Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Thanks so much for the reviews for the first chapter. I'm really excited about this story and I just am glad that people enjoyed the beginning! I'm sorry that it has been so long since I've updated. School was crazy this past semester and I'm just now recovering after a week or so of doing nothing whatsoever. Now I feel like I can write something worthwhile, so here it is! I hope that y'all enjoy!

The Pageturner
Chapter Two: Drunk Mail

The groan that escaped Chris' mouth the next morning wasn't even human.

Rolling over seemed like a good idea at the time, but that only caused his head to throb. His hand brushed against something smooth and cool, metallic. He assumed it was a beer can, since he figured that lifting his eyelids would be a chore. That beer can brushed against other beer cans, the sound of clanking metal the only thing audible in the space he occupied.

...where was he again?

That was an imperative thing to figure out, so - reluctantly - Chris opened his eyes and saw that he was on the floor of his living room, lying at the foot of the couch. Sun streamed brightly in through the windows and pierced his eyes. Chris rammed the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if blinded, and found out that doing that just made his head hurt worse.

He curled on his right side, so he was facing the foot of the couch. It didn't make it better. His every movement seemed to cause a chain reaction of beer can rattles.

"Honey, I made breakfast," the cheery voice of Christian called from...somewhere. It was far too loud, and Chris groaned again, feeling somewhat like a barbarian. And a lazy barbarian at that. He didn't want to move. Didn't want to get up.

But the smell of bacon certainly was inviting.

His limbs felt as if they were made of lead as Chris rose to make his way to the kitchen. He rounded the corner and saw Christian turning pieces of bacon in a skillet and oh, God, even the sizzling is too loud.

"I made coffee." Christian jabbed his thumb in the direction of the coffee pot. Chris rubbed his eyes and made his way to the cabinet, where he procured a coffee mug and filled his cup to the brim with the rich, dark liquid.

"Thanks," he muttered, sliding into one of the chairs at the bar that encircled the kitchen.

"No problem, Hasselhoff."

Chris flinched. "Did I eat a cheeseburger off the floor last night?"

"Nope," Christian commented. Chris let out a sigh of relief and took a sip of the scalding beverage. "Just a ham sandwich I made for you when we got back last night...er, this morning."

"Geez."

"Tell me about it."

Christian put the pieces of bacon he was cooking on top of the pile he had already cooked, which had been draining onto a paper towel that had been laid atop one of his plates. He turned down the heat on the stove and moved to the fridge, opening the door and looking around for a good few minutes before grabbing the carton of eggs he found.

"How do you want these bad boys?" Christian gestured to the carton.

"Scrambled."

"Like your brain?"

"Ha. Ha."

Christian grinned as he turned back around to continue cooking. Chris saw that the oven was on. "What's in there?"

"Biscuits."

"Okay, Emeril."

"A nice thank you would suffice."

Chris smiled as he sipped his coffee. "Thanks."

"No problem."

After a pause, Chris continued, "How are you not dying right now?"

"Someone had to be the designated driver."

"Sorry, man."

"It's okay," Christian said, a bit too cheerily. Chris wondered what that tone meant. "It was really just fun watching everyone be idiots, for once."

Chris scoffed. "I'd imagine so."

The coffee was warm in his hands, the steam still rising from the cup. He had only sipped it a few times, and what he had drank burned his tongue. But he didn't mind. That was welcome and temporary - kind of like his hangover, he supposed, but not as bad. The actual events of yesterday were unwelcome and, from what he could tell, going to be longlasting.

As if trying to remove that idea from his brain, he had pretty much drank himself into a coma.

"I just wasn't aware you were in love with the boss' daughter."

And there it was, the very reason for the booze fest that was last night. The words floated across his memory, blurred by the hangover but still as potent as they were when Christian had said them not even a full day ago. Chris slid his coffee cup in front of him with his index finger, as if doing something so menial would help him in the slightest.

Chris groaned and pressed his palm to his forehead, running his fingers through is hair. He winced at how gross his hair felt. He felt like he smelled like bar. Bar and ham sandwich and pity.

The clink of a plate being set down in front of him distracted him from his musings. Cracking his eyes open, he looked down at the fluffy yellow eggs and crispy bacon, along with a biscuit placed on the side, and felt his stomach rumble at the sight.

"I'm surprised I'm actually hungry," Chris commented, stabbing the eggs with his fork.

"Yeah," Christian said, a smirk in his voice. "Me too."

Christian fixed himself a plate and moved to sit next to Chris at the bar. The two of them ate in silence for a good while, the only sound being the tinkling of forks against the plates.

Chris' food was gone in record time, it seemed. With some difficulty, he rose from his position and moved to refill his mug with that sweet, sweet coffee. The ache in his head was still there, but not as intense as it was before, which was a welcome finding.

"So," Christian said through a mouthful of food. "Did you have fun last night?"

Chris took a sip of his coffee so he could gather his thoughts. Honestly, he had little recollection of what happened last night. Well, besides alcohol and loud music and more alcohol and the ham sandwich incident. So he answered with a shrug and an innocent lifting of his brows.

"Looked like you were." Christian snickered into his coffee.

"I like to think this hangover was worth it."

Christian gave a smile as he looked to the living room. Chris followed his gaze, watching as the sunlight moved lazily across the floor. Christian's chatter had faded away, causing Chris to turn back around, a quizzical look on his face as he gazed at the one on Christian's.

"What?"

Silence.

Paranoia started to set in. "What, Christian?"

Christian gave a great sigh and pushed away from the bar. "Your editor called while you were knocked out. Said to check your email and call her back."

This puzzled him. "Did she say what for?"

Christian shrugged.

Chris moved into the room that housed his computer. The room that he had wanted so desperately to escape the day before. He pulled out the chair and sat down, turning on the computer. It took a while before he had pulled up his email, but he clicked on the newest email that his editor had sent - curiously - as a reply to one he'd sent...at four in the morning.

Feeling a sense of inexplicable dread, Chris started to read.

Chris,

I'm not really sure what you sent me last night, but it was excellent. I had often wondered what it would be like if you were to write fiction, and I must say it was a treat. I sent the sample - proofread and edited to the best of my abilities - to the publisher and have just received word that he would like to see where you take this project. Frankly, I would like to see that as well. I will eagerly await your call so we can discuss this more.

Marlene

Desperate to prove that somehow he had read wrong, he frantically scrolled down seeing that - yes, the attachment he sent was the document that was, apparently, about Stephanie McMahon.

His heart seemed to have stopped beating. Funny, that.

At that point, all he could do was stare at the screen in disbelief.

And shout curse words.

Yes, yes, there was always that.

End Chapter Two.