When Beca arrives at Pulse that evening, Blake nudges John and glares at him. John gulps and takes a few steps forward. Beca narrows her eyes and wonders what the hell is going on. "Beca – I was just... I didn't mean to – are you alright? You looked pretty bad last night." He scratches his beard nervously.
Beca raises her eyebrows, not sure which part of this incoherent show of concern was more surprising. "You know my name?"
"I'm not dumb," John snaps, still looking slightly awkward.
"I'm alright," Beca says, heading towards the mixing table. "Well – as alright as I can be when my boss is a Grinch and refuses to pay me enough to pay my rent."
John makes a face. "You know, if you like her, you shouldn't let her go."
Beca glares at him. "I hope you're not deducting from my salary for these unwanted therapy sessions. And justhow much did you hear from behind that door?"
"I wasn't eavesdropping, you were just talking really loudly," He mumbles, coloring slightly. "I just think that you've really got nothing to lose now."
"Shut up, John," Beca says, then immediately regrets it. "Sorry." Her tone softens. "I don't think I could stand it if things got weird and I lost her for good."
Blake frowns at Beca. "And you could stand being 'just friends' with her for the rest of your life? You're okay with giving her up before you've even had a shot at changing her mind?"
Beca grits her teeth. "This isn't about me anymore. She doesn't want to do this anymore, and I have to respect that. I'm clearly not okay with it now, but in time I will be."
John shrugs. "Take it from me, Mitchell. Chivalry is dead. And for good reason, too."
Beca rolls her eyes. "That explains your noticeable lack of manners," she says. "And since when do you know my last name too, you stalker?"
He shakes his head and goes back to rinsing out the shakers. "You wrote it on the bloody employment questionnaire, idiot. And yes, I actually read the whole thing. Including your whole socialistic diatribe about increasing the minimum wage."
Beca rolls her eyes. "Clearly none of it went into that puny brain of yours. I'm earning like, worse than minimum wage."
"No you're not," John snaps, waving her away impatiently. "And you'll be earning nothing if you keep pissing me off like this."
...
Beca shoulders her bag and steps out into the cold streets, breathing out little puffs of hot air as she went. She checks her phone and is surprised to see a missed call and three texts from Chloe.
Chloe: You free tomorrow?
Chloe: I mean, free to DJ?
Chloe: Annual fashion gala. Bogan had to cancel last minute and we can't find anyone else at such short notice.
Beca frowns. The last text was sent just thirty minutes ago. She quickly taps out a reply and starts walking back home.
Beca: Do you not understand the meaning of work-life-balance?!
Chloe's reply comes almost immediately.
Chloe: It's a company crisis!
Beca grins, remembering how batshit crazy Chloe would get just before the National championships.
Beca: For fuck's sake, Beale, relax. What time?
Chloe: 7pm till 2. I asked like at least a hundred people and all of them are unavailable.
Beca: So, I'm your last resort, huh?
Chloe: No! I just didn't want to trouble you with any of my work shit.
Chloe: Look, I'm sorry I asked. I'll keep looking.
Beca: Don't be an idiot. Text me the deets.
...
The next evening, Beca realizes – too late – that she doesn't have any appropriate clothes for a formal gala – much less one that was going to be filled with snooty fashion designers. Then she decides, fuck it, she's there as a DJ, after all, not a runway model – she's supposed to be in torn jeans and leather. Besides, she was there to work, not fraternize.
She's wrong, though – the moment she steps through the door and into the ballroom, she's accosted by an endless stream of over-enthusiastic fashion designers praising her 'bold and edgy and timelessly chic' outfit. She actually has to bite her lip to prevent herself from saying something sarcastic in response. "Where the heck are you, Chloe?" She mumbles through gritted teeth, trying in vain to navigate her way around the mass of teeming bodies. She has no idea where the mixing table is, and at the rate she's going, she's probably never going to find it.
"There you are." Beca nearly melts at the familiar sound of Chloe's voice. "I told you to come early. Jules is freaking out." There is a slight pause. Chloe emerges from behind a herd of people.
Beca's heart nearly stops. "You– you're – you look-" Beca swallows, knowing perfectly well how incoherent and weird she sounds.
"You look good too, Beca," Chloe says softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "C'mon, I'll walk you to the mixing table." Chloe grabs her by the elbow and they squeeze through the crowd together.
Chloe bumps into a tall, black-haired woman and Beca bumps into Chloe. They both mumble hasty apologies. The woman is unfazed. "Wow Beale – that your girlfriend or what?" The woman eyes Beca lasciviously.
"Nah, I'm the DJ," Beca explains.
The woman whistles. "That's hot. Can I have your number?" She digs around in her pocket and hands Beca a pen. Chloe shoots the tall woman a look of consternation but doesn't protest or attempt to drag Beca away.
Beca laughs. "I'm flattered, but no thanks."
Chloe raises her eyebrows but says nothing. The woman shrugs and sticks the pen back into her pocket. They continue walking. "Why didn't you give it to her?" Chloe asks curiously, when they were out of earshot. "I mean, she's hot."
Beca eyeballs her. Chloe blushes, and Beca relents. "Because I don't plan on dating or fucking her," Beca says. "Duh."
"I know," Chloe says. "But why?"
Beca shakes her head. "Don't be obtuse, Beale. You know why."
"Beca..." Chloe sighs. "I -"
"I know, I know, you already said. You don't have to say it again. I'm trying not to feel this way, okay? But you can't expect all these feelings to just disappear overnight." Beca is scowling now, walking faster so she doesn't have to see the expression on Chloe's face. "And anyway you don't have to stay away from anyone – especially not if that someone looks like Ryan Gosling."
Chloe catches the reference immediately. "Oh Kyle?" She laughs. "I wish. You've heard of him, right? The photographer? Jules' right hand man?"
Beca's jaw drops. "Holy shit. That's Kyle Peters?" She has thus far only read this name in papers and magazines, accompanied by gorgeous full-color, glossy pictures. "Kyle fucking Peters looks like – never mind. Don't tell me. Some people get all the luck."
They reach the mixing table at the edge of the ballroom. "Gosh, speak of the devil," Chloe mutters. Sure enough, Kyle comes marching over with Jules, who has a look of immense relief plastered all over his face. "There you are, Beale." Jules turns to Beca. "I take it that this is the DJ?"
"That's me," She says.
He smiles warmly at her. "Thank you so much for being here, I'm so sorry to impose on you like this." He's about to say something else but stops when he spots someone – presumably important – walking towards him. "Shit. I have to go. Catch you girls later!" He strides off hurriedly, leaving them with Kyle, who immediately seizes the opportunity to rake his eyes down the length of Beca's body.
Beca turns hot under his rude, intrusive gaze. She feels a wave of disgust wash over her and wonders why Chloe even puts up with him. Maybe it's a hunch, maybe it's plain old jealousy – either way, Beca doesn't like him, and it's starting to show on her face. "Excuse me," She says coldly, pushing past him towards the mixing table.
"There's no need to be quite so rude," Kyle gives Beca a predatory smile. His voice is low and silky, as dangerous as a coiling serpent.
"Oh, believe me, this is me on my best behavior," Beca mutters.
"You're a feisty one, alright," Kyle chuckles. He gives both Beca and Chloe a cocky grin before leaving.
"Thank god," Beca says, letting her breath out slowly. "I was this close to knocking his teeth out."
Chloe lays a reassuring hand on the smaller woman's shoulder. "Just ignore him. He's a jerk, I know, but he has powerful friends."
"I don't care," Beca says. "If he comes here again I swear I'll kill him." She settles into her seat and begins to adjust the dials, familiarizing herself with the controls. "So – what sort of mood are we going for here?"
Chloe frowns slightly. "Um, I think Jules briefed Bogan but I have no idea what he said... You know what? Just do whatever you want." She grins. "That's what you always end up doing anyway."
Beca laughs. "You have a problem with that, Beale?"
"No," Chloe says, smiling fondly at her. "I gotta go mingle for a bit, but I'll be back soon."