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I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Stuck-Up Suit.
MERCEDES
Evans Financial Holdings occupied the entire twentieth floor according to the sign in the lobby.
My stomach growled as I waited for an elevator. And seeing as though I'd just had my breakfast, I knew it was nerves, and that pissed me the hell off.
Why was the thought of coming face to face with this jackass making me nervous?
'His looks,' a small annoying voice echoed inside my head.
"Shut up!" I grumbled.
But who was I kidding?
Deep down, I knew it was his looks, and that was ridiculous.
I wasn't a superficial person, but a part of me couldn't help swooning over this jerk. That part of me really needed to do what I said before, and shut up right now.
The elevator made a dinging sound and opened up, allowing myself and an older businessman to enter.
It was just the two of us as the doors shut. But when the man scratched his balls, I had to look down at the feather tattoo on my foot, to distract myself from it.
Why was I a magnet for men who scratched their junk?
Thankfully, the car arrived at the twentieth floor quickly thereafter.
So I exited the elevator, allowing the man free reign to go to town on himself in private.
A black sign with gold lettering that read Evans Financial Holdings, hung atop two clear glass doors.
Taking a deep breath in and adjusting my little red dress, I made my way through the entrance.
Yes, I'd gotten dolled up for this shit. Don't judge.
A young, redheaded receptionist smiled at me.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm here to see Sam Evans."
She looked like she was about to laugh at me.
"Is he expecting you?"
"No."
"Mr. Evans doesn't see anyone who doesn't have an appointment."
"Well, I have something very important of his, so I really need to see him."
"What is your name?"
"Mercedes Jones."
"Can you spell your first name for me? Mercedes? Like the car?"
"Yes, it's Mer-ce-des. And yes, like the car." If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me to repeat my name…well, I'd be richer than Sam J. M. Evans.
"Okay. Miss Jones, if you like, you can take a seat right there, and when Mr. Evans arrives, I will ask him if he's willing to see you. "
"Thank you."
Straightening my dress, I took a seat on the plush, microfiber couch diagonally across from the front desk.
It shouldn't have surprised me that Mr. Big Prick wasn't here yet, since he wasn't on the usual train this morning.
I wondered exactly how long I'd have to wait, since I only took a half-day and was due back at Sue's after lunchtime.
Mindlessly fishing through some financial magazines, I almost hadn't looked up when the doors opened.
But when I did, my heart started pounding. It was Mr. Big Prick in the flesh and I noticed he was looking as angry as ever.
He was decked out in black pants and a crisp white shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves. He was holding a burgundy tie in one hand and a laptop in the other.
And of course, there was that gleaming watch wrapped around his wrist.
When he passed by, a waft of his intoxicating cologne immediately hit me like a punch in the nose.
He was looking straight ahead, completely oblivious to me or anything else around him.
The receptionist lit up as he walked by her.
"Good morning, Mr. Evans."
The man didn't respond. He simply let out a barely audible groan in response, as he swiftly passed us and disappeared down the hall.
Really.
I looked over at her.
"Why didn't you tell him I was here to see him?" I asked.
She laughed.
"Mr. Evans needs time to decompress in the morning. I can't hit him with an unannounced visitor the second he walks through the door."
"Well, exactly how long am I going to have to wait?"
"I'll check in with his secretary in about thirty minutes."
"Are you kidding?"
"Absolutely not!"
"That's fucking ridiculous. It's going to take two minutes to do what I need to do. I can't wait all morning. I'm going to be late for work."
"Miss Jones..."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, but there are certain rules here. Rule number one is...unless Mr. Evans has an important meeting scheduled in the morning, he is not to be disturbed as soon as he arrives."
"What exactly will he do if you bother him?"
"I don't want to find out."
"Well, I do."
Getting up from my seat, I charged down the hall with the redhead scurrying behind me.
"Miss Jones. You don't know what you're doing. Get back here right now! I'm serious!"
I stopped when I came upon a dark, cherry wood door with the name Samuel J. M. Evans engraved into a placard upon it.
The shades to the glass windows surrounding the door were completely closed.
"Where is his secretary?" I asked.
The redhead pointed to an empty desk across from his office.
"She normally sits right there, but she doesn't appear to be in yet. And that's even more of a reason why I cannot disturb him right now, because he's probably angry about that."
She looked over at another female employee who was working in a nearby cubicle.
"Do you know why Jessica isn't here yet?"
"Jessica quit. The agency is looking for a replacement."
"Great!" the receptionist huffed. "And she lasted all of what…two days?"
The woman laughed. Then said,
"Not bad, considering…"
Wait! Hold up! What the hell kind of a person was this Sam Evans?
Who did he think he was?
Adrenaline suddenly coursed through me. I walked over to the secretary's empty desk and pressed the intercom button that was labeled SJME.
"Who the fuck do you think you are…The Wizard of Oz? I'm pretty sure I'd have easier access to Queen Elizabeth," I barked.
The fear in the receptionist's eyes was palpable, but she knew it was too late, so she just stayed on the sidelines and watched.
There was no response for about a full minute. Then came his deep penetrating voice.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Mercedes Jones."
"Mercedes...?"
He'd repeated my name clearly. It wasn't lost on me that unlike everyone else, he had pronounced my name precisely and didn't ask...'like the car?'.
When he didn't say anything else, I pressed the button again.
"I've been waiting patiently to see you. But apparently, you're whacking off in there or something. Everyone here is scared out of their wits of you, so no one wants to tell you I'm here. I have something I imagine you've been looking for."
His voice came on again.
"Oh really?"
"Yes. And I'm not going to give it to you unless you open that door."
"Let me ask you something, Ms. Jones."
"Okay..."
"This thing you claim I'm looking for. Is it the cure for cancer?"
"No."
"Is it an original Shelby Cobra?"
A what?
"Um…No."
"Then, you're wrong. There's nothing you could possibly have that I'm looking for, which would make opening that door and having to deal with you worth it. Now please leave this floor, or I'll have security escort you out."
Eff this. I wasn't going to deal with this crap anymore.
I didn't want anything to do with him from this point forward, so I decided I would leave his stupid phone.
Grabbing my own phone, I got an idea.
I was gonna give that blonde jackass a parting gift.
I snapped three pictures of myself...one of my cleavage with a big middle finger in the middle, one of my legs and one of my rear end.
I specifically chose not to show my face, since I didn't want him to recognize me on the train.
Then programmed my number into his phone, naming myself You're Welcome Asshole.
Afterwards, I sent all three pictures and followed them up with one final text.
Your mother should be ashamed of you.
The gift sent, I handed the receptionist the phone and said,
"Make sure he gets his phone back."
Then I sashayed out of there, despite feeling a little defeated and a whole lot irate.
My mood had only worsened by the time I got back to work.
The only good thing, was that Sue had an unexpected out of office meeting, so I didn't have to deal with her.
I ended up taking advantage and leaving for the day an hour early.
After work, I ventured over to see Puck and his wife, Quinn, before heading back to my apartment.
He and I had been best friends since we were little, growing up next door together.
He and Quinn owned Puck's Tattooz and Piercing on Eighth Avenue.
I could hear the sound of his needle buzzing in the corner; he was busy with a customer. He handled all things ink, while Quinn was in charge of piercings.
Whenever I was in this kind of unstable mood, I tended to get very impulsive. I'd already decided that tonight at home I was going to dye the ends of my hair red, but that didn't seem like enough to satisfy me.
"Quinn, I want you to pierce my tongue," I said.
"Get outta here!" She waved her hand dismissively. She was well aware of my mood swings.
I rolled my eyes.
"I'm serious."
"You said you would never get a piercing. I don't want you coming back and blaming me when your mood switches back."
"Well, I changed my mind. I want one."
Puck overheard us and turned his attention away from his customer for a second.
"I know you. Some shit must've gone down today for you to want to pierce your tongue all of a sudden."
Letting out a deep breath, I said,
"Some shit, alright."
I proceeded to tell them the full story, from finding Sam's phone to his rudeness towards me over the intercom today.
Puck spoke through the sound of the needle.
"So, blow it off. You don't have to deal with that prick anymore. You're letting it get to you. Just erase him from your memory."
I knew Puck was right. I just couldn't figure out why Sam's rejection was having such an effect on me.
But I wasn't going to overanalyze it tonight or relate it to my issues of rejection by my father.
Maybe, I was just expecting to be pleasantly surprised today, instead of utterly disappointed.
But...something was keeping me from just letting it go. I had hoped to discover more about Sam...much more...that I would now never get to uncover.
I didn't understand why it mattered so much, and until I could figure it out, I would take it out on myself.
"I still want you to pierce my tongue."
Quinn rolled her eyes.
"Mercedes..."
"Come on, Q. Just do it!"
My tongue was stinging on the train ride home. And as I read over the list of after-care instructions, I couldn't help but chuckle at this one.
Don't kiss or engage in other oral activities until you are completely healed.
Yeah…that wasn't going to be a problem, seeing as though I had no one to partake in said activities with.
All of the instructions seemed easy enough until I got to the last one.
Don't drink acidic or alcoholic beverages while the wound is still healing.
Well, crap!
I sure shot myself in the foot with that one...deciding to pierce my tongue on a night where I really needed to drown my sorrows in some booze.
Arriving back at my apartment, I took off my clothes and started the process of dying the tips of my hair red, which signified my worst possible state of mind.
And just when I thought I knew exactly how this night was going to go, the last thing I ever expected, happened.
Stay safe!