Author's Note: Rest assured, it's not drug addiction.
Prologue
"Quinn, you have an addiction."
Well, that much she already knows. When she thinks about it, it doesn't come as a surprise. She's known it for a long time, and she's established a system that makes her function normally in society. Life is good for her. That is, until she meets Rachel.
"-months for this project. Our client's company is going down under and we're basically one of their last strategies to keep them afloat. Weston, you'll be in charge of logistics, Hudson, finances, St. James you'll take procurement and Fabray, you're in charge of the whole operation."
That sounds like a tall order if her slowly raising eyebrow indicates anything. "And, you said how long?" She asks sceptically.
"Maximum four months. They're not going to be able to afford us for more than that." Schuester flips through pages in his folders and finds a booklet the blonde is reluctant to take. However, she is a professional as she takes the financial statement with no emotion shown in her features.
"You couldn't have gotten more people on board?" she says with a hint of blame.
"They wished to not risk their reputation on the line. Think of what other companies would do if they found out their biggest competitor is on the brink of bankruptcy."
As the special reinforcement, as the industry would say, the best of the best is called in times of need. Quinn accepted the assignment just last week just as her last project finished. They have specially requested her for the past month but it is not like her to drop something right in the middle of a crisis in search of something better.
Though she highly doubted the numbers that was offered to her in the beginning, after being sent the details she understood the circumstances and stated that she will wrap her project as fast as she could push her team. The team made it with long hours put in, exhaustion to a nearly physical state of breakdown, but they made it and the project was a success. Every single individual who had shed tears and sweat of hard work were praised for their labour and offered a stepping stone for a promotion. No one doubts that Quinn Fabray is the best in the field.
She flips through the latest financial statement and wonders how she is going to pull this one through.
"They're expecting you in two weeks. They've been more than lenient towards you, Fabray. Seems like you really are their last hope. You've our company's name on the line." Schuester gathers his belongings, bid the four farewell and went off on his way.
"Double shot of espresso vanilla latte for Quinn?" Someone chimes at their table and from her peripheral vision, she feels rather than sees a blinding light of a smile.
"Mine," she mumbles as her eyes are still transfixed on the unsolvable puzzle. 'No time for distraction this time, I guess' she thinks to herself.
"Anything else I can get you guys?" a melodious voice sings her offer.
"How bout a short cup hot of chocolate and her name?" Brody doesn't take his time in pouncing on the waitress.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think that's on the menu." Her voice still resounds with the fake cheery sing-song Quinn knows so well from waiters living on tips. "May I offer you something else?"
"How about your number, sweetheart?" St. James leans forward on his elbow. Quinn fights the urge to roll her eyes as she skims through the consolidations statement.
"I'm sorry. I'm not allowed to do that, it would get me into a lot of trouble."
Hudson tries to take his own shot at the waitress. "Wouldn't you like to have a bit of trouble?" His three co-workers, including Quinn, look at him in confusion. "What?"
"That's very sweet of you boys, but I do have to inform you that I'm happily attached. So if there's nothing else-"
"Can I get another one of these?" Quinn finally turns to the waitress and immediately drowns in soulful cocoa eyes. She blinks her surprise as she feels rather ashamed that she has to agree with her team. Asking for her name and number is anything but ridiculous right now.
Much to her surprise, the tiny little waitress has this timid shy smile as she looks up from her eyelashes to gaze at only her. "Uhm. You're not- You haven't even touched your drink."
Her eyes move to the drink that has just been delivered and she fights her own internal battle. 'It's scalding hot, you idiot, don't you even dare down it in one go.'
She looks back at the waitress, who's, surprisingly, adorably, biting her lip in anticipation. Quinn straightens her shoulders offers a polite smile as the fleeting thought of her name going bankrupt along with the project she has just been handed over passes her mind. "I mean, I'd like you to keep it coming. I'll be here a while and I need all the caffeine shots that's legally consumed."
When the boys leave, Quinn finds herself unable to focus and decides to take the seat that faces her back from the restaurant's counter. Plugging one earphone at a time, she turns on her music, blasting the sound of the world away from her mind, and finally, for the first time she has set foot in restaurant, she is able to concentrate and develop her strategy for her upcoming disaster.
Quinn is really gone from the world. She doesn't notice how the bright warm glow of the sun has left for the day and how her cup is magically refilled with delicious amount of caffeine every time it touches her mouth. The only thing that finally shakes her from her concentration is a soft hand that barely grazes her neck before settling itself on her shoulder.
Quinn jumps as if thunder struck her core, effectively knocking everything on her table scattered on the floor. Her eyes widen in horror as her half cup of coffee stains the sheets that she has been working on in the past few hours. "Shit!" She scrambles to her feet as she picks up the leftover coffee and putting it back on the table, before going after her masterpiece-in-progress. A slur of curse words repeats under her breath as her brain goes on overdrive. She doesn't even register the string of apologies panicking beside her or the waft of lavender scented cologne striking her senses.
In her state of panic, once she has all her papers in one hand, she grabs a fistful of her white blouse with the intention of wiping the coffee stains when a firm but small hand stops her trance.
"It's my fault, let me." The waitress from earlier grabs her apron and proceeds to wipe the parchments carefully, so as to not tear the already fragile objects in her hands.
Quinn only has just realized how hard her heart has been thumping and how shaky her hands are when she thought that all her work has gone to waste.
"I'm so sorry, Quinn. I really didn't mean to scare you, I wasn't aware that you were so deep in your thoughts-" The words come out as a string haste of apology and guilt.
She finally calms her breathing as she takes her seat again, burying her face in her hand. "Fuck…" she mumbles. She's going to have to do it all over again. More time waste on just copying rather than creating new strategies. 'As if I'm not in any time pressure at all, thanks God,' she thinks to herself.
"I-I-I'll rewrite them for you-" the waitress offers, her eyes now glossing over.
She sighs deeply. No one can read her writing when she brainstorms. Hell, sometimes even she can't.
"Don't worry about," she finally lets out. "It's not a big deal." A soft smile forms on her lips when her usual stoic takes over.
The girl doesn't stop trying to dry the papers. Quinn knows that it's a waste of time and reaches out for her hand to stop her.
"Hey," she says with a heavy heart. "Hey, it's okay. They're just papers."
"But you've been working so hard on them and I completely ruin it with one single touch."
"I'll do them again," she sighs. "Besides, I have what I need right here." She points at her head and tries to shake the girl to look at her. 'Oh wow,' she thinks to herself when she feels powerless against a glossy brown eyes, pouty lips and guilt written all over her waitress' face.
"Stop it." She forces herself to smile. Pretending isn't hard for her after the years of having to deal with numerous amounts of clients that she has to basically bootcamp herself into being cordial with.
"But Quinn-"
A frown flashes her eyebrows when she realizes that she doesn't even know the girl's name. "It really is alright. It's really nothing to worry about." She resigns herself to the fact that she'll be redoing her work over night to save time for tomorrow. Quinn gathers her still wet papers and delicately puts them in a plastic folder before hiding them away in her bag.
"I'm so sorry, Quinn."
It's funny the way the waitress keeps saying Quinn over and over again. With every mention of her name, she realizes that she can't even begin to blame the girl for what has happened.
"Look," she forces out a chuckle, "don't worry about it. Let's just say that you owe me a cup of coffee and we're even."
"I don't believe that that is an equivalent exchange for your important papers."
"Well, that's all I'm offering, either you take it, or leave it," she flirts as she adds a wink at the end of her statement. After years of working with people, she realizes that she has an advantage with her beauty. It's not something that she's proud of, she'd much rather be respected for her ability and knowledge, but she can't deny that it has got her out of trouble when she needs it. And this is not trouble that she wants to deal with at the moment.
Again, the waitress turns all timid and shy as she suddenly finds her shoes much more interesting than Quinn. "Okay," she replies in a whisper and a small nod.
She sighs. 'Works like a charm.'
Quinn walks over to the counter to pay for her tab and refuses when the tiny brunette tries to pay for it. "If you paid, we'd be even, and I'd like to save that for another time." Quinn smiles. She doesn't know how much coffee she has been consuming but she knows that the girl's paycheck would probably be barely enough to cover for her day's worth of caffeine. Her clients know her as the sharp steel of strategist as well as her unswayable frozen determination, not many know that she has the heart of a lamb.
"I'll see you around," Quinn takes out her hand out of habit than anything every time she leaves a place.
The girl shakes her hand, head still bowed in guilt.
As the blonde leaves the restaurant, someone calls out her name again. "Quinn! I don't have your number."
She sighs deeply before turning around. "I'll find you." If anything, she really does not want to see the girl again, already predicting how much trouble the girl is worth. Her life has been peaceful. She's a master strategist and she does not bother with variables that could ruin her system.
A flash of disappointment shines in deep brown eyes and surprisingly, it's her turn to feel guilty as she lost count of how many forced smiles she has to create today, before turning around and heading to her car.
'Told you,' she thinks to herself, 'trouble.'