless b*tch, I mean, I was sad when she died, I was sorry to see her gone, but my life didn't change that much. There was less yelling in the house, specially directed at me, we were able to eat whatever we fancied instead of all the extra balanced super low fat meals Mother had the cook preparing, dad spent even more time locked up in his home office… apart from that, everything was pretty much the same.
I wasn't use to spend time with Mother, she never brushed my hair or read my a bed time story, she never went to one of my open classes, I never told her about my day at school and the obnoxious girls that bothered me, she never knew about my first kiss, we never had the talk when I was a teenager, I never cried my broken heart out on her shoulder, we never talked about my hopes and dreams; all I know is she wanted me to be beautiful, sparkly, more like her and less like myself, get married and have kids, ASAP.
When I came back from school, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life; for some time I entertained the thought of being a writer, a novelist, actually. I gave it a go, but dad wanted me to have a real job instead of lazing around the house with my lap top. The natural thing for me to do was to apply for a job at the local library, after all, I had spent my childhood and teenage awkward years in there and I knew it like the back of my hand. It was so hard to convince them that I wanted a normal low profile job because my family has been a major patron of that library since way before my father was born. Anyway, I ended up getting two part time positions, one as registration and data base manager and one as an assistant in funding and public relations. I suspect the later had something to do with my last name.
This would be a good time to introduce myself; my name is Amelia Geraldine Vance Alderford, but when I was twelve I started going by the name of Gerry. OK, maybe I just convinced Mrs. Brown, the house keeper, and Mrs. Díaz, the cook to call me that, but everyone at the University and work picked it up quite nicely. My father, Maxwell Carson Bennet Alderford is CEO to Alderford Holdings and owns most of it along with COO Gavin Thomas Baxter – Uncle Gavin – although he is not really my uncle.
My mother, Katherine Marie Vance, apart from what I have already told you, was the typical socialite, heiress to the Vance fortune and the life of the party. Everyone thought she was going to be a trophy wife until she left for her Economy Major and settled down after marring my father, changing the runway for the VP office at Vance Corp. Luckily for me, my mother's family has everything under control and no one expects me to sit in that board.
Alderford Holdings it's a completely different story. Dad's only brother was a General in the Army and got killed before having a family of his own, luck has it that I'm the last Alderford. I'm not worried about the future of the company though, that's what we have Uncle Gavin and his sons for.
Besides, I am not as clueless as my mother had me made out; the one condition for my English Major was for me to minor in business management so I can sit at A. H. board and keep an eye on things when dad retires. I'm not happy with the plan but ever since I was fifteen I've had a weekly chat about family loyalty and our responsibility to give back to the community, and I know it is kind of my responsibility to make sure the show keeps running under the very capable hands of everyone that works there.
When I got into college I wanted to distance myself from my parents' shadows, so I kind of changed my name. My mother really went to town with it and I was scared of being within a five mile radius from her; my dad only asked that I kept my real name for all legal purposes because it would be a pain to deal with changing all the required documents. And now I'm just boring you, just call me Gerry Bennet, and I swear that the Bennet came from my grandmother's maiden name, and not my obsession with Jane Austen.
Anyway, since I've already started with the writing thing, and promised an explanation as to why in hell was I ranting about a jerk that is definitely not Mr. Darcy, I guess I should get on with it.