The Tale Of The Unapologetic & The Blatant
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Brian Kinney has it all; he's young, beautiful, talented and successful. He's a Senior Partner at Vangard Advertising, the top advertising agency in Pittsburgh and the heir apparent to the Managing Partner. Will the mysterious new arrivals change everything he thought he knew? Story contains OFC and OMC.
BPOV
Fuck, another Monday morning and I am still hung over from a stellar weekend at Babylon. The trick I took back to the loft was actually memorable, I think he must have been a contortionist with the Cirque de Fucking Soleil, because the positions I had him in last night…Christ, I'm getting hard just thinking about his body folded like a pretzel under me. As I walk through the lobby of my building, I return the greetings of the receptionist and security with polite nods. My head feels like there's someone inside it using a sledgehammer to get out! Fuck, how many Tequila shots did I have? Deep down, I know that this is not the tequila talking; this is the good shit that I got from my pharmacologist. One hit in each nostril and I was flying; and all this time later I was now coasting in for a landing.
As I step on the elevator I press the button for my floor and lean into one of the far corners. I take a sip from the cup of French Roast coffee and hope that it will help quiet this raging bitch of a headache. What the fuck was in that shit last night? Suddenly I am pulled from my reverie of Pretzel Boy by the steady staccato of someone walking towards the elevator just as the doors start to close. I look up and realize that the person is a woman, impeccably dressed with a cool demeanor and the biggest black shades I have ever seen. Gucci. For some unknown reason, I feel compelled to lean forward and extend my hand to prevent the doors from closing. She acknowledges my chivalry with a small nod and a tight smile and stands in the corner next to the elevator panel. I revert to my corner and think .Fuck? Brian Kinney doesn't do chivalrous; Brian Fucking Kinney is an arrogant asshole! Gah, what the hell was in that shit from last night??? As the elevator ascends, I take a moment to study my fellow passenger. As my gaze pans her body I scoff in my head – "Label Whore" – I recognize the black Christian Louboutin pumps, the black Armani Privé full length cashmere wool blend coat , the Gucci shades and the kicker, a 40cm red Hermes Birkin bag with Palladium hardware! She may be a label whore, but she was a whore for only the very best. I laugh to myself; takes one to know one Kinney. Yes, I was proud to call myself a label whore! I did a mental inventory of what I was currently wearing, black Prada shoes, black Armani wool coat, black Prada suit with my favorite slate blue shirt and tie combo, black Prada shades and my pride and joy, a black Hermes briefcase with Palladium har….Fuck??? The realization that what I am wearing is almost a perfect match to my elevator companion causes me to stand erect in the corner of the elevator car. I have never seen another man come close to my own impeccable taste and style in clothing, yet here, across from me stands a woman who quite obviously equals me.
There is a distinct buzzing sound and the woman pulls a red Blackberry out of her coat pocket and starts texting furiously. Wait a minute…this woman walked into the elevator and obviously saw me and how I was dressed me, 'Brian Fucking Kinney God's gift to…everyone' so why is she not even acknowledging me? No surreptitious looks in the reflective surface of the elevator, no casual turn of the head to catch a glance. I am Brian Fucking Kinney, and my awesomeness needs to be acknowledged goddammit! Okay, this morning's entire inner monolog has convinced me that I need to lay of this shit the next time I go to Babylon. It's making me sound like an emo muncher! The ding sounds to indicate that we have reached our destination and the doors open onto the reception desk for Vangard Advertising. She steps out of the elevator without a backward glance, turns right and begins to walk down the hall. As I step out, turn left and begin walking to my office, I feel this strange compulsion to see her again and I turn and watch as she stalks down the hallway to an unoccupied area of our floor still texting away on her Blackberry. Hmmm, so we must have new neighbors on this floor. Maybe I'll get to see my fellow Label Whore often; it would be nice to see her style on a daily basis. My last thought before I pushed my way into my office and greeted Cynthia was 'I wonder what Label Whore is wearing under her coat?'
DPOV
Sitting in the back of the car service – I'm hit with first day butterflies. Yes, I'm excited about this new job, but still iffy on the move from New York City to the Pitts…I mean Pittsburgh, give the place a chance Dani, change is good. The ride from my loft apartment to the office building takes all of 11 minutes- I time it- 11 fucking minutes WITH traffic! Jesus Fucking Christ, that's shorter than the time it takes me to walk from my brownstone to the subway where I used to live in Brooklyn, which was then followed by a 30 minute ride on the subway into Manhattan followed by a 10 minute walk to my office. God, my commute has gone from about an hour to 11 fucking minutes! That's not enough time to do anything! I didn't get a chance to scroll my Blackberry to check my email, look at my portfolio before the markets open, check the Nikkei, the Hang Seng, nothing.
The driver speaking wakes me from my momentary lull; "Miss O'Hara, we're here". I nod my thanks and gather my bag to exit the car. Before I can even reach for the handle, the door is wrenched open and the driver is extending his hand to me. As he assists me out of the car, I resist the urge to cackle at how fucking ridiculous this is – just a week ago I was wedged up against my fellow commuters on the subway occasionally getting my ass 'accidentally' brushed (okay deliberately groped) by some pervert, today, my driver Charles (not Charlie, mind you, but CHARLES) is assisting me from a black Lincoln town-car. I have got to conference the guys in NYC later and tell them about this latest development; they are all getting kicks out of all my 'Tales from the Pitts' as they call my daily rants about what I see here vs. how it is in NYC. "So, Ms. O'Hara, please call me when you are ready to be picked up this evening, you have my number, correct?" Charles asks, as he closes my door and turns back towards me. "Yes, Charles, I do and I will call you when I am ready. Thank You". He gives me a small smile and then tips the brim of his cap (Yeah, he tipped the brim of his fucking chauffeur cap!!) wishes me a pleasant day, gets back in the car and drives away.
As I stand there in front of my new office building I'm sure I must still be in bed back in Brooklyn having one of the craziest dreams EVAH! That has to be it. I must have gone to Webster Hall with the guys and we must have gotten some sweet shit, because why else would I be dreaming about Charlie and the Pitts?? I laugh out loud at this and decide that this is how I will now refer to what I know now is no dream, this is reality…I Daniella O'Hara, have moved from my cushy job in Manhattan to the uncertainty and tameness that is the Pitts – Pittsburgh. Well, it's now or never Dani, I tell myself. I square my shoulders, put on my NY bitch face – you know the one that says 'I am better than you and I know it so do not deign to approach or speak to me' and proceed into the lobby of the 7story building. I try very hard not to think about the fact my last office was on the 51st floor of one of the most recognizable buildings in the world. This is definitely not Madison Avenue! 'Change Is Good, Change Is Good!' I mentally recite my new mantra as I cross the lobby.
I am greeted by warm friendly smiles and 'Good Morning Ms.' from the receptionists and security. I nod and briefly wonder where the turnstile is for me to swipe my ID to get to the elevators. Hmmm, then I notice, there is no ID swipe machine, no turnstiles, and the elevators are situated before you reach the lobby reception desk! .Fuck? So I can just walk through the lobby, get on an elevator and just go up, just with a nod and a smile?? Uh, okay. I am shocked by this – after 9/11, you have to practically give a DNA sample just to gain access to any office building in NYC even if you've worked there for years and know the security guys, by name. I have gone to clubs with the security guys in my old Manhattan office building, played b-ball with them on Sundays and still when it comes to me getting into my office every morning, it's the same security routine –Hold ID card next to your face so that the Security Personnel can confirm that you match the person in the ID, proceed to the turnstile, swipe your ID, place your belongings on the conveyor belt of the x-ray machine, walk through metal detector, pick up belongings, confirm that yes, that is in fact a double headed dildo in your bag, consent to anal probe…okay I'm lying about the last 2, but do you understand why I having trouble comprehending the ease with which I can enter this building?
As I turned to the ding announcing the arrival of the elevator, I watch as a man precedes me into the car, a quick inventory of his person and I am intrigued: black Prada shoes, black Armani wool coat, black Prada shades and a black Hermes briefcase with Palladium hardware. I smile to myself, "Label Whore". Takes one to know one O'Hara. That's right, I'm a Label Whore and damn proud of it. As I follow LW to the elevator, I perform a quick mental inventory of my own ensemble - black Christian Louboutin pumps, black Armani Privé full length cashmere wool blend coat , black Prada pants suit with my favorite red dress shirt, black Gucci shades and my pride and joy, my red 40cm Hermes Birkin bag with Palladium hard….Fuck??? Christ, this is très uncanny; LW and I have very similar taste in clothing and accessories. I smirk, I certainly was not expecting someone like him here in the Pitts… I mean Pittsburgh. By this time, I am feet away as the elevator doors begin to close, suddenly a hand shoots out and the doors retract. I enter the elevator and acknowledge LW's chivalry with a nod and a tight smile and then turn to stand right in front of the elevator panel. I can feel him performing a visual sweep of my person and I inwardly smirk. Like recognizes like, Label Whores Unite! Suddenly my BB buzzes and when I pull it out of my coat pocket, I see that it's an email from my assistant with directions to my new office. The ding sounds to indicate that we have reached our destination and the doors open to the reception desk for Vangard Advertising. I step out of the elevator without a backward glance turn right and begin to walk down the hallway. My last thought before I push my way into my office and greeted Cole was 'I wonder what LW is wearing under his coat?'