L.A. Connaissance

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Title: L.A. Connaissance

Author: Jennifer a.k.a. "Jenn"

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Michael Vartan but alas it is not to be… at least not in my dreams. When it IS my dreams… he's usually waiting for me… completely salivating for me of course.

Summary: I wanted to get away from the dramatic Post "The Telling" storylines (despite the fact that I wrote one of those…) and write some light, romantic, AU, and hopefully slightly humorous.

For all the drama-ridden S/V lovers out there. This is for you as well as therapy for me.

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4.

Okay, so it takes like a million hours to find the stupid door and by the time I find it, I'm almost angry. I almost don't even want to have sex with Michael Vaughn anymore.

Almost.

So I knock in a way that I hope is at least slightly feminine… you know, one of those "tap tap tap"s instead of the actual "KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK"s and then I wait.

And as soon as he says "Come in, I'm ready for you", I think I'm going to melt. He has a great voice… I knew he did already but that sentence confirms it. And his choice of words? What the hell was that? What can I say? Please tell me that that was weird for you too.

So I bite my lip and take one last mean look at my neckline before opening the door.

My neckline is bothering me.

It's been bothering me ever since I left the circular-office type thing… it's right under my collar bone and it's rather frustrating to be so… so clothed. Especially in front of this kind of company. Shrink. Shrink damn it! Come on neckline, you can do it, stretch, stretch… come on!!! Just a little cleavage! I'm not asking for much! Little Sydney reappears on my shoulder and joins my mind in her chants. Low-er neck-lines! We want cleavage! We want cleavage!

I don't know how long I was just standing in the doorway staring at my chest before he cleared his throat in this really uncomfortable sounding way and said "Umm… you wanted to ask me about something?"

I sort of… jump… or flinch. And that bothers me because I think I'm supposed to be this great… stone wall… type thing/person/spy machine! But no. The exclamation point really wasn't needed was it? That's Marcy's fault. She started going to therapy a couple weeks ago and her therapist said that she wasn't excited enough about life.

I don't know how excited you can be about life when you're dating Rob from Accounting. Well… I mean if you're dating the Rob that I mentioned earlier who has a completely different –come-hither-and-let-me-ravage-you-and-let's-see-how-many-different-sounds-you-can-make attitude, then that's cool but I seriously doubt that that's the case.

Now that I think about it, she started seeing the therapist right about the time she accepted Rob's invitation to go see the chicken farm. Hmm… what does this tell you? It's times like these that you have to ask yourself, "Is Rob worth the Chicken Noodle?"

Whoa… that was a huge digression. Anyway, the original point was that Marcy is supposed to use at least 15 exclamation points a day to spruce up her life. And it's catching I guess.

Ahem.

"Yes I did. Thank you for agreeing to see me."

I smile my best 'I'm-really-not-as-stupid-as-I-seem-but-if-I-am-…-don't-you-think-I- have-a-great-smile?- smile. And it so works. These, my friend, are some good pearly-whites. There was a guy at the supermarket once who asked me if I worked for the toothpaste agency. You know, as a tooth model.

Okay, not really but it could have happened.

And he smiles back. YES! Crest conquers the world once again.

"That's no problem, I didn't have that much work to do anyway." I watch him as he nonchalantly tries to move a 15-inch pile of paper from in front of him. "So… is there something wrong with the account?"

I rack my brain for a reason and to distract him from the fact that I have suddenly gone mute, I look around and then look at him pointedly, sending him a subliminal message. Be a gentleman. Chivalry, chivalry, huh huh HUH!

"Oh, I'm sorry. Please sit down."

"Thanks." I flash another grin and sit down, crossing my legs and willing my neckline to lower. Yeah… so I'm not as sophisticated and classy as I seem on the exteri-HAHAHAHA. Oh man. I couldn't even get through that one sentence in my head without cracking up. I'm just a kid… spydom chose me.

And then the moment happens.

I'm not talking about the moment where we gaze deeply into each other's eyes and manage to uncover the depths of the other's soul and realize that we are kindred spirits and that we will love each other for all eternity.

More like the moment we look across the table at each other and try to figure out stuff to say while looking like we're having fun just staying silent. This is uncomfortable. And I'm supposed to have a reason for being here too. Unacceptable Sydney! Unacceptable.

Little Sydney slumps over and mopes, wishing that she could've given me the better advice so that I could be out of here with the files by now.

"The thing is-" I opt for the half truth. "The thing is, that there really isn't anything wrong with your account."

His eyebrows raise and then he starts to grin but checks himself. "Really? Then what are you here for?"

I look at him, resisting the desire to roll my eyes. "You're seriously not asking me that question."

He smiles in earnest now. "Why not?"

"Because you know perfectly well by now that I think that you're attractive and I came all this way to talk to you and I had to pretend to understand that secretary's directions and then pretend and lie about some malfunctioning account… and you're still being egotistical enough to ask me what I'm doing here."

"Oh."

Haha… he's defeated. His lemons are squeezed now. Kinda.

TBC…

OH MY GOD PEOPLE~!!!

I think I've forgotten how to be funny! I've used up all my funny! OH NO!!! This is bad. Really bad. I've used my lifetime supply of funny and now this story is going to be boring/already is.

Uh-oh.

HELP!!!

~Jenn