Author's note: Here's another chapter, guys. Thanks for the reviews and feedback! The interest in the fic is really motivational, so keep it up! I keep getting a clearer idea of where this is going with every chapter, so the updates might become more frequent. Anyway, here goes, hope you enjoy :) xoxo
Chapter Four
After coming back from her honeymoon, Santana's week had flown by incredibly fast. While in St Lucia, the newly-weds had agreed to have a cell phone free two weeks, which meant that as soon as they landed back in New York City, the Latina's phone exploded with hundreds of messages. She had urgent meetings and projects that she needed to supervise.
"What a bunch of idiots, they can't do anything themselves!" she complained to Sam while waiting at the baggage claim, rubbing her temple with her free hand.
Having spent two whole weeks with just Sam, gave her some perspective. He was a stand-up guy, and looking at this situation from the perspective of anyone outside of her family members, she was lucky to have him. He was smart, he was handsome, and he was very well off. Many women she knew would kill for a guy like Sam.
However, none of that actually changed her feeling for him. All it did, was make him more tolerable and she actually didn't mind spending so much time with him anymore.
Walking into her office one day after having come back, Santana was approached by around ten different people at the same time, all demanding different things from her. Pausing suddenly, she spread out her arms and slowly turned around, facing them with a highly annoyed look on her face.
"Listen, dumbasses. One thing at a time. It's 7:30 in the morning, I'm just walking in. I haven't even had my goddamn coffee yet. Just," she paused and closed her eyes for dramatic effect. "Let me have a few minutes." She finished before turning back on her heel, and walking into her office, shutting the door loudly behind her.
She didn't need to be a hard ass bitch, but where was the fun in that?
Santana had worked her ass off to get where she was right now. Only twenty-four years old and she was already assistant editor at one of the best known fashion magazines in the country. She allowed herself to act as she pleased, at least in her work place. People respected her here and they valued her opinion. She needed to give them a reason to fear her, or they'd walk all over her.
Setting all her bags down, Santana sat down and pressed the intercom buzzer for her assistant. "Sophie, coffee." She demanded and hang up, a small smirk playing at her lips.
A few minutes later, her assistant knocked softly at her door, an extra hot, extra foam, double shot cappuccino in her hands. "Here you go, Mrs. Evans." She set the cup in front of Santana.
"No, no, no." the Latina raised her hand in protest, shaking her head. "None of this Mrs. Evans crap. I'm Santana Lopez. I've always been Miss Lopez here, and that's not gonna change. If anyone else is trying to be a suck up, you can feel free to tell them that if I hear anyone calling me that, they're gonna get fired on the spot." She raised her eyebrow as she waited for the expected nod from Sophie. "Okay, good. Now please let the first person in."
A nervous looking intern who had been jumping to get a word in when she was coming in, stepped foot in her office, not sure what to do with himself now that he was actually here.
"Uh, good morning Miss Lopez." He mumbled, wiping the palms of his hands on his black jeans. "I'm just here to confirm that these are the models you want to use for the next edition." The guy whose name she couldn't remember placed a file folder full of pictures on her desk, waiting patiently.
Santana sighed, opened the folder and started flicking through the head-shots.
Most of them weren't half bad and some of them were faces she recognised from previous editions.
Going through the head-shots, she recognised one and immediately flung it at her young intern. "Nope, not this one. She's a nightmare to work with, I had her fired last month. Does anybody apart from me pay attention to what happens at this magazine?!" she yelled, giving the man an evil eye. He shuddered.
"I'll have an array of different head-shots on your desk within the hour, Miss Lopez." He mumbled, picking up the picture from the floor and scurrying out of the room, allowing another hopeful employee to enter the room and talk to Santana.
Days like this made the Latina question why she worked here. There never seemed to be anything that her people could take care of themselves, it's like their brains disappeared as soon as they stepped into her office. Sure enough, her intimidating persona and good looks often made people forget what they wanted to say, but this was getting ridiculous.
She greeted most of her workforces with a small nod and a rub of her temples, before trying to pretend to care about what they wanted, while controlling the need to punch more than half of them in the face.
When lunch time eventually came by, Santana was more than ready to take her hour and a half break away from all this chaos.
Just as she was gathering her stuff, there was a soft knock at her door, and she couldn't stop the "what?!" coming from her lips.
There was hesitation on the other side, but a few seconds later, the intern from that morning entered her office, a small pile of new female model head-shots in his hands. "The head-shots, Miss Lopez."
Sighing loudly, the petite brunette stepped out from behind her desk and grabbed her beige trench coat, shrugging it on. "Leave them on my desk, I'll look over them when I'm back." She commanded, not waiting for him to complete the task, before she left the room.
There was a cold breeze outside, but Santana appreciated the fresh air and surprisingly, the loud roar of ongoing traffic. It was a nice distraction. Quickly glancing at her watch, the Latina smiled as she walked across the street to one of her favourite Italian restaurants.
"Lopez, for two." She mumbled as she walked through the door, immediately being escorted to one of their best tables in a quiet corner of the restaurant. The table was empty, but Santana wasn't surprised. She was always early, and Quinn often tended to be late. Leaving her jacket on one of the chairs, she went to the bathroom to touch up her make-up. When she came back, the blonde was sitting at their table.
The two women grinned at each other, the slightly taller girl getting up to give Santana a tight hug. It lasted a few seconds longer than your standard hug, but the two were always the closest of friends. Quinn beamed at the Latina.
"How are you, honey? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever." They sat down, smiling at each other for a moment, before opening up their menus even though they both knew what they were going to order. "Of course by forever, I mean since your wedding, but that's longer than usual, nonetheless."
Nodding, a little ashamed by not having spoken to the blonde much since, Santana cleared her throat. "I've been a bit busy, since. You know, the honeymoon was a no phone zone for two weeks, and I've been working hard-core ever since I got back." She explained with a soft shrug.
Reaching over the table, the blonde wrapped her hand over Santana's, giving it a little squeeze. "How was the honeymoon?" she asked carefully, knowing and understanding the Latina's feelings about the wedding. Quinn was Santana's oldest friend, and she knew almost everything about her life. She knew about the incident which haunted her since she was a little girl, the incident which her father would never let her forget about.
She saw the Latina struggle through it, and was there for her regardless of the situation. They were more than just best friends and they often said, that in some sense of the word, they were soulmates.
"It was…" she paused, shrugging a little. "It was better than I expected, you-" She paused, seeing the approaching waiter.
"What can I get for you ladies?" he smiled, recognising them. Whenever they met up, the two always came here.
"We'll both have our usual, and a bottle of your best red wine." Quinn ordered for them both, and they handed him back the menus. He nodded politely, before turning on his heel and going to cash in the order.
A moment of silence followed, and the women looked at each other, small smiles dancing on both their lips.
"Anyway…" the brunette broke the silence, taking a nibble of the bread just placed on their table. "It was okay, St Lucia is an incredible place." She grinned, proceeding to go on a five minute rant about how great the beaches were, and how warm the wind felt when they were walking around the city.
Quinn smiled more to herself as she watched the Latina talk. It was nice to see her happy and excited about something for once. Ever since she had found out about her marriage to Sam, she'd been different. Whenever she smiled or laughed, it never reached her eyes like it always did before.
Soon their appetisers were gone and their main dishes placed on the table in front of them. They always got things that they knew the other liked too, and were able to steal and exchange some. They talked and laughed until their food was gone from their plates and the waiter came back with dessert menus. Santana peaked at her watch and knew she should be going back.
"Maybe a quick one." She mumbled, seeing Quinn's slightly disappointed face once she realised the Latina would probably be leaving now.
They ordered a dessert to share, and continued on with their conversation.
"There's something I've been meaning to tell you." Santana said, a half embarrassed, half sheepish smile gracing her face. She could always tell Quinn anything without worrying she was going to judge her, or tell anyone. "There is, uh… there was this girl, I guess?" She cleared her throat, fidgeting with her napkin.
She looked up to see a curious Quinn staring at her. "I went to Strike Two, that club you told me about?" she smiled softly. "And uh, I mean I've never been to strip club before, you know, I don't usually have troubles meeting women, so I'm not exactly sure how they're supposed to work, but are they supposed to sleep with you?" she asked, her caramel cheeks burning a deep red.
Santana wasn't ever shy about these things, she didn't know why she was being this way about this particular conversation. She always spoke to Quinn about her sexual adventures and it always went much smoother than this; occasionally ending up with the two of them in bed, but that's beside the point. They hadn't been together since the Latina found out she'd be marrying Sam.
The blonde's jaw dropped in shock, and her mouth formed a small o. "She slept with you?!" she exclaimed louder than she should have, causing a few curious heads to turn their way. She turned around to shoo the audience away, before turning back to the Latina. "No, that's definitely not supposed to happen!" she shook her head, forking up some of their chocolate soufflé.
"She actually came to my wedding, I'm not sure if you saw her. She stepped in on my dance with my father." The brunette mumbled, also turning to the dessert.
"What? That's unbelievable." She was very expressive with her fork. Santana reached over, placing her hand on Quinn's, calming her and placing the fork down. "Does she like you? Do you like her? Are you going to see her again?" The string of questions shot out of the blonde's lips like bullets, slightly sharper than they should have been.
Santana frowned, taken aback by her best friend's reaction. "What's with the third degree, Q?"
Quinn sighed, looking at her apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you."
"I know, honey. But I've got it under control. I haven't even seen her since the wedding." Santana waved the matter off, ending the conversation. They finished their soufflé and the Latina paid for their lunch, despite Quinn's arguments. "You'll get it next time." She mumbled, but both of them knew she wouldn't let it happen then, either.
Saying their goodbyes, they hugged and the blonde leaned in to peck Santana's cheek, landing a bit too close to the corner of her bee stung lips, to be considered just a friendly kiss. Quinn was always more friendly with her than anyone else; it must be the twenty plus years of friendship.
"I'll see you next week." Quinn smiled, squeezing Santana's hand, before walking off into the opposite direction of the Latina's work place.
"You're shitting me! This was supposed to be done two weeks ago!" Santana yelled into her phone, almost feeling the person on the other end of the line cringing. "Okay, look." She took a deep breath and a sip of her fifth coffee that day. "You're going to do exactly as I say, and you're going to do it right now, got it?" She spoke slowly into the receiver. "You're going to get your ass out of your house, you're going to come back into your office, and you're going to send these papers off. We were supposed to get approved for this photo-shoot by fucking yesterday, you moron!" With that, she hang up. She knew the woman on the receiving end would be too scared to call back, and would just come in, doing what she was supposed to have done a long time ago.
It was the end of the day, and the brunette couldn't have been more stressed. There was so much work that should have been done while she was on her honeymoon that people weren't bothered to do, or forgot about, and it was all on her shoulders now. Santana to the rescue. She peeked at her desk clock and sighed loudly. It was ten at night, and she was still drowning in papers. Shaking her head, she organised them into neat piles and put them away into her drawers. "I will deal with this tomorrow." She spoke to no one in particular, as she got dressed and left her office.
Sam was probably waiting for her at home, furious that she hadn't called saying she would be late, but she honestly couldn't care less.
The Latina's car had broken down that morning, resulting with her having to take the public transport to and from work that day; that was something she hadn't done in literally years.
Picking the most isolated part of the train to sit in, Santana put in her ear phones, Amy Winehouse blasting through them, and took out the small file of head-shots she was supposed to have looked over today.
Flicking through them, she mentally said no to the first ten, putting them on the seat beside her. The next few went into the maybe pile. She had an idea of what she wanted for this photo-shoot, and none of these ladies were it. "Alright, you're my last hope." She mumbled to herself, displaying the last picture in the pile.
Santana's jaw dropped, and the picture nearly dropped out of her hands.
Staring at her, with a perfect smile, bright, sparkling eyes and a nose dusted with light freckles, was Brittany. Brittany Susan Pierce, according to the back of the picture. She was twenty-four, Santana's age. She didn't have much modelling background, but promised an incredible portfolio. This had to be a joke.
Looking for her number on the back off the head-shot, Santana dialled it immediately, her anger and annoyance already building up. After two dial tones, a soft 'what's up' sounded in her ear and the Latina instantly calmed.
"Hello Brittany, it's Santana…" she mumbled into the phone, receiving silence in return.
"Santana… how did you get my number? Are you going to press charges against me? I'm sorry about causing trouble at your wedding, can we just forget the whole thing? I won't bother you again."
"I'm the assistant editor at Couture Magazine, you left us one of your head-shots." Santana's tone left little to the imagination; she demanded an explanation.
Another silence. "Wait, what? You work for Couture Magazine? Are you kidding?"
Santana had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. "No, I'm not kidding, Brittany. So this isn't some sort of joke on your part? You didn't know I work here?" she asked, sudden relief flooding through her body at the shocked tone of Brittany's voice.
"No, of course not! I gave in my head shot a couple of months ago, I never thought I'd hear back from you guys. I just wanted to give it a shot." She trailed off, her voice getting quieter. Santana wondered how someone as breath taking as Brittany could have even an ounce of self-doubt.
Sighing, she let herself think for a moment. Santana was sure that working in a strip joint wasn't Brittany's dream, no matter how good she was at it. There were things she wanted out of life, and she actually had an opportunity to help the blonde realise them.
"Come by the magazine tomorrow afternoon, if you can manage. Tell the reception that you spoke to me, they'll send you right to my office." With that, she hang up.
The next day couldn't come by fast enough. Brittany had already told every one of her friends and close family members that she would be going to a meeting with Couture Magazine tomorrow afternoon, even though she knew she would probably jinx it this way. She just couldn't help herself. Trying out for this magazine was a huge deal for her, and she couldn't afford to mess it up. Being able to see Santana all at the same time was just an added bonus.
She dressed in her best clothes; the ones that portrayed her cuteness and professionalism equally. A black pencil skirt and a cream floral blouse now hugged her body in all the right places. Brittany put on some very light make-up for that 'natural' look, spicing it up with some pink lipstick. Perfect.
Looking herself over in the mirror one last time, the blonde shrugged on a beige cover up and left her house.
More than anything else on the planet, Brittany loved her bicycle. It was easy transportation and cost nothing at all to get around in. It was fast and great exercise to keep her in shape for the club. Her city bike was a baby blue colour and reflected her perfectly, and the only thing missing from it was a basket up front.
Making her way uptown, Brittany stopped in front of Couture Magazine's main building which she ever only admired from the outside; even when giving in her head-shot, she had to slip it into a pigeon hole outside.
Locking up her bike, the blonde looked at the building full of awe, smiling to herself. As she pushed through the revolving door, she put on her most serious face and walked up to the reception desk. "Hi, I'm Brittany Pierce, I have a meeting with Santana Lopez." She mumbled, tapping her fingers on the island between them.
The receptionist was typing away on her computer, chewing gum loudly. Brittany cleared her throat. "What?" She demanded, raising an eyebrow in annoyance.
Brittany rolled her eyes. "Brittany Pierce for an appointment with Santana Lopez."
The girl, whose name was Chloe, according to the name tag, stifled a giggle and looked the blonde up and down. "You've got an appointment with Miss Lopez? Good luck." She scuffed sarcastically. "Her office is on the fourth floor, room 27. Knock and introduce herself, and she'll let you in."
Having too much nervous energy bouncing around her body, Brittany decided to take the stairs; the quick exercise would help her muscles look more defined.
Reaching the fourth floor as instructed, Brittany marched down some corridors until she found room 27 with a huge "Santana Lopez, Editor in Chief" sign on the door. She smiled softly, taking a deep breath. Knock, knock, knock. "It's Brittany, may I come in?" the blonde asked, trying her hardest to sound as professional and calm as possible, despite her heart beating so fast it could break out of her rib cage.
"Come on in." Deep breath.
Brittany stepped into Santana's office, the blonde tried not focusing on the smaller woman just yet, instead trying not to trip over her own feet. She sat down in the chair opposite the Latina's, finally making eye contact. "Hey, Santana…"
"Good afternoon, Brittany. Let's get straight to it. I think your head-shot is incredible and honestly, I think you're the perfect model for this shoot. You've got the face and you've definitely got the body. Do you have any problems with working in a bikini? We're doing a spread on upcoming summer trends."
Santana's formality was killing her. She was business-y and cold, like nothing had ever happened between them. Brittany frowned, remembering their last encounter; it was on the opposite spectrum from this one. The blonde was startled for a moment, lost in her own thoughts.
Brittany had a reply ready in her head, but the words that left her lips were not what she expected. "What are you doing, Santana? Why are you pretending like you don't know me? Like I'm another employee and you've never seen me outside of this building? I deserve better than that, after everything that's happened." She spoke, her voice getting louder with every word.
The brunette's eyes widened, and she stood up, closing in on Brittany. "Calm down. Can we not do this here? It's my work place, I have a reputation to uphold." She answered coldly, grabbing the blonde's arm, and leading her into a smaller room within her office and closing the door behind them.
It was an office within an office. The tiny room was filled floor to ceiling with old magazines, boxes and snippets pinned to walls. It was Santana's private little stash room.
"Look, Brittany…" she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I can't treat you differently than I did in there, okay? I'm a married woman… and I know you're not just any other employee, but I can't be thinking about that. I'm not. What happened at that club and at my wedding, isn't something that can stay on my mind. It can't be something that affects how I treat you." She looked up, straight into Brittany's eyes. "It didn't mean anything, okay?"
The blonde gave out a cold, sarcastic chuckle. "Please. I've had more make out sessions than I'd like to admit, trust me, I know when a kiss means something. Yours were no ordinary kisses. I could feel the passion in your lips, Santana. Don't tell me I don't mean anything to you. Don't lie to me." Her voice was pleading now.
Santana shook her head. "I'm not lying…"
Brittany took a few steps forward, stopping inches away from the brunette. Her eyes danced between Santana's glare and her plum lips. Leaning in, she gave her the softest kiss, lingering for a few seconds before pulling away.
"Tell me that doesn't mean anything to you." Silence.
Reaching down, she grabbed Santana's hands and gave them a squeeze. "Look, just have lunch with me, okay? We can talk about this more." The blonde whispered, her lips brushing against Santana's.
Looking up, Santana shook her head. "No, Brittany." She moved back, pulling her hands away from the blonde's. Clearing her throat, the Latina straightened her back and in a second became the most professional version of herself.
"If you want this job, this is what's going to happen. No looks, no kisses, no hand holding. I'm your boss. I'm your married boss, and if you can't accept that, then there's nothing I can do for you. It's your choice…" she trailed off, walking out of the room and sitting behind her desk, leaving Brittany with a few seconds to herself.
When she emerged, her eyes seemed watery, but her face was stern. "I want the job."
Santana nodded. "Good choice. My assistant Sophie will give you a call with the details soon. Have a good day." And with that, the Latina's nose was once again buried in paperwork, and Brittany was walking out of the building, holding back tears.