Chapter Three:
"Absolutely nothing" sighed Santana into the phone. "Seriously Q, the girl is, like, squeaky clean."
"I thought that was how you usually liked your women." Quinn quipped smartly.
The Latina ignored her friend's innuendo and drained the dregs of Pinot Grigio from her glass.
It was Friday night and Santana had spent the week desperately searching for something – anything- that she could use against Brittany.
She'd even gone as far as buying a fancy, leather-bound notebook to write her findings in. That way, when she found something incriminating, she could march straight into Will's office, notebook in hand, and watch on smugly as he fired the blonde's sorry, oh-so-tantalizing ass.
So far though, she'd only managed to note down two things:
1 – She chews her pen when she concentrates
2 – She has a picture of a cat as her desktop screensaver (Santana was strictly a dog person).
Her penchant for pussies aside (pun very much intended), Santana couldn't find a single thing wrong with Brittany Pierce. Certainly nothing that would get her the sack, anyway.
Santana had now moved on to trawling the blonde's social media in the hope of finding something that proved she was, in fact, a serial killer or a drug addict.
"Is it a crime to like One Direction?" the Latina asked as she noticed that Brittany had retweeted a post from Harry Styles. "Cos it fucking should be."
"Oh San, you're being dramatic." Scoffed Quinn. "Besides, I was talking to Sugar at lunch and she said that you guys seemed to be making good progress on the case."
That was true. When she wasn't concocting a plan to destroy her, Santana had to concede that the blonde was very good at her job. The Sylvester case was taking shape ahead of next week's pitch, and Will was confident that, with a few more tweaks, the businesswoman would be impressed with their strategy.
Santana scrolled through a handful of Brittany Pierce's on Facebook before she found the page she was looking for.
The profile didn't tell her much because of the strict privacy settings, but the Latina couldn't help but be a little mesmerized by Brittany's profile picture.
The blonde was wearing a Boston Red Sox jersey and a baseball cap over her glossy golden curls. She was grinning toothily at the camera and had her arms draped around a good-looking, if slightly large-mouthed, guy. Her boyfriend probably, Santana thought bitterly.
"I've heard that she's dating some super-cute model guy." Quinn, as if reading her mind, crackled through the phone.
"Like I care." Santana sneered as she logged off her laptop. "I'm going to bed."
"I hope you're not jealous –'
Santana ended the call and headed for her bedroom.
Quinn was being ridiculous. She was not jealous of Brittany's Bieber-wannabe boyfriend. At least, that's what she told herself as she drifted off to sleep, unable to shake the image of piercing blue eyes out of her head.
The rest of the weekend was pretty uneventful. Santana spent most of Saturday with her head buried in her work before going to Kurt and Blaine's for a movie night. When the couple had suggested watching Moulin Rouge for what must have been the thousandth time, Santana had made her excuses and headed home for an early night.
When she woke up on Sunday, all she could think of was Brittany in that damn Red Sox jersey. Santana blamed the lack of sex; it had now been over a month and she needed to blow off some steam. After pulling on a pair of Nikes, the brunette put on her girl power playlist and headed for Central Park. Beyoncé and Lady Gaga always knew how to make her feel better.
She'd been running for about forty minutes when she stopped to tie her lace. As she crouched down, Santana felt something furry brush against her arm.
"Jesus Christ!" she yelped as she came face to face with quite possibly the largest cat she had ever seen in her life. It looked more like a frigging leopard.
"Tubs! Come back here right now!" ordered a familiar voice.
Santana almost died on the spot when she looked up and saw who the voice belonged to.
"Are you stalking me or something?" Brittany questioned as she came to a halt, although the blonde's voice lacked any of the harshness that Santana had grown accustomed to and the Latina swore that she saw a smile tugging at the corners of her pretty mouth.
"No, actually." Santana replied, drawing her shoulders back so that she reached her full height (which was still a whole head shorter than Brittany). "Your…animal here decided to get all up in my grill. Is it wearing a freaking leash?"
The blonde shrugged as she picked up the leather strap that was trailing on the floor. "Lord Tubbington needs the exercise."
"You can say that again." Santana scoffed as she eyed the grossly overweight ball of fur. "Hold up, did you just say Lord Tubbington?"
The Latina smirked as a flush began to creep up Brittany's neck. For the first time since coffee-gate, Santana felt as if she had the upper hand.
"I've had him for years, okay. My sister named him." The blonde mumbled as she looked bashfully as floor.
"Well isn't that just adorable." Teased Santana as she raked her gaze down Brittany's body.
A few stray tendrils of hair had escaped from her high-pony and fallen across her face. Her skin looked slightly slick, as if she'd been running and Santana couldn't help but notice the small rivulet of sweat which ran from her pronounced collarbone and disappeared between the valley of her breasts.
Brittany's grey Adidas hoodie gaped open, revealing a pink sports bra and the taut plane of her stomach. The Latina felt a jolt between her legs as she observed that the blonde had abs. Like actual fucking abs.
"You know, I thought Hudson and Abrams were obvious when it came to their leering." Brittany's voice jolted her out of her reverie. "But they've got nothing on you."
Santana swallowed and tried to adopt her most intimidating bitch face. "Pfft, don't flatter yourself blondie. You're really not my type."
"Is that so?" Brittany quirked her brow as she looked the other woman slowly up and down and it was Santana's turn to blush.
"Hey Britt, did you find Tubs?"
Santana was grateful for the interruption until she saw who the voice belonged to. It was the Bieber boy from Brittany's profile picture.
As the Latina locked eyes with the trouty-mouthed intruder, she noticed a flicker of recognition in his face.
"Oh hey, you must be –'
"Sam, this is Santana Lopez, my colleague." Brittany cut her (presumable) boyfriend off. "Santana, meet Sam Evans."
Santana took the blonde's proffered hand as he smiled at her goofily. God his lips were abnormally big.
"Nice to meet you Santana. Brittany's-'
"Brittany's got to get home." The other woman cut Sam off again, placing a firm hand on his even firmer bicep. "I'll see you tomorrow Santana. Remember to tie that lace."
With that, the blonde gave a wink and took Sam's hand, dragging him- and Lord Tubbington- away from the brunette.
Santana watched her go with a bemused smile. What had Sam been about to say? Brittany's what?
Had the blonde been talking to Sam about Santana? And if she had, just what exactly had she been saying?
The Latina fixed her laces and turned up Kelly Clarkson on her iPod, hoping to drown out thoughts of the blonde who just seemed to be turning her world upside down.
The two women didn't mention their encounter in the park when they arrived in the office on Monday.
It was a stressful day, with the pair spending hours in meetings and they tried to tie up the loose ends of the Sylvester deal.
They'd had a conference call with the woman herself, and whilst Sue was still a complete bitch, she wasn't quite as dreadful as usual.
"Well, that went better than expected." Santana said as the two women exited Will's office and returned to their desks. "Maybe Sylvester just has a thing for blondes."
"What can I say Lopez?" Brittany bantered. "I'm irresistible."
"Just don't tell your boyfriend you were flirting with a client."
"Boyfriend?"
Santana looked up with puzzled expression. "Yeah. You're dating Sam, right?"
Brittany threw her head back and laughed as if Santana had just told the funniest joke in the world.
"No way." The blonde wiped away a tear that had escaped during her laughing fit. "I mean, Sam and I used to 'date' in elementary school but my boyfriend? God, no. He's more like my brother."
Santana inwardly cursed herself at the feeling of relief that bubbled up inside her. She really needed to get laid. And soon.
"Well, I'm sure Finn and Artie will be really pleased to hear that." The Latina said as she started packing her things into her Louis Vuitton bag.
"I'm sure they will." Brittany laughed, grabbing her coat. "But if I'm being honest, they're not really my type."
"Oh?" Santana questioned "Not man enough for you?"
"Actually, they're plenty man enough. That's the problem." The blonde smirked as understanding dawned on the other woman's face."
"Oh, I um, I didn't realize that you, er –'
Brittany laughed. "Night Santana. See you in the morning."
As the blonde swung her bag over her shoulder and disappeared towards to the elevators, Santana slumped in her swivel chair and let out a deep breath.
"Well, fuck."