Disclaimer: I do not own anything that has a patent or any cocktail recipes. Unfortunately, so does my bank account is also aware of this sad fact. Also, as a warning, this story currently does not have a beta so all mistakes are mine. Rated M for Santana's mouth and suggestive situations.

Author's note: This is a repost of story I had deleted due to writer's block (but it's back, permanently, this time). This is going to most likely be a very slow burn Santana/Brittany story. All other characters and couples will make an appearance—mostly canon.

Enjoy!

Sidecar

Easy and classic starter cocktail.

Need: 1 lemon (cut in half), sugar, ice, 3 oz. of Cognac, 1.5 oz. of Lemon Juice, 1.5 oz. of Orange Liquor.

How to Make: Rim the glasses with lemon and sugar. Fill shaker half way with ice, and add: Cognac, lemon juice and liqueur and shake for 10 secs. Strain the drink into the rimmed-glasses.

2010

In retrospect, Santana had no one to blame but herself for this. It was her fault, and her fault alone, that she had taken Kitty's suggestion into consideration, knowing full and well of the woman's reputation.

Kitty Wilde might have been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but she could not choose a piece of real estate if her life depended on it.

It's a nice place, she had said.

It would be a perfect place for you to open your bar, she had said.

It only need a few repairs, she had said.

Santana looked up to... frankly, nothing much. There was no ceiling. Only dead wires, a hunch of useless broken light fixtures and pipes whose dark color Santana couldn't determine if it was paint on grim. She grimaced as she continued to study them— yeah, most likely grime.

She looked down. The floor was made up of areas of old tiles, broken old titles, no tiles and ratty puke green carpet, mostly stained with goodness knows what.

She looked around. There wasn't much furniture lying around, only a few rotting tables and couches along the far left-side wall of the club and a couple of bar stools. The gaudy wallpaper was peeing, revealing an ugly yellow painted wall. At least, the mirror behind the bar was still intact, and the bar table was still standing tall, but it was mostly going to have to be replaced.

Santana didn't bother checking the bathrooms, afraid of what she would find.

She turned to her usually quiet friend, definitely not impressed in Kitty's real estate finding. "This place looks like shit," she declared, narrowing her eyes. A part of her wondered if this was all a joke- Kitty was known for doing something like. "Complete and utter shit."

After almost tripping over a stray wire (perhaps, wearing five-inch heels hadn't been the smartest idea), Kitty stood at her friend's side and looked around. So, Santana might have a little point about the place. Maybe a big point, but like anything, Kitty was convinced that all the old club was money invested into it, some good carpenters and an exterminator and the place would look as good as new in no time. She was sure of it. "I wouldn't call it shit..."

"This place looks like shit," Santana repeated, pacing around the open space where a Harlem nightclub once stood from 1979 to 1987. Word on the street was that the place had closed after a DEA raid; apparently, coke had been sold openly—something Santana hadn't known until after Kitty had arranged to visit the place.

Classic Kitty.

"So, this place is a dump," Kitty eventually admitted, feeling a bit bad that she had introduced her friend to this place in the first place. Okay, so she could have founded something much better and less seedy.

"And old as hell."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Of course, it's old. We're in the middle of New York City. Practically everything's old, but this is prime real estate, I tell you." she insisted. "Prime. You're right off of 125th Street."

Santana removed her attention from the disco ball, lying at the corner of the club to Kitty. "Your persuasive skills are definitely lacking."

Kitty rolled her eyes again. "Whatever," she grumbled, crossing her arms. "I know this isn't the best place, but I thought you would a little thankful that my, uh, friend has practically cut the rent in half for this. All thanks to good ol' me."

Santana snorted. Santana wasn't going to lie; the rent deal was pretty sweet. Suspiciously sweet, though. Like connections with an unlawful-binding family suspiciously sweet. "I didn't tell you to screw the landowner for me," she pointed out as she headed to the bar area. She grimaced at the sight of New York's official insect scrambling from one end of the table to another, with no care in the world—the next one she saw, she vowed, she was going to kill it. She didn't do roaches, water bugs, pigeons or cat-sized rats.

Santana scoffed. She sure picked the perfect city to move to from Lima, Ohio. Maybe she should have moved to San Antonio, like she had promised her abuela when she graduated from Rutgers; the rent was definitely cheaper, and was positive that the city wasn't full of radioactive rats who literally had no fucks to give.

She shook her head. It was too late to change her plans now. Not when she already had signed a lease to an apartment (more like a closet) shared with three other people in Brooklyn, and she had already taken out a business loan worth more than her college education, her car and her parent's mortgage all together.

Two-hundred-freaking-thousand dollars.

And ten thousand from her savings and gifts from her family.

This bar and club better pan out.

No, it had to.

Santana never thought she would ever gather enough nerve to relocate to America's largest city and shop for her new place of business in a span of a couple of months. She had always expected to be in show business because not only was she hot, but she could sing and dance) or married off to some heir of a massive fortune (preferably, a closeted one) who wouldn't mind his wife having a girlfriend.

But then again, never in a million years did she think she would be friends with Kitty Wilde, the daughter to movie director mogul who hated living Hollywood so much that she moved to New York.

Funny how life worked out.

"First of all, I didn't sleep with Jake—" Kitty stopped, because everyone knew that was a lie. She reworded her reply, "Okay, I didn't sleep with Jake for this. It came with the arrangement."

Santana raised an eyebrow. She was curious about this "arrangement," but she was wary about the sordid details. Kitty wasn't known for being vanilla about anything, much to her father's dismay and the tabloid's joy. "Uh yeah, arrangement."

Kitty brushed off Santana's obvious display of judgement. "Oh, come on, Tana, can you honestly blame me? He's hot. He's loaded, and he's nowhere the delinquent asshole that his brother is. Speaking of his brother…"

Santana rolled her eyes. Right, Jake's brother: Noah "Puck" Puckerman. A serial dater, a serial petty offender and a serial job-turnover. He had just been released from jail (served four months for engaging in a bar-fight) a couple of weeks ago, and he obviously needed a job. Santana didn't know what deal Kitty had stricken with Jake, but all she knew that she was in the middle of it and needed to hire the man. Apparently, he was a phenomenal DJ, so he might have some use. Just not anytime soon.

"What does he know about restoring old clubs?"

"Uh, nothing," Kitty admitted. "But he's good at throwing parties and he has quite a clientele. Which can be useful for your grand-opening. So… no job for him, right now?"

"Not unless he learns a thing or two about construction," Santana said, scanning the club again for the umpteenth time. "Fuck, I'm going to need to be connected to the damn mob to get this place fixed."

Which was not the ideal plan, by the way.

Santana wasn't that desperate.

At least, she didn't think she was.

"Yeah, let's try not to do that," Kitty advised. "Jake already had enough issues with them." She further explained herself when Santana glanced at her, concerned. "Don't worry. They all solved. A long time ago. Legally," and then quickly asked, "Didn't you take out a loan?"

"You think two hundred-large is going to cover all of this?" Santana asked. "This place needs to be in Extreme Makeover or that show—you know with the guy who flips bars while yelling at the owners and staff?"

"Yeah, but I think you need a failing bar to get on that show…" Kitty reminded her friend, then offered, "Oh, I have an idea: let me be part owner, and I'll help you fix the place," Kitty offered. "I obviously have the money, and I would totally just give it to you, but you know how my dad is. I can't give large sums of money away."

Kitty's relationship with her father, to put it lightly, was interesting. Apparently, since the woman didn't get into an Ivy-League school and opted to attend UCLA instead, her father thought she was failure. He didn't want his only daughter to be a bubbling socialite, another Kardashian; he wanted her to be in a respected profession—Kitty didn't. She loved the fashion business and the social life and she had promised her father that before she turned thirty, which was in three years, that she would be invested in a legal business.

This bar would be her chance to be in her father's good graces again.

Except for the fact that Kitty was not business-minded.

At all.

"Like you know a damn thing about running a business."

Kitty gives her friend an annoyed look. "Look, you need the money and I need to prove to my father that I can do more than attend exclusive parties and spend his money."

Santana thought for a moment. This bar was hers. It was her plan and it was going to be her business, but damn it, if she was going to make it in this city, she was going to need a hell of a lot more than 200 grand. She might just have to bite the bullet. "Fine."

"Yes!" Kitty grinned and clapped. "Okay, how about I own fifty percent?"

Santana snorted. "Fifteen."

"Forty."

"Thirty-five. Final decision," Santana decided, staring her friend down. Unfortunately, Kitty was one of the few people in the universe who was immune to the woman's gaze, but it didn't hurt to try. "I plan on making a ton in this place so you'll be able to pay for your shopping sprees about hearing it from your dad."

Kitty frowned at the continuous mention of her father. The man was the biggest thorn on her side, even bigger than Jake's mother, who did not like her one bit—which, honestly, she couldn't understand. It wasn't like the mother could eve accuse her of being a gold-digger like Jake's previous money. She had money. "Sounds good to me. Speaking of shopping sprees…"

Santana groaned.

"You still haven't fulfilled your promise to go on with me."

Santana groaned. Oh yes, that promise.

She couldn't exactly remember why she had made that promise. She could never afford a shopping spree with Kitty. Kitty didn't believe in sales. But Santana couldn't just brush off the promise. Kitty would never forgive her. "Okay, fine. How about we go to the Century 21 near Fulton?" she offered. That store sold Louis Vuitton and Prada, so Kitty should be happy.

Kitty wasn't impressed. "A discount place, really?" She shook her head. Okay, she would have to use another time to convince her friend to go to another place, like Bloomindale's. "So, is there anything you like in this place?"

Santana shrugged. The only thing that she liked around the former night club was the sizeable dance floor and DJ booth. If she was going to open any type of business up, she needed music and people who loved to dance. She pointed to the area. "That would be a great dancefloor."

"It is pretty big," Kitty said. "You can turn this place into a nightclub if you want."

Santana nodded, "I could…"

"So, do you want this place or not?" Kitty asked, appearing hopeful. She had sort of told Jake that this was a done deal. Which was one of the reasons why he had provided a rental discount; he wanted to sell this place because a big-time developer took it away. "I kind of told that you would, so…" she bit her lower lip. "A yes would be great."

Santana wasn't even surprised. This was also classic Kitty. "Of course, you did."

Santana looked around, for, what she swore would be, the last time today. The place was a mess, but it wasn't impossible to fix. Plus, the area was great. Although it wasn't mid-town or lower Manhattan, it was too busy and full of potential patrons. Plus, she always had a soft spot for Harlem.

It was gamble, simply because this would be the first time she would own and run a business, but she had think she enough experience to pull it off. She had been around the bar business for quite a while, thanks to an uncle in Jersey who had ran two successful bars. He had she had what it takes, and Santana completely agreed with him.

But she didn't think she could say yes to the offer. Not yet. She needed more options because she drained her savings and her loan into the business. But, she supposed, she could add this place on his list. "I'll think about it," she said. "Really think about it. I'll let you know by the end of the week. After we visit the other places. Sounds good?"

"Good."

Three months and a twenty-thousand-dollar deposit later, Santana, perhaps against her better judgement, brought the old club in Harlem.

Kitty was happy.

Jake was ecstatic.

And Puck still needed a job, but Santana had promised him that he would be the DJ, so he was okay for now.

"So, what are you going to name it, Partner?" Kitty asked, handing Santana a glass of champagne, that she was surprised she had dropped while stepping over so much construction material. Perhaps, engaging in business in a middle of a construction site in heels, once again, wasn't the smartest idea.

Santana thanked Kitty for the drink, downed most of it, and then replied with a wide smile. "Santana's Bar."

"Really?" Kitty said, scrunching up her face in dissatisfaction. It wasn't a good look for her, but Santana was too excited to mention that to her friend. "But that's so… boring."

"I own sixty-five percent of this bar, so I should name it whatever the hell I please." She grinned as Kitty playfully rolled her eyes. "I like the name. It has my name it in."

"You're so full of yourself."

"I know you're not talking."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Santana's Bar, it is."

Santana finished her drink before replying, smiling now with all of her teeth showing. "Thank you, Partner."