So sorry for my total lack of updating recently - moving house, having a Macbook blowout, getting insane writers block and working a shit-tonne of overtime at work these past few months (all at the same time, lucky me!) kinda limited my ability to write anything. To the anonymous reviewers who left me shitty [now deleted] comments because I haven't updated - apologies for prioritising my work (which as this fic will hopefully soon tell you, is stupidly stressful and has me working all sorts of odd hours) over this.
Rant over, hope you all enjoy!
Chloe
The client, as it turns out, is House of Coffee, and Chloe loves it (and the free bag of coffee the client rep sends to her certainly doesn't go amiss either).
Once she's been through style guides, brand guidelines, client overviews and digital media training she's whisked out to lunch by Aubrey, who, Chloe's learnt, won't take no for an answer.
As they walk, and Aubrey excitedly babbles to Chloe about how long she's wanted this senior position, Chloe realises she's being steered towards her morning coffeeshop.
"Perhaps this place's coffee is up to your high standards, m'am" Aubrey mutters as she marches through the door, only stopping to hold it open for Chloe as an afterthought.
And Chloe laughs. She's never really considered herself as having high coffee standards; so long as she's not drinking Aubrey's specialty blend of ground dirt she's quite content with any coffee placed in front of her.
They join a sizeable line at the serving counter, and Chloe offers a polite smile at the barista who served her coffee earlier this morning before sweeping her gaze across the interior of the coffeeshop, on the look out for the petite brunette from the morning rush. She's practically standing on her tip-toes as she peers around the forever-crowded coffeeshop; there's definitely a small brunette tucked away at a table in the corner, if she could just get closer she'd be able to tell -
"You know him?" Aubrey interrupts Chloe's train of thought as she nudges her arm with her elbow. Chloe stares, slightly blankly, at Aubrey, before affixing her attention back on the brunette, who had now raised her head to speak to a young man who had just joined her at her corner table.
Chloe feels herself frowning as the young man leans in to kiss the brunette - Chloe's brunette - though before she's had enough time to comprehend where this new-found jealousy had bubbled up from, the man has moved to sit down and the brunette's face is revealed. And Chloe, who's never really one for swearing, mentally mutters a 'thank fuck', because its not her gorgeous mystery stranger after all.
Aubrey's still hanging for an answer, pretending that she didn't just witness the conflicting emotions seeping across Chloe's face. She nudges the redhead with her elbow again, rolling her eyes when she finally gains her attention.
"What - who, the barista?" Chloe can barely even remember the question, her mind still occupied with the mystery brunette. Aubrey nods.
"No, no, I don't know him. I just come here a lot in the mornings" Chloe answers quickly, snapping her full attention back to Aubrey.
Aubrey's eyes narrow slightly, because even though she doesn't know Chloe all that well just yet, she can tell something in this coffeeshop had flustered the redhead. She purses a flawlessly-painted lip, considering asking Chloe about it, before shaking her head slightly and pushing the thought to the back of her mind. It's none of her business, not yet, anyway.
"This is a real journo hotspot" Aubrey comments casually, pretending as though she'd glossing over Chloe's response, and the redhead appears visibly relieved that Aubrey isn't pushing her. "Associated Press HQ is just around the corner, if you're ever dealing with one of them face to face this is usually the place we come to"
Chloe nods slowly, taking Aubrey's advice in.
"See that woman there in front of us?" Aubrey slyly points a finger at a tall brunette standing in the line several heads in front of them.
Chloe nods again.
"Well she's Rebecca Mitchell's PA"
Chloe can tell from Aubrey's tone that she's supposed to know who this Rebecca Mitchell, or her PA, is. Instead, she offers a slightly bewildered expression, and before she can even ask who Rebecca even is Aubrey's face reverts to shock.
"Have you been living under a rock?" Aubrey hisses, and although the blonde woman is clearly incredulous, her tone refrains from sounding mean.
Aubrey's lowers her voice before continuing. "Rebecca Mitchell, she's London Times' new editor. She's practically revolutionised the paper in what, six months. And God, she's fucking hot!"
Chloe lets out a small laugh. "Who is, Rebecca?"
Aubrey's face turns to one of mild disgust at this. "Rebecca? No way! I meant her PA, God the things I would do to that girl..."
Aubrey's sentence trails off and she shoots an almost hungry glance at the tall brunette, now collecting two coffees and a grease-paper bag of pastries from the end of the serving counter, before re-composing herself and turning back to Chloe.
"Rebecca Mitchell is a bitch. Amazing, but a bitch."
Beca
Beca can't remember the last time she didn't contemplate falling asleep in a sales meeting.
It's not that she doesn't find it interesting, because companies willing to pay thousands, even millions, of pounds to get their branding in her paper is pretty damn cool, but good god why are there so many numbers?!
She listens absent-mindedly as the sales team rattle out next months package ads, pointing out where the big spenders are placing their inserts or banners or pugs or page-spreads, or whatever it is they want to call them.
"Sky have booked out page 5 as part of their autumn package so you're going to have to juggle around the world correspondence columns a bit to fit it all in... Or just skip them for one day..."
Beca nods to show she understands, but her face is devoid of emotion. The sales team carry on, used to Beca's monotonous expression by now, as they flip through the sales dummy - a mock-up of the paper filled out with confirmed advertisers and available space.
They're telling her, not asking her or advising her, and that's the part that grinds on Beca the most. She's editor of this goddamn newspaper and she's being told by the goddamn sales team what pages she can and can't use of her own goddamn paper. And Beca knows as well as the next person that advertising is largely what's keeping the entire print newspaper industry afloat, but fuck, it just makes the paper look like shit.
Beca takes a deep breath and reaches out for her coffee cup - an unsightly, brightly-coloured and heavily chipped chunk of ceramic that she's had since her first ever junior reporter job - to take a sip. It's the only thing that comes close to getting her through these bloody meetings, and as she tries to take a swig from the cup her bad mood takes an even sharper turn for the worse as she realises she's already finished her third coffee of the morning.
God she's so fucking tired, and apart from heavily colliding her fist with the face of that arrogant sales jerk, Beca can think of nothing better than wrapping her hands around a scalding paper cup and taking her first sip of a freshly brewed dark Arabian roast.
God she can practically already taste the dark, bitter liquid on her tongue, and she suddenly wants nothing more than to escape into the heavenly aromatic Caffe Concerto, with its perfectly brewed coffee and grumpy barista (who had already memorised Beca's morning order after only three consecutive visits. Though admittedly, 'black, extra shot' wasn't a particularly difficult order to memorise) and gorgeous, chatty redhead -
Chloe.
Her name was Chloe.
Beca can't help but allow a small smirk to grace her usually stoic features at the memory of this morning's encounter - their third and, by far most disastrous. The coffee stain on her jeans has almost faded; the phone number scrawled on the back of her hand in neat, looping handwriting thankfully hasn't.
I'm an asshole for finally updating after so long and leaving it on a cliffhanger like that, I know. Sorry. Kind of ;)