"Hey there, gorgeous. Glad you can make it."
The subwoofers were in full blast, playing some bass-dominated music all over the venue. But Rachel only heard her own heart beating, ready to break free and run away. She smiled at her girlfriend. "I didn't want to make any promises."
Quinn nodded, leaned closer and spoke gently into the brunette's ear. "Do you want a drink?"
"I'd very much want that," Rachel murmured before clasping her hand securely with Quinn's. "But don't leave me alone here. I don't like the way some of those boys are unabashedly leering at me."
"They're harmless," Quinn grinned. She nonetheless reassured the brunette by wrapping her arm around Rachel's waist and quickly guiding her to the open bar.
"Are they serving you—"
"Uh, no. The beneficiaries are here. So…later, in a couple of hours when they're gone."
"Ah. When the party really begins."
Quinn nodded once with a smirk plastered on her face. "But. You can always get two glasses of…whatever it is you're having."
The brunette smiled coyly. "I'm not that thirsty."
"But I am," Quinn whined. "Come on."
"Ohh," Rachel nodded several times and threw the artist a knowing look. "Patience. You can wait for a couple of hours."
"Rachel."
"Quinn."
"Please?"
The brunette sighed dramatically. "Fine. But only if you take me somewhere more…private."
Quinn's eyebrow shot high while a devious grin started to grow slowly.
"So we can talk," Rachel clarified before kissing the artist's cheek as a preemptive strike. "There's something we—I need to discuss with you."
"Oh," Quinn pouted playfully. "Right now? But we might miss Santana's speech."
"We'll—I promise this won't take long. I just…I need to tell you something really important."
"So important that it can't wait?"
"I'm afraid so."
"It's never good news when your partner wants to talk," Quinn sighed.
The artist turned around and began walking at a slow pace, allowing Rachel to follow at a safe distance. Quinn led them inside the mansion and continued to walk quietly all the way up to a terrace overlooking the city.
"Are we—is it okay that we just went up here?"
"Yeah."
"You know the owners?"
"Yeah."
"Quinn."
"What?"
"Are you sure?"
"You're looking at her, Rachel," the artist laughed and pulled the astonished brunette closer. "Like the view?"
"Mhm." The older woman cuddled as a cold gust of air passed through them. She held Quinn tighter in silence. With every second that elapsed, she committed to memory the younger girl's scent, her body's contours and the feel of her warm, silky skin.
Rachel needed to remember, and she was grateful that Quinn seemed to understand because the girl stood quietly and gently kissed her neck repeatedly. The older woman knew, however, that she needed to let go at a certain point.
The brunette swallowed roughly and licked her lips. "Quinn. We—this is the best time for us to talk."
"So much for distracting you," the artist said with a playful smile.
Rachel returned the smile before taking a step back. "There's something you need to know about me. When you talk about our future together…I want to have them, too, Quinn. So badly, that I changed my plans I've been carefully building for the last ten years of my life."
"What plans?"
Lolling her head from side to side with a smirk on her face, Rachel mumbled, "Hawaii. I've always wanted to live on the beach."
"Oh. Well, we can—"
"Nope. It's San Francisco we're gonna go to. If…" Rachel closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "If things go well after tonight."
"You're making me really nervous right now, Rach."
The brunette chuckled lowly and kissed Quinn. "Me too."
"You're shaking," the artist mumbled as she held on to Rachel's hands. "Everything's gonna be okay, Rach."
Lowering her head to hide her tears, Rachel placed their clasped hands over her chest. "Quinn…I've been…I've been lying all this time."
She felt the artist's hand squeeze hers tightly. "W-what, what do you mean?"
"I'm not—I don't run a travel agency with Puck."
She heard a faint gasp. She almost wailed at the loss of contact, only to moan in relief after being pulled into a tight embrace.
"Rachel—"
"I…we have been business partners over the decade…but it's not—we never—please believe me that meeting you was the last thing I ever expected. Understand that I had to survive in New York against all odds. I wanted to—I thought I could just pretend it will go away once I stop. I was stupid and—"
"Rachel," Quinn interrupted again and nudged the older woman's chin upwards. "You're rambling."
"Right…okay…I'm prolonging the agony."
"Rach…look, if you're into," Quinn looked around and whispered, "Selling drugs—"
"What? No. Quinn. I would never sell drugs—"
"We can leave the state—no, the country— now. I'll take care of us—"
"Quinn, I'm not into that business. I was adamantly against you using that, remember?"
"Yeah…but it does make sense that you'd get mad at me because you know how dangerous—"
"No, Quinn. Just. No. Okay? I've never sold drugs to anyone. Ever."
"Okay…" Quinn said with a hesitant tone.
"Quinn…you…it's like this…"
"Rachel, just please tell me."
"I'manescort."
"You're a—"Quinn squinted and furrowed her brows. "I'm sorry, I don't think I—"
"An escort," Rachel mumbled slowly this time. "A high-class escort."
"An…escort."
"Yes. I've been…since my mother died."
"You're…you're…an…"
The loss of contact, this time, was not temporary. The first step away from her was the most painful. She felt number as Quinn took several more steps away.
"Quinn…"
"Like…you escort…men. You're…you've been…whenever you go to work…you're with a man."
"Let me explain something—"
"You…" Quinn covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes. Rachel had wished she stayed that way, for the moment the younger girl stared intensely at her with controlled rage, the brunette wanted to jump off the terrace. "You come home to me, and kiss me, and make love to me. But you've been in the company of men before you do all those things to me?"
"Quinn, that's not how—"
"Then tell me what it is! Because I'm not too sure I quite understand how you can whisper my name the way you have been doing when you've been…you've been…oh god." Quinn lifted her hand once again and covered her mouth while using her other hand to clutch her stomach. "How could you have hidden that from me?"
"I don't…I have no defense, Quinn. Except I wanted so badly to be with you, the fear of losing you was stronger than my desire to come clean. And I…there's a part of me that hoped you would just accept me."
"Accept you?" The young artist shrieked. "When I don't even know this…this woman in front of me!"
"Quinn!" Rachel's arms flailed wildly. "This is still me! I'm still your Rachel."
"My Rachel? How many of us actually own and share you?"
It only took a nanosecond.
Quinn's left cheek burned and her neck strained from the impact of Rachel's palm connecting to her face. The artist gradually recovered from the shock and gazed at the brunette with remorse. "Ra—"
"You can call me a liar, or a bitch, because I am guilty of not being honest to you," Rachel hissed. "But don't you ever think you can belittle me. I had nothing after my mother was killed. Things could have gone really bad for me. So, while I'm not proud of what I do, Quinn, I'm also not going to stand here and let you trample on my dignity. It's what kept me alive."
"I'm so—"
"Don't, Quinn. I should…" Rachel closed her eyes let out a shaky breath. "I should be the one apologizing. And I really am so sorry. I can't justify what I did. I kept acting based on my instinct to…do everything I can to keep you. I didn't want to lose you. I've been burned before, you know that."
Quinn nodded dumbly in understanding why Rachel's ex-boyfriends seemed to have left her abruptly. She slowly sat down on the floor and hugged her knees, before looking up at Rachel with wide-eyed confusion. "I told you I'm not like them. I'm not."
"Really? Because how you reacted—"
"You kept it from me, Rachel. What kind of reaction did you expect me to have?"
The brunette knelt down in front of Quinn. "I know. I'm sorry. That was unfair."
"What's gonna happen now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you quitting? If you're worried about money, Rach, I have—"
"Quinn, we need to end this."
"This? As in us? No! Rachel," Quinn gasped and fumbled to reach for the older woman's hands. "You can't!"
"Quinn, I'm doing this for you."
"That's stupid! I don't want us to break up! Rachel! You're being stupid!"
"Am I? Quinn, just a few minutes ago, you could hardly look at me and it seemed like you were about to get sick."
"I'll get—I'm over it."
Rachel laughed softly. "Kiss me."
"W-what?"
"Kiss me, Quinn. You said you're over it."
"I…yeah, I am." The artist licked her lips and swallowed visibly before leaning an inch closer.
Then she stopped and looked away. "I'm sorry, but I can't right now," the artist whispered then broke down.
"I know," Rachel whispered back. "It's okay. Don't apologize, Quinn."
It hurt.
It hurt to see Quinn so fragile and vulnerable.
Intuitively, Rachel reached out to hold the younger girl, but the image of Quinn looking at her as if she was the most repugnant person kept her hand frozen in mid-air. "I should…I should leave."
"Please don't."
"Quinn," Rachel sighed. "You're young."
The artist glared at the brunette before standing up. "What the hell does that mean? You're not even thirty!"
"It means don't waste your time on someone like me. It means you'll get over me—"
"Don't. You. Say that!"
"Quinn—"
"No! Okay? No!" Quinn was livid. She pulled her hair and growled in frustration. "This is crazy talk, Rachel. I just need time to get over the fact that you hid things from me and what your job is. Just give me that. I love you, okay?"
"And I love you, too," Rachel whispered. "And that's why I'm going to do what is best for you."
"Please, Rachel."
"I'm sorry." The brunette lunged forward and held Quinn tightly. "I'm so sorry, Quinn. For everything."
"Please, don't. Rachel, don't do this. Please."
Rachel felt the artist's arms tighten around her. She felt Quinn's body shake uncontrollably. She felt everything.
She wanted nothing else but to hold her lover's body all night.
"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to let you go."
She had to.
And she did.
There was no pink-haired girl running after her this time, as both knew this wasn't part of the games they played.
Rachel found Santana and pulled her aside. "Take care of Quinn."
The Latina's rare festive mood faded away in an instant. "What happened?"
"I need to head back to work. I don't have time to explain. Just. Promise me, Santana. Look after her."
Santana surveyed Rachel's disheveled appearance then nodded. "Are you gonna be alright?"
"I will be. Thank you…for asking. She's…upstairs. Terrace."
The cheerleader once again nodded before making a dash towards the house.
Rachel went home as quickly as possible and broke down. She kept chanting the words "this is for Quinn" in her head.
That became her prayer.
She needed something to hold on to in order to survive because the next few days would be the toughest.
She thought of staying over at Puck's house, but she suddenly remembered her friend's confession. The last thing she needed was to be with a man who harbored deep feelings for her at the hour of absolute vulnerability.
She also didn't want to leave because she wanted to see Quinn walk in her own apartment. She was worried, to say the least, as to what the artist will do. She's heard and seen enough about the girl's erratic behavior when things don't go her way. Her heart started pounding loudly as she let her imagination run wild.
"Quinn, please don't do anything stupid," she whispered to herself while clutching her chest and stared at the artist's door from her apartment window.
She failed to sleep. Because Quinn didn't come home.
She saw Santana drive back alone at dusk and intuitively looked up to see Rachel. The Latina carried an apologetic expression, silently telling Rachel that she tried her best.
The older woman nodded and gave the cheerleader a weak smile before heading to bed. She would rather sleep now and dream a bad dream than face reality.
And in her dream, she saw Quinn enraged and calling her all sorts of names. She felt Quinn hit her over and over, accuse her of being a gold digger, and left her bloodied on the floor. After a few moments of respite, she heard Quinn come back only to witness the young girl's face morph into Russell's and began tearing her clothes off.
She screamed then jerked up. Rachel cried as soon as she realized she was alone in her room. "God," she mumbled to herself while clutching her pillow.
She got up after realizing she was late for work.
Work.
She laughed despite herself.
Puck would be so goddamn happy her early retirement would be delayed for a few months.
She was glad that the recession has brought down real estate prices and she found no acceptable offer for her property in Hawaii.
She was destined to leave the mainland, she convinced herself.
Rachel had no idea when Quinn got back, but the pink-haired girl was zealously waiting outside her apartment.
The older woman tried to ignore the artist and walked swiftly towards her car.
"Rachel," Quinn muttered while trying to block the brunette's way. "Rachel, please talk to me."
"Quinn, there's nothing to talk about anymore."
"Yes, there is."
The young girl's voice was quivering. It further shattered Rachel's heart. This wasn't how it was suppose to be. Quinn should be mad. Quinn should be ignoring her. Quinn shouldn't be following her around like a lovesick puppy. She needed Quinn to be furious.
"Rachel," the artist pleaded once more when she got no response from the woman. "I love you. We can get past this."
"No, okay? No," Rachel snapped. "It's over, Quinn."
"Why are you doing this? I told you I just need time."
"How much time do you need, hmm?"
"I…I don't know. But I promise, I will get over it."
"No, you won't, Quinn. You won't. When we're in a gathering, you'll constantly wonder who among those men glancing my way was a client. I don't think we'll ever achieve the same level of intimacy again, because you'll exactly wonder what I've done with them."
"What exactly have you done?"
Rachel scoffed then shook her head. "Would you believe me if I say nothing? Will you honestly find it in your heart to trust me when I say I've never let anyone kiss me on the lips, let alone do anything sexual?"
Quinn's eyes widened then puffed out air, which Rachel took as a sign of relief. "You've not—you never?"
"Never. But that doesn't change the fact that my job is sexual in nature. Can you accept that? When I'm out at night, will you be able to feel comfortable knowing I am with someone who would constantly try to stroke my leg or feel my ass?"
"I thought—I thought you're quitting. That's what you told me before. I mean, yeah, you said travel agency. But—but you said things would be different come January. So, you're quitting, right?"
"What if I'm not? Can you accept that?"
"I—I will, Rachel. Please trust me. Please. I can do this."
"No, Quinn. You're only going to be hurt."
"And what do you think I'm feeling right now?"
"It'll get better."
Quinn stiffened at this and Rachel took it as an opportunity to walk away.
"How can you just dismiss me this way, Rachel?"
The brunette stopped on her tracks and swallowed in realization. She was just as bad as anyone else in Quinn's life.
Rachel closed her eyes and took the most painful first step she's ever taken. The second was easier. The third one kept her going until she reached her car.
She couldn't concentrate all night. She was stuck in Puck's office. She had no client because Puck didn't book her anymore for the week. That was the awful plan. In an ideal world, she would be looking for possible apartments in San Francisco by this time. But instead, she was caught between remembering Quinn's worrisome appearance before the drove off, and browsing through photos and profiles of potential recruits.
The artist kept coming back. It was their new routine for the whole month. Morning and evening, like clockwork, Quinn was at her doorstep, pleading for Rachel to take her back.
There was just something innately wrong with this situation, the brunette thought. She should be the one pleading for Quinn to take her back. It wasn't the young girl that created a web of deception. But Quinn was acting as if she was the one who screwed up.
But there was nothing Rachel could do, except allow the younger girl to go on until she got tired. The escort was convinced that at a certain point, Quinn's attention would shift to something else.
That seemed to have arrived around March when Quinn literally dropped off her radar. With the exception of still being in the same apartment complex, the young girl acted like Rachel was a total stranger. The brunette began seeing that blonde teenager—Quinn's booty call if she remembered correctly—hanging out in the apartment more often.
That stung.
She didn't know whether she should be relieved or cry.
It didn't take much for her to make a decision when she regretfully peaked through her window and saw Quinn assaulting the other girl with her lips while the skank's hands were on the artist's rear end right outside the door.
A few days later, it was a different girl.
A week later, another girl had Quinn pinned against the kitchen window.
The young girl was out of control. If Santana's increasing number of texts to Rachel—letting her know what Quinn was up to— was any indication, the escort knew the Latina felt helpless and desperate.
She was at Rachel's apartment early on a Sunday morning. Sipping some coffee, the older woman saw the worry in Santana's face.
"She comes home really high on weed. I don't know if I should be glad it's just marijuana and nothing else."
Rachel sighed. "She shouldn't be straightening up just for me, Santana. She should be avoiding those things simply because it's not going to do her any good, not to make me happy."
"I know that. But it doesn't help that she feels you've abandoned her."
"I didn't—that's not how she's supposed to take it."
The Latina rolled her eyes. "Have you ever tried telling someone 'they're in a better place now, be happy' when a loved one just died?"
"No…but I had people tell me that when my mom died."
"How did that feel?"
"Horrible."
"And you think, Quinn would just simply accept that what you did was good for her?"
"That's not—"
"It's the same. She lost you. She feels that she's not going to get you back again. It's Frannie all over again, don't you get it? She's the only person Quinn treasured most, and she left Q. For her, you're no different from her sister or parents or her friends who have all abandoned her. And if you think what you did won't be a trigger for Quinn to self-destruct, you're being stupid and naïve."
"Santana—"
"So she felt grossed out when she found out about your job. Big fucking deal, Rachel. Who wouldn't? Put yourself in her position. Would you just say, 'oh, my girlfriend is paid by men for her company. Cool'. Would you?"
"No…no, I guess I wouldn't. Which is exactly the point, Santana. She would never be able to accept that."
"You refuse to give her a chance."
"I don't want to further get hurt," Rachel finally admitted. "Because I don't think I can take it if she ends up leaving me because she realized she could never accept me and what I do. I can't."
"So, this has nothing to do with Quinn and what is good for her," Santana sneered and stood up. "You're protecting yourself, you selfish bitch."
With that, Rachel was left alone, wallowing in self-pity and anger. It would be like this until the first week of April when Quinn surprised the brunette with a bouquet of flowers.
"Quinn."
"Hey," the artist smiled. "Can I come in?"
"Uhm, yes, sure."
"These are for you, by the way."
Rachel hesitantly received the bouquet. "Thank you. These are beautiful."
"Only fitting."
The older woman pursed her lips. "I, uhm, I have to leave in a few minutes."
Quinn nodded. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yes, sure."
"How much for your services?"
It was as if Rachel was doused with ice-cold water. That was the last thing she had ever expected to come out of Quinn's mouth.
"I-I'm sorry?"
"I realize I don't stand a chance anymore to be your girlfriend," Quinn mumbled and quirked her lip upwards. "So, I guess, I just have to settle for something else."
"Quinn, we can't—"
"I miss you, Rachel. I miss talking to you, kissing you…making love to you. I don't know what else to do."
"Quinn…"
"How much for an hour?"
"Quinn, I know that most people don't understand the difference, but I'm an escort, not a prostitute."
"I know the difference. I'm asking for your rate."
There was no escaping this.
"1,500 dollars. For two hours. That's the minimum and without tip."
Quinn rummaged her jean pocket then put up her hand with dollar bills. "I've got two thousand. So I get two hours?"
"Quinn", the brunette chuckled sardonically, "I don't know where you got that money, and besides, I don't take minors for—"
"I'm not a minor"
"You're seventeen."
"Not anymore."
"It's…it's your birthday?" Rachel mentally slapped herself for forgetting. It was the least of her concern these days.
"Yeah," Quinn mumbled with her eyes firmly locked on the brunette's. "My parents gave me the money. So I can celebrate however I want to," she smiled and shook her head. "And this is how I want to celebrate it."
Frowning, Rachel stared at the wad of money gripped by Quinn. "You should be celebrating it with your parents and friends."
"Don't you get it?", the younger girl exclaimed in frustration. "My parents don't care. My parents are participating in a wife-swapping event because that's what they do."
Rachel's eyes softened at the young girl in front of her. "That's…that's…"
"That's what?"
The brunette shook her head and sighed. "Nothing."
"I've lived in Las Vegas all my life, Rachel. How long have you been here?"
Rachel knew it was a rhetorical question, but couldn't stop herself from answering anyway.
"Three."
"Long enough for you to realize everyone's a freak here. Freak is normal. No one even bothers to take a second glance at me because, guess what? This?"Quinn points at her heavily dyed hair. "This is nothing."
Of course. Rachel knew that. That wasn't the point of her reaction. She made a deal with Russell. She'll tell Quinn and break things up, but he would also have to do his part as a parent. Quinn adored her father, and to hear him do this to Quinn again made her furious.
"What about Santana?"
"What about her?"
"Why aren't you with her?"
"Because I told her I'm having dinner with you," Quinn mumbled and for the first time broke eye contact.
"Quinn…" Rachel sighed again. "I can't."
"When can you?" Quinn looked up and gazed at the woman expectantly. "I'll wait. You go by appointment, huh? So when? Do I have to call up that dude you call Puck?"
Quinn has always doubted the existence of Puck. She never met him, nor seen a photo of him.
"Quinn, no. You don't understand. I'm not taking you in as a customer. I refuse to."
"Why?" the younger girl asked in a broken voice. "I can pay."
"And I have the right to choose whom I want to transact with. Just because you can pay, doesn't mean I'll accept a deal."
"You'd rather go with perverted Japanese businessmen than with me?"
When Rachel offered no answer, Quinn stuffed her money inside her pocket and slowly turned away.
"Quinn, please don't leave."
"Why?"
"We'll celebrate your birthday. You told Santana you're having dinner with me? Then, let's have dinner. My treat. "
Quinn opened her mouth to say something but got distracted by a buzzing sound coming from a cellphone. She glanced to her right and saw Rachel's phone lit up on the table.
Rachel aped Quinn's actions and stared at her phone before turning to look back at the young girl. "Don't mind that."
"Customer?"
"Forget about that. Let's go.", Rachel smiled. "Where do you want to eat?"
The pink-haired girl shook her head. "I don't want your pity," she whispered before running out of the brunette's apartment.
Rachel Berry, epic screw-up.
That's what she screamed after storming inside Puck's office that night.
She didn't even have a client. She's semi-retired. She volunteered to act as training officer. What a title. At least she wasn't out with men anymore.
Not that it mattered now.
Not that it ever will.
Not until Puck called her up mid-morning and told her to be in the office right away.
"What? I'm not yet needed. I'm busy."
"With what?"
"Feeding cats."
"Fuck. Just get here, Rachel. You need to deal with this."
"With what?"
"Just get the fuck down here."
She hated it when she had to deal with whiny girls who think this job was the easiest thing in the world. She hated having to pep talk them into taking in clients thrice their age. Did they really expect George Clooney to hire escorts?
She sighed upon seeing Puck outside his office, pacing back and forth.
"Puck. This better be damn important."
The man licked his lips nervously. "I haven't—there's no way I would just accept her to work here without you knowing first."
Her eyes widened in shock before barging in the office. She was literally taken aback by what she saw. "Quinn?"
It was a different kind of Quinn.
Quinn smiled and stood up.
"You're…you're…"
The artist chuckled and ducked her head. "I'm what?"
"B-blonde! What the hell did you do?"
"Funny. Most people think it's hot. Though, I almost killed S when she choked on her breakfast bagel."
"A-and you're," Rachel took in the rest of Quinn's appearance. "…not punk."
The artist nodded. "I don't think I'd be accepted here if I didn't ditch that look."
"No, you're not getting a job here! What's wrong with you?"
Quinn shrugged then glanced at Puck. "He said I'm perfect for the job. He said I'm gorgeous and hot. I know my manners, arts, languages. I'll be—"
"No!" Rachel turned around and punched Puck in the arm. "What the hell? Did you really say that to her?"
"Just saying the truth! It was an honest assessment, Rachel." Puck ran towards the safety of his desk, sat down and cleared his throat. "Okay, so. Quinn walked in this morning and—"
"No! No! No!" Rachel screamed. "No one's applying to be an escort! Quinn, go home."
Quinn smirked then crossed her legs. "Uhm, for your information, Rachel. You can't tell me what to do. I'm no longer a minor. I can apply for a job like this." She smiled at Puck in a flirtatious manner. "So, when do I start?"
"No, you won't start, Quinn." Rachel slammed her hands on the table and glared at the man behind it. "Puck, I can't believe you would do this to me!"
"Hey. I'm a businessman. I know a real gem when I see it. And Quinn," he waggled his eyebrows at the young girl. "Well, let's just say, she's gonna be my ticket to the big time."
"Things would have been easier if you just let me be your client."
Puck raised his eyebrows. "See, I didn't know that part."
Rachel snapped her head towards Quinn's direction and was almost shattered at the girl's neutral tone and expression.
"Interestingly, Miss Fabray," Puck chimed in. "I was planning on a promo. First timers get a ten percent discount. I'll apply that to you, simply because I like you."
"But Rachel refuses to."
"I have other girls you can choose from."
Quinn grinned widely.
"There are two kinds. One would be the straight up, she will keep you company all night, but. No monkey business. The other, well."
"I'll choose from the latter."
"What? Quinn, why are you doing this?" Rachel gazed at Quinn with pleading eyes but was ignored by the now blonde girl. "Puck. Out. Now."
The man stood up and shrugged. "Be back in a few minutes."
"Quinn," Rachel said after being left alone with the girl. "Quinn, this isn't funny."
"What makes you think this is a joke?"
"Because you can't possibly—"
"I can do whatever I want."
"How did you know where I work?"
"I followed you."
"You…you followed me."
Quinn's face softened and looked down. "If I can't have you, Rachel, I'll do anything to still keep you close. Anything. And I want to understand. I asked you for time to accept things, but you won't give that to me. I need to understand."
"So, you think by having the same job, you'd understand?"
"It'll be easier for me to accept."
Rachel looked up and shook her head. "If I let you be my client, will you promise me you won't pull out a stunt like this again?"
"Yeah…I promise."
"Just one night."
"I can't promise that. If I have money, I'll most probably spend it here."
"Why?"
Quinn sighed in exasperation. "I just said it, Rachel. If I can't have you, I'll take whatever's the next best thing."
Rachel relented. It was a tight situation she was in. She pushed Quinn to desperation and now she has to pay the price.
Puck pouted in disappointment upon knowing the agreement. "If you change your mind Quinn, come back," he said with a wink.
Rachel huffed then walked away from the two. Quinn simply smirked while watching the older woman leave the office. She shook the man's hand. "I can't believe it worked."
"I told you it will. Rachel cares about you so much; she would never let you do something like this."
"Thank you…for your help."
"Anytime."
"You love her."
"I do. But not as much as you do."
Quinn smiled at this. "I gotta go. I have a big date to plan."
"Good luck. And, Quinn?"
"Yeah?"
"She has a thing for watches. Her most regular clients know this."
Quinn struggled to keep a smile on her face. Rachel's collection of watches made sense now. It hit her hard. She wasn't going on a date with Rachel.
She just hired an escort.
A/N: And I'm back.