The One With The Indecent Proposal
By: Jana~
Chapter Two
*****
--It took a moment for his words to sink in, astonishment taking over where mere curiosity left off. "What?" Monica exclaimed, her voice shrill, her eyes wide. "What?! My God, are you insane?!"
Chandler stared back at her, silently trying to convey something that she wasn't even attempting to understand.
"What do you think I am," she shouted, "A prostitute?!"
Taken aback by her reaction, Chandler shook his head. "Of course not," he replied sincerely.
"Please, Mon, just calm down," Pete requested, seeing that partygoers were starting to become interested in the scene she was creating.
"Calm down?!" she barked. "Calm down?! How can you even say that?!" A look of horror suddenly crossed her face, and she gasped, "You're considering taking him up on this, aren't you? What are you, my pimp?!"
"It wouldn't be like that," Chandler tried to explain, but she cut him off.
"You're both sick!" she announced, pointing at both of them. "Sick!"
Storming off, she was initially looking to leave, but abandoned that idea near instantly. Not only did she live with Pete, and would have to see him again anyway, but he was also her ride. Instead, she settled for getting another drink at the bar.
"I swear," Chandler promised Pete, "I'm not looking to have sex with your girlfriend. My intentions are strictly honorable."
Pete's gaze moved to Monica's retreating form before making eye contact with Chandler. "Right, ok," he muttered dismissively, "But, if she says no, maybe there's something else we can work out?" he asked, almost begging. "I could arrange for some, companionship…"
Chandler didn't know what he was more, grateful that the man didn't seem to care about his girlfriend, or appalled. He shook his head, looking down at his feet as he scuffed his expensive shoe across the marble.
"Ok, ok," Pete said anxiously, "Let me go talk to her, ok? Just- don't go anywhere."
Chandler only nodded, watching as he walked away after Monica.
--Monica couldn't remember a time when she had been so angry. This man had some nerve! And then for Pete to stand there, considering the offer! Did he stand up for her? Defend her honor? Of course he didn't! Money was more important. Money was always more important.
"I'll have a scotch on the rocks with a twist," she told the barkeep, "In a tall glass. And leave the bottle," she added.
"The solution isn't at the bottom of a liquor bottle," he told her, receiving a glare in reply. "Ok," he conceded, "I'm not your father."
"Monica, please," Pete pleaded, nearing her, "Try to be reasonable."
"Oh," she scoffed, "I'm being unreasonable?! I'm being unreasonable?!"
"This could save my company!" he exclaimed, desperate to change her mind. "This could change our lives!"
"Your life," she corrected, averting her eyes to the drink that was placed in front of her.
He sighed, pausing before asking the question he already knew the answer to. "What are you saying?"
Solemnly, she shook her head. "You know what I'm saying, Pete."
Nodding, he hung his head for a moment before looking back up at her. "Where will you go?"
"Back to my old apartment in the village. I'm sure Rachel would take me back, no problem."
"I accept this," he told her, as if granting her permission to break up with him. "I know you've been unhappy for a while now. But, please, Mon," he asked again, "Please do this for me."
She looked up at him, contempt in her eyes. "Why should I?"
"He doesn't want to have sex with you," he said, leaving her question unanswered. "He said his intentions were completely honorable."
"Oh, sure," she laughed bitterly, "We don't know this guy from Adam, but let's trust his word on that!"
"Mon," he whined, uncharacteristically, "He won't do this any other way. It's twenty-four hours with you, or no deal."
She looked away, angry. "That's not my problem."
"If you ever loved me," he tried to persuade her, "You would do this for me." The only response he received was an eye roll and an exaggerated sigh. "At least talk to the guy before saying no," he beseeched. "I'll even give you some of the money," he added, sounding pathetic and powerless.
"I don't want any money," she groaned, shaking her head. "I'll talk to the guy," she relented, "But I make no promises!"
He sighed, visibly relieved. "Thank you, Mon! Thank you! Thank you so much!"
"Save it," she snipped, putting her hand up to stop him. "Go get him before I lose my buzz!"
--Pete approached with a slight smile on his face and a stride that indicated good news, causing Chandler to stand straighter, hopeful.
"She said she was willing to talk with you," Pete explained, "But she hasn't made her decision yet."
"Well, that's fair," Chandler replied. "I mean, she doesn't know me from Adam." The brief grin Pete wore caught his attention. "What?"
Shaking his head, Pete avoided explaining what brought the expression to his face. "She's at the bar."
--The idea had seemed like a good one when his brain cooked it up, but now he almost wished he could just get out of it. She was way out of his league, and he just knew he would have no chance at all with her under normal circumstances. That's when it dawned on him, give her something she couldn't say no to.
Figuring the money would far outweigh the negative of the situation, it didn't occur to him that Monica would freak out, calling him sick, thinking he was a pervert. He didn't think she would become angry with him.
But then Monica agreed to talk with him. That gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he would get a shot at spending time with her.
--Pouring herself another drink, Monica sat half sloshed, awaiting the man that had managed to create a whirlwind of chaos and scuttlebutt in the shortest amount of time in history.
"He's not worth it, you know," that bartender told her, removing the lime wedge she had carelessly tossed aside.
"Who?" Monica asked, struggling to stand. "And why don't you have barstools?"
"I'm not in charge of the barstools," he answered, "And I was referring to Mr. Becker."
"He's not the reason I'm drinking," she admitted, the liquor loosening her tongue.
"Then, may I ask, why are you drinking?"
"You know the Chandeleer guy? The lottery winner?" she asked, slurring her words.
"Um, it's Chandler, actually."
She spun around at the sound of his voice, losing her balance, falling into him to catch herself.
"Ah, crap!" she exclaimed, pushing away from him, leaning back against the bar to steady herself.
"Are you ok?" Chandler asked, holding his hands out in case she needed the support.
"I'm fine," she insisted, distant. "Just got a little dizzy, spinning around that fast."
"And I'm sure all the alcohol didn't help matters any," Chandler added, tapping the side of the half-empty scotch bottle. "Getting tanked, are we?"
"Not yet," she muttered, holding up her glass. "On my way though."
He sighed. "If it helps at all, I didn't mean to upset you."
Staring into her drink for a moment, she glanced his way, "Nope, that doesn't help."
"Is there any way you can just see this as flattering?" he asked, gesturing to the bartender that he wanted the same as Monica, only smaller.
"Flattering?!" she screeched. "Ok, you tell me, how in the name of God am I supposed to see this as anything but degrading?"
His hands held in surrender, he attempted to calm her so he could explain. "Ok, but, how often has this happened to you?"
"I can safely say, never!"
"Don't you see? I am so taken with you, I'm willing to spend one million dollars, just to have one day's time with you!"
She wasn't sure what to say to that. She was so busy being offended, she hadn't thought of it like that. He could tell his words reached her.
"I didn't mean to insult you," he maintained, "I was just hoping to get to know you better."
"Then, why not just ask me out on a date or something?" she asked, still holding on to a shred of her anger.
"Well, cause you have a boyfriend," he explained. "And because I didn't think you would want to go out with me, the way you reacted earlier."
"So you thought it would be better to buy me?"
"I wasn't trying to buy you," he defended himself. "If I wanted to buy you, I woulda offered you the million dollars! I was trying to appease your boyfriend!"
"Yeah, well," she sighed, tipping her drink to her lips, "He's not my boyfriend anymore."
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his gaze finding the floor, unsure of how to respond. "What?"
"We broke up tonight," she muttered, downing the rest of her scotch in one fast gulp.
"Oh," he shifted uncomfortably, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I was the one who broke up with him." She grabbed the bottle to pour herself another drink. "It was time."
Reaching across, he took the liquor bottle from her, setting it on the far end of the bar.
"So, if you broke up with him," he asked, "Why did you agree to talk with me about my proposal?"
She rolled her eyes, pushing her glass away. "He begged me to, that's why."
"So," he muttered, defeated, "There's no way you'll do this then, huh?"
"I don't know," she answered, her eyes meeting his, an almost mischievous twinkle in them. "What's in it for me?"
…TO BE CONTINUED…
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