A/N: Hey, everyone! I'm back with another story, which was actually a special request from RatedRAngel. It's a little bit different than what I'd normally write, but I was up for the challenge, so I went for it. There's no major plan in place for this fic, so I'm pretty much winging it, but it should be a fun little ride. If you decide to read this, then I want to thank you for setting time aside to do so. It really means a lot to me. Enjoy!

The littlest McMahon was a woman on a mission.

She wasn't so little anymore, but the general point still stood. Equipped with a pair of sunglasses as black as the spider spinning its masterpiece of a web above the lobby door, Renesa swallowed thickly and grabbed the silver handle, gliding right through the open doorway, as if she actually belonged at Titan Tower. Oh, how she hated that place, being made to feel like she were a hobo off the streets who was encroaching on their territory, whomever they were. Even so, she flipped her frown upside down and plastered on a smile sunny enough to make a blind man squint.

Beth, the receptionist, was a kind and loyal woman, having spent over two decades of her life working at the front desk for the WWE offices. Seldom as she appeared 'round those parts, Renesa was beloved by that woman, and in a sense, Beth was her saving grace, the last little bastion of hope she had left to hold onto. Having found her cloud's silver lining, she raised her hand, sending a giddy wave to what felt like her only ally in the whole darn place, but the gesture wasn't satisfactory enough for Beth, who stood from her chair and rushed around the desk, holding her arms out. "Look at you!" she gushed. "Come give me a hug."

"I'm getting there," Renesa laughed, shoes slapping against the marble floor as she met Beth halfway and embraced her warmly. The pair of shopping bags dangling from her right forearm crinkled against their joined bodies, effectively catching Beth's attention.

"What's all this?" she asked after pulling away, pointing to the offending bags.

Renesa sighed and rolled her eyes. "I have a meeting with Dad in a bit, and he wanted me to wear something nice, but as you know," she paused, stepping back to display her appearance, "I don't own anything nice by his standards, so I went shopping this morning. I just bought a suit and some high heels, because I didn't know what else to wear. That's basically what Stephanie wears all the time, though, and she gets by, right?"

"Oh, does she ever," Beth agreed, tucking some chestnut brown hair behind her ears, the odd sliver of gray peeking through the front of her strands. She looked older, more tired, than Renesa had recalled, but a high stress job could do that to a person, and everyone knew that a receptionist for Vince McMahon did a whole lot more than the simple task of answering phones. Working for the man behind the WWE was no joke.

Checking for a clock, Renesa spotted one hanging from the adjacent wall, finding she had only about 15 minutes remaining to get changed, grab something from the vending machine, and get herself up to Vince's office in one fancy piece. With that, she excused herself, making reference to the slightly faded band shirt she was wearing with blue jeans. "I should go. I wasn't going to be caught dead in a cheesy business outfit, so I wore my normal clothes. I've got to get changed and haul ass to Dad's office. I won't ever hear the end of it if I show up late today. Never mind the fact that I didn't even ask to be here."

"No?" Beth asked, a lone eyebrow hitched.

"Come on, Beth, you know how this works. This is all his doing," Renesa replied. "He's the one who's stuck on having me work for him, although I'm not sure why, since he seems to find everything wrong with me and harp on it all the time."

"Ah, he wants to make you conform."

"See, that's what I thought," Renesa agreed, playing with the diamond earring in her right ear. "He obviously isn't too happy with how I turned out, so he thinks he can work on me until I morph into a Stephanie clone. I won't lie and say I wouldn't want to become one, because my sister has it goin' on, if you know what I mean, but I don't need to be a carbon copy of her. The world already has one Stephanie, and she's more than enough. Why can't I just be Renesa McMahon? Why do I always have to be compared to my big sister?"

In that time, Beth had lowered her previously raised brow, but now a hitch formed between the two, making her appear more troubled than she likely was. She reached a hand out, patting Renesa's left shoulder. "I'm sorry, hon. That's not fair to you, but every day is an opportunity for growth, and I know Vince wants things to work with you. He wouldn't keep asking you here if he didn't want to build a better relationship with you, so give it your all today. You might be surprised by how it turns out."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she shrugged. "Hey, I'll tell you all about it when I come down, yeah?"

"I can't wait to hear it," Beth winked.

Wordlessly, Renesa pointed to the pair of restrooms across the way to indicate where she was headed, and Beth nodded, sharing a laugh when Renesa pretended like she was sneaking into the men's restroom. When she grew tired of exercising her funny bone, she stepped into the proper restroom and took inventory of the items in her bags. One was a simple, navy pantsuit with a jeweled clasp in the center, which allowed for the coat to remain in a slightly opened state at all times. She had chosen an ivory blouse to wear underneath, because if she didn't cover up the goods, it would only supply her dad more ammunition to fire off.

Heaving a sigh and slipping the handle of her bags onto the hitch in the stall, Renesa closed the door and locked it, nudging her shoes off without bothering to untie the laces. She grumbled the entire way out of her jeans and t-shirt, gliding right into the pant suit and unlatching the door. The snooty clothing, she could look past, but her ostentatious footwear wasn't so easy to warm up to. She had selected the shoes she hated the least out of all the heels at the department store, which so happened to be a glossy pair of open-toed pumps that showed off her lime green pedicure. Even the rebel inside of her had a girly vice, on occasion, and fingernail polish was one of her greatest loves. She tugged off her socks and went right back to work.

"Ow, shit!" she hissed, slapping back at the corner of the sink that had caught her square in the ribcage.

That's what she got for not holding onto anything for balance before stepping into a pair of shoes so outside her general realm of familiarity. Switching out of her drab, black Converse into a pair of brand-new Carlos Santana pumps was no easy feat, but she was managing...barely. Whenever she was beckoned for a meeting at the corporate offices, the general assumption was that she would step into the lobby fully prepared and dressed to the nines, but she was closer to being dressed to the ones or twos, if that were even possible. Jeans and faded band shirts made up the majority of her wardrobe, and she wouldn't have had it any other way, because it was all uniquely her.

Still, she couldn't possibly step into her father's office looking like she'd simply rolled out of bed and shown up, even though that was precisely what she'd done, so she played the role and practiced her professional walk in the mirror. The first few strides were clumsy and clipped, and when she bobbled so far to the right that she thought she might end up an indistinct splatter on the bathroom floor, she caught the edge of a stall door, regaining her balance within seconds. First came a muffled chortle, then an audible giggle, and she wondered if Beth hadn't thought she'd gone mad, undoubtedly able to hear her laughter from beyond the door. Pulling herself together, Renesa closed her eyes and sucked in a deep gush of air, and when she reopened her eyes, she stared straight into the mirror at...Stephanie.

For once, she didn't want to be cast in her sister's shadow, but there she was, matching brown hair and blue eyes, each of them inheriting light eyes from their respective mothers. In a final, desperate bid to save her originality, Renesa had gotten her hair cut up to her shoulders, wanting to distance herself from Stephanie, but she still got the comparisons, and how could she not? Even through her own eyes, she was a younger, imitation version of her sister, right down to the button nose and cleft chin. Yes, she was absolutely her sister's sister, and she was proud of that fact. Except, she also kind of hated it, too.

"Buck up, girl," she whispered, holding her head higher.

Reaching into the handbag she had brought along, Renesa applied a fresh coat of lip gloss and checked her winged eyeliner, happy with the job she had done. When satisfied with her looks, she tossed the empty bags and clothes hangers away in the trash, clearing her throat and stumbling like a baby deer out into the lobby. Beth was busy on the phone this time and didn't look up, which she was thankful for, because something told her she looked like a mess. Her stomach twisted and turned the entire way up the elevator, and when she stepped off, she groaned at the stretch of hallway set out before her, knowing she would have to navigate it in shoes she wasn't equipped to stand still in, let alone walk in for long distances.

Sliding her fingertips over the wall for balance, Renesa was just arriving at her wit's end when she found his office. She ran her thumb over his flashy door plaque and grinned, proud to be a McMahon, in that moment. Being one of the daughters of Vince McMahon wasn't all bad, when it came down to it. Her knuckles came down lightly on the door, and she peeked her head inside when he called for her. Vince stood and pulled his suit jacket closed, studying her with a smile, which she liked to think was his own silent seal of approval at the state she'd shown up in. She reveled in that joy, because instincts and past history told her it wasn't there to stay for long.

"Hey, Dad."

"Come on in and close the door," he said, waving her farther inside. She let go of the knob and the door swung closed on its own, a terrifying finality to the sound as it clicked back into place. Vince strolled around his desk and pulled Renesa into a hug, kissing the top of her head, then holding her at an arm's length, beaming down at her outfit. "You look just like your sister." He grabbed at a lock of her hair next. "Maybe you can grow your hair back out like hers."

"Yeah, not gonna happen," Renesa mumbled, following Vince's lead as he brought her to a cozy chair, working his way back around the desk, where he dropped into his own seat. He drummed his fingertips on the desk for a while, staring at something on his computer screen, although Renesa couldn't tell if he was actively reading text or lost in deep thought. Perhaps he was working up the nerve to ask her the same question she'd already answered a million times over, though not to his liking. "So...what's up?"

"You tell me."

"Tell you, what?" she frowned.

"I don't know," Vince shrugged, sticking a pen into the corner of his mouth and chewing on the cap. "Whatever you want me to know."

"Like what?"

"Anything, Renesa," he repeated. She opened her mouth to respond, but he decided to prompt her instead. "How's your mother?"

"Same as always," Renesa said, clasping her hands in her lap. Her teeth were clenched, a signal to her that she was more nervous than previously presumed. That was the effect her dad had. "She's just been helping me with ideas for stuff to write about, whenever I get stuck or get a mental block. She got another cat recently, too."

"I'm not surprised to hear that," Vince laughed. "She always was a cat lady."

"Not a crazy cat lady, but a cat lover, I'd agree," Renesa said, losing a bit of the tension circulating through her shoulders. She relaxed in her chair, and Vince seemed to have noticed he was shaving down the wall of ice between them. Renesa wanted nothing more than to be close to her dad, but she was cautious of him, because it was only a matter of time before he, once again, took umbrage with her personal choices. "Yeah, so she's good, and I've been well. I'm still writing fiction and non-fiction, and I've gotten a lot more freelance work lately, which makes me a nice little living. I have my own place, and I just got a new car. I mean, it's not new new, but it's new to me."

"You could have told me you needed something to drive," Vince squinted, peering at her over his eyeglasses. He pulled them off the remainder of the way and set them down on his desk with a light clink.

"Not your responsibility."

"It is, though. You're my daughter, aren't you?"

"I guess so," she mumbled.

"You guess so?" Vince repeated, dare she say, offended by her word choice. "What do you mean by that? You guess so?"

"For once, can we not argue? I really am not here to pick any fights, Dad. I only came because it seemed like you really wanted me to, and I got separate phone calls from Shane and Stephanie asking me to give you a chance. They thought it was important for me to be here, so I came, but I don't want to battle. Unless it's like a rap battle or something fun," she laughed, pointing her finger at him. Vince didn't see the humor in her words, so she dropped her hand awkwardly and drowned in the stunted silence to follow, nobody close enough to throw out a life raft. "I'm sorry."

"You could have called and told me. I would have taken you to look at cars."

"I know, but I didn't want some extravagant luxury car. I'm fine with my Toyota Corolla. It's a cute, reliable car," Renesa said. Desperate to change the subject, she clapped her hands and cleared her throat. "So, what brings me here today?"

"What brings you here is that I have a proposition for you," Vince declared, placing the pen he'd been gnawing at down on the table. Renesa averted her eyes, pretending to watch the traffic jam right outside the window. Vaguely, she wondered if she could open said window and make the jump, just to remove herself from the uncomfortable, stifling office environment she was stuck inside. "As you know, we could always use your services around here. You're a McMahon, and there's no reason you should be working anywhere besides the family business. Why do you think Shane and Stephanie came on board? This is what we do."

"Shane's gone."

"Don't be a wise-ass," Vince barked. "Shane loves this business, but he wanted to see if he could find success without me, so he went to focus on his own ventures, and I'm very proud of him for that. Stephanie's my right-hand girl, and I can't imagine she'd ever leave. She's too passionate about her position here, and I'd love it if you would join us."

"I don't know if I'm cut out for working behind the scenes of a wrestling company."

"You have my DNA, so, yes, you're cut out for this. Anyone who has McMahon blood running through their veins can be a success in this business, and you just finished telling me you still write. I've been looking to add a new writer to my team, someone who can give a fresh perspective on our storylines and maybe even add some new ideas of their own. I'd give you a good salary, and lemme tell you, by the time you get your checks in the mail, you'd be able to go out and buy any damn car you wanted."

Swishing air out of her semi-pursed lips, she answered, "Dad, I already told you, it's not about material things. I don't care to have super pricey stuff. I just want to do what makes me happy, and writing makes me happiest. I get to work from home and choose the projects I want to take on, and I like it that way. I don't want to get hired on here and have to travel every single week. It's not me."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not," Renesa insisted. She suspended her right hand in the air, singling out her index finger with the tattoo stamped eternally down the inner side, cursive print that read her middle name: Marie. The same as her sister's, although her mother's selection of that middle name had been strictly coincidental. Then, she gathered her hair into a makeshift ponytail and spun around, holding the collar of her jacket down to expose the dark print spelling out her first name, the first tattoo she had ever gotten. Once her point was made, she released her hair and faced Vince. "Remember what you told me? You said tattoos were unprofessional and that, unless I were planning on getting into the ring someday, I shouldn't have one. You said it was fine for the talent, but not for a professional working backstage."

"Did I?" Vince asked, dusting an invisible spot on the table as he feigned ignorance. "I don't recall that conversation."

"Oh, it was more than one conversation, but that's fine. I'm going to be me, regardless of what the standards are here, so if my tattoos, clothing, hairstyles, hair colors, or the way I speak are going to be a problem, we may as well not bother with this," Renesa said. "Because I'm never going to be Stephanie, no matter how badly you wish I was."

Aghast, his mouth dropped open. "I've never told you to be Stephanie."

"But it's what you wish for deep down, isn't it?"

"Do I wish you had her passion to work alongside me in this business?" Vince questioned. "Absolutely. But I still appreciate the person you are. Your mother is a whole different entity than Linda, but I admire those differences in her that she passed along to you. I wouldn't change anything, except for your choice in employment."

"This thing is pretty unprofessional, too, though, right?" she asked, pointing at the barely visible sparkle in her nose. "A nose ring might set me back a little."

"Stop looking for reasons not to do this," Vince said, and now, she was softening him up like a big dough ball, if the smile peeking through on his face was any indication. "You belong here, and I want you to give this a chance. We can make it a probationary period sort of thing. Give me one week of your time to attend our creative meetings and help out with the storylines. Just for one week, you'd travel with us and attend the meetings and shows, and if you hate it, you never have to come back again."

"What's the catch?"

"There isn't any," Vince grinned. "I just want you to give it a try, because once you do, you're never going to look back. You'll love it. Plus, it might help you get wherever else you're trying to go with your writing, by way of exposure. This could be a good thing for many reasons, so I'm extending my hand to you right now," Vince said, reaching out toward her. "Do you accept my offer to come on the road with us for one week?"

Renesa grunted and wrinkled her nose. "Only one week?"

"Only one, but when you finish with it, you're going to want to stick around for good. Mark my words, Renesa."

Wiggling her fingers, she waited until she regained sensation in them and lifted her hand, slipping it inside her father's. "You're on. I'll write for you for one week, no strings attached."

"It's a deal."