Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Gilmore Girls, actors, characters, plots, etc, that would be the wonderful people at WB. Although if I did, I'm pretty sure there'd be some big changes coughChadcough. Anyway if you do feel inclined to sue me, some people have strange urges and we must accept them for who they are, I'm currently flat broke so all you will get is a used textbook, probably on organic chemistry.
Chapter 1
The alcohol soothed her frayed nerves. It stalled her common sense long enough for her eyes to lock on to a man across the elaborately decorated room and a less rational part of her mind swung into action. Yes, he would do. He had the same blonde hair and the same confident air as her wayward boy friend. She forced herself not to think of that man, the other half of her pseudo-boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, the commitment-no-commitment thing was certainly sending her insane.
The blonde across the room downed his glass of champagne and in the fluid movement, she caught the tell-tale glint of an expensive silver watch. She was willing to bet her life savings that he owned at least three cars, two houses and a yacht, named the Viking IX, or something just as obnoxious. He was probably the sole heir to a multi-million, if not billion, dollar cooperation that had never heard of the little person.
His life would have been mapped down to every last detail, the moment of conception to his final resting place in the family plot. Conservatively, she estimated that between the ages of twenty-three and twenty-four, he would marry to someone named Cissy, or something equally meaningless yet ironically fitting, with blonde hair and blue eyes, artificial if necessary. Together they would produce an heir, after that, the number of offspring would depend on how much they 'love' each other and how long he can bear to be separated from his secretary, with whom he'll begin an affair with soon after the birth of his first son. Promoted to CEO of insert-name-here company by his thirtieth birthday, retired by fifty-five, when his son will be old enough to take over, he'll work on his golf handicap until he finally dies a dignified death. All followed by an extravagant funeral, just short of wailing, breast-beating women at the mere thought of his passing.
The man across the room, she thought snidely, will never have to make a single decision in how his life will turn out. Which is why he would be exactly perfect as a human voodoo doll, to purge herself of her bed-hopping verging-on-ex lover. Finishing her champagne with a burst of self-confidence, she strode toward her unwitting target. Gathering her courage she uttered three words that she had doubted she could possibly say to any man, much less a stranger who resembled her occasional boyfriend, however superficially.
"I want you."
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Subtly checking his watch for what seemed the hundredth time that hour, the man across the room stifled a groan. Time seemed to a have crawled to an unearthly slow rate, if this continued, he would be dead and buried before the night was half over. He couldn't quite remember how he had ended up here, he vaguely remembered a string of ignored messages on his answering machine, constant pestering from his mother and several lectures from his father. It didn't really matter how or why, but he was here, showing his face at another society event, probably for a charity, not that anyone here was truly charitable.
Holding in another sigh, the man eyed the contents of his champagne glass before downing the remains in one gulp. A waiter was quick to materialise at his side, carrying a tray laden with full champagne glasses, automatically he took one. Years of survival amongst the silk-draped elite had honed his senses to his surroundings and right now he could feel someone watching him. Even without turning to catch his watcher in the act, he could tell that the person was female, about his age, known to him, at least by surname, if not personally. How did he know these things? His gut and very reliable, consistent gauge of his surroundings. His eyes slid around the room, until they landed on a slender, brunette woman walking towards him, openly staring at him.
"I want you," the woman stated, softly yet clearly, and for the shortest second the man was taken aback.
"Pardon?" he asked politely, his voice strained with well-concealed boredom.
"Are you really going to refuse me?" she didn't hide the surprise in her voice.
He eyed her critically. He could just walk away, it was simple and he'd done it plenty of times before, but her eyes begged him not to. He recalled the string of failed dates he had endured for the past months, no one held his interest for long. Single-dom enveloped him like a comfortable leather jacket, but then again she wasn't asking for a relationship, just one night.
"Yes, I am refusing you," he replied firmly.
He'd given up one night stands for a cold empty bed, he liked it better that way. He turned away stiffly, placing the still full champagne glass on the side board and edged out of the room.
The woman glared at the empty spot before her. How dare he? Inside she was fuming, the nerve of the man. She had offered herself to him, which was exactly what his kind wanted, an easy, available lay with no strings attached, but he had refused. He was messing with her perfect plan. The abandoned champagne glass caught her eye and she placed her own empty one next to it. Her fingers itched for the heavier flute, but she stilled it, clutching the cool fabric of her skirt. She needed to regain her control and her target.
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AN: Please tell me what you think, this is my first fanfic so be gentle!