Disclaimer! Nomnomnom. I don't own, but I'd like to? Yeah, trick. Title Credit to A Little Less Conversation by Elvis. Hell yeah.

Thanks for checking the story out, everyone! c:

A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action - Chapter One.

The glass door shut behind Julian and Brooke counted to thirty before letting out a breath and uncrossing her arms. She liked him, she really, really liked the guy, but he could get her worked up like no one else.

Brooke cast a glance across her store at the latest rack of high school clothes. She'd done more, but they had already been taken to Tric. And Julian hadn't thought that those ones were too gimmicky, so how could these ones be any worse? Besides, they looked exactly as she remembered them, exactly as they looked in the pictures she had of them. He was just doing it on purpose. She should quit. Oh, that would throw him. She squared her shoulders stubbornly and smiled at herself at the small mirror she had sitting on the sales desk. She'd do it. She'd quit the movie, at least for a while. It was all she needed to bring Julian to his knees.

That and her newest creation. Julian was the world's biggest fool for cleavage. Most guys were so, at the very least, she'd be able to pick up some other guy.

Brooke rolled her eyes at herself and dropped down onto a stool. She was fooling herself – not only was Julian totally unshakable when it came to girls (especially, and she had to admit it with a bit of pride, her) and this was Lucas' movie. And that was high school Brooke. She wouldn't give Julian or that skeevy director or whatever the sort of satisfaction that would come with her turning back into that. She cared about Lucas, but not enough to spend more time around that man than she really needed to.

Brooke caught sight of herself in the mirror again and reached forward abruptly to knock the mirror flat on her reflection.

The sound of the mirror flattening on the counter was almost loud enough to block out the sound of lazy Tree Hill traffic in the brief minute between the door opening and its shutting.

She wasn't about to miss the sound of heels clicking on the store's floor.

At first she thought it might have been Peyton or Haley or even Deb, but when she saw the reflection of the intruder in the shiny countertop, warped because of the whiteness, she stood abruptly.

"I'm sorry," Brooke said cordially with her practiced apologetic smile, "We're closed."

The girl had sleek white sunglasses on and was smartly dressed in an electric blue tubedress with white high heels. It could have been a Brooke Davis original. It wasn't.

She smirked and pulled the glasses off, showing dark, almost navy blue, eyes. "Please, Davis. I just saw some guy leave here."

"Excuse me?" Brooke stared at the girl.

The girl tilted her head cattily. "I guess you're even more openthan I thought." She gave Brooke a fleeting onceover, a disdainful look in her eyes.

Brooke glared at her. Set her jaw, cocked her hip, and crossed her arms. Oh, if that was how she wanted to do it, well, Brooke practically invented the game. "What is your problem, exactly?"

"Well, I was looking for a 'Brooke Davis'." Actually threw up air quotes.

Brooke mimicked her tone. "Well, you found her."

"Good, aren't I?"

Brooke shook her head in disgust. "Even if we were open to the general public, I'd refuse you service." She emphasized 'general public' as if it made the whole difference. Because it sort of did.

She laughed like something had actually amused her. Brooke had a good sense of humor and she was sure that nothing she had just said had been funny. "I don't really do the chain look. Anyway. You're friends with Rachel Gatina, right?"

Chain look? This bitch had the nerve of coming into her store and —

It crossed Brooke's mind, albeit belatedly, that something might be wrong with Rachel. "Why? Did something happen? Is something wrong?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"It's not a yes." And, really, it wasn't. Rachel had stolen Brooke's money and had accounted for many sleepless nights about her welfare and that was just within the past year or so. She didn't really care, she was just curious about how Rachel had turned out.

"I'm going to take it as one anyway."

Brooke came out from around the counter, hands going to her hips. "Why are you looking for her?"

Despite her words, she missed the desk immensely. It was solid and geometric and it separated her from the other girl. She felt open and vulnerable without it and took a calming breath. There was no way she was that paranoid, not after everything that she'd gone through. She should be stronger than that. Braver than that.

The girl showed off two rows of perfectly straight, white teeth. Brooke wanted to punch them out. "You know what, Davis? I'll play this your way – I'm not looking for her."

In the end, she decided to maintain the mood, keep Dean talking. She didn't know him at all, and—what was that saying? Know thy enemy. Enemy, if that was what Dean even was. If that was what you could be with such a looming expiry date—and expiry date, like Dean was milk about to sour.

"Then get out of my store."

She looked like she wasn't going to leave at first, like Brooke had caught her off guard. And then the smirk was back. "If that's what you want…" She went to leave, pausing just inside the store. Close enough to have a hand on the door handle.

"Just remember Brooke," the girl said, turning back around and sliding her sunglasses back on. "Rachel had a life before Tree Hill."

Brooke thought of her former employee and dug her nails into her hips through her shirt. Thought about grabbing the nearest pile of clothes and throwing them, or at least the hangers they were on, at the girl's retreating back. Then remembered that she'd have to clean up the expensive mess.

In the end, she decided to keep the anger that was writhing in her stomach like a snake. Brooke didn't know the girl at all – only that she knew Rachel, and even that was a sort of loose cannon line of connection – and Rachel. Brooke grabbed her purse and her keys from the desk and locked the store behind her as she hurried to find Julian.

He'd sure as hell had better changed his views on her clothing by the time she got to Tric.