Chapter Five: The One Where Santana is Disgusted (And pleased)
v. Please Don't Be In Love With Someone Else
Weeks seem to fly by as Rachel throws herself into her new production, leaving all other tasks to one side. She's an events planner part-time, but lately, she hasn't confirmed any bookings or helped anyone. She reasons that she hasn't got the time – that running this show is difficult enough without worrying about work and cutting back hours. (She knows that she really can't keep it up for much longer, her reserves of money is depleting quickly.)
After three weeks of auditions, Rachel is still having trouble finding that perfect ensemble for the musical. Sure, she had seen plenty of talent, but she's struggling to see people in the roles. They're just not right. They hit some buttons, but miss the mark completely at other times. They excel at dancing; shaky at singing. Their acting is stellar; they've two left feet.
Rachel is sitting at her kitchen table quietly musing this as she paints her nails. She's rather stumped and at a loss at where to go. Of course, she could just take a chance on some of the potential stars. She wants stars though, not potential stars. Is that too much to ask? She frowns, knowing that it may be.
What happens next, Rachel believes is fate. She's simply minding her own business, worrying silently in her own kitchen on her own time, when in walks Finn. But oh no, it's just that – he's singing. All of a sudden, Rachel knows she has to have him. She has to have him in her ranks and immediately starts going through what character he'd play.
He nods at her, but continues his route to the fridge, belting out Elton John's famous 'Tiny Dancer' while dancing rather amusingly. Finn's oblivious to the fact that Rachel is still staring at him excitedly, almost ready to clap her hands in joy. He has taken a beer from the fridge and leftover pasta, and plonks himself in the chair next to her.
"What's up?" He asks casually, but she only blinks.
"Coaster." He obeys without a noise, and then looks at her for an answer. It's not what he's expecting. "what would you say, Finn Hudson, to being a star in my show? I know, you haven't really got the experience or expertise, but I've been coaching you for years without you even knowing! I mean, when we first started singing on Friday's, your pitch was simply woeful at times. But now, well, you're rarely off! Unless it's a b note of course, you can be shaky on those sometimes. No matter, I think you'd be an excellent addition and you'd be absolutely perfect for Roger. Or Collins," She adds thoughtfully, completely immersed in future plans now.
He's speechless, and then starts spluttering madly, "I—I.. Rachel, this is a terrible, terrible idea! I can't dance, I'm nervous on stage – oh god, I'd never be able to sing on stage and you know, there's no way I'd be able to remember all those lines."
She opens her mouth to respond, but Santana breezes out of her room as she does, wondering what Finn is making a fuss about. She sets the kettle to boil and takes a seat next to them, "Why so red and stammering?"
Finn looks uncomfortable as he responds, "Rachel wants me to be in her stupid musical."
"It's not stupid!" She shoots back, offended. "I'm going to pretend you never said that, Finn, because I know you're just feeling cornered right now and your automatic response is to go on the offense. Even if it is hurtful and unnecessary." Rachel adds, sending him a pointed look.
"Ah," is all Santana says. He nods, as if she's agreeing with him on his undoubted future failure. Santana frowns, "What's the big deal? Do it. Your voice doesn't make my ears bleed, Rachel needs actors and you're the best for the job out of us."
Rachel nods vigorously and happily in acquiesce with her. Finn sits back, unsure of what's going on. Had Santana honestly just complimented him? Not the point, he reminds himself. He's always had stage fright, and Finn's not sure that even Rachel could scare that away. Sure, she's amazing at what she does, but he's pretty much a lost cause in that regard. His high school Glee club seemed to think so anyway – Rachel knows what a disaster that had been at times. Finn shakes his head – wait a minute, he had been really good at Glee club! He had been the lead male!
He had done it before, and suddenly, with an energy out of nowhere, exclaims out loud, "And I can do it again!"
Santana shakes her head, as if embarrassed for him, and gets up to make tea. Rachel claps excitedly and pulls him in for a tight hug, "Oh this is so great, Finn! With you, that eliminates a lot of work for me. Oh, this is so wonderful! We'll have to start practicing right away, you know that? I understand you work, but the great thing about being a teacher is that you don't have long hours," Finn briefly wonders what the hell he's gotten himself into.
Then Rachel smiles brightly at him, and he decides that no matter the grief this brings him, if it makes her smile like that, he'd happily take it.
She stares at her calendar for what seems like hours, and can't help the heavy exhale that follows. The weeks are flying by and soon, it'll be winter all over again and her and the girls will go back to counting the pennies to pay for heating. She hates winter in that regard; she has to cough up so much money just to keep warm.
On the other hand, Quinn loves winter. She adores the crisp, cool bite in the morning air; she revels in the early nights with a hot cup of tea and a good book; she secretly craves those nights curled up with someone in front of the fire and don't even get her started on snow or Christmas. So, all in all, she feels the good outweighs the bad in the coming of winter. Even so, she can't escape the feeling that time is going by too fast.
Tearing her eyes away from the calendar for a moment to check the time, Quinn ironically then prays that time will go a little quicker today. She has a bet going with Finn regarding their foosball table and a long day in work. It started with him claiming that it's harder to play after being in work all day, and her laughing at the statement. Puck had readily agreed with Quinn, and encouraged a bet between the two – being the shit-stirrer that Puck is.
"That's unacceptable, I'm afraid. This quote is completely paraphrased, and if you are going to do that, my client deserves fair warning. As it is, I demand that it be taken out, or –"
"Sir, I told you, this has nothing to do with me," A co-worker of Quinn's drones on, sounding bored and unhelpful. Quinn's eyebrows furrow – it's only polite to help the man.
She stands from her desk and approaches him confidently, "Can I help you, sir?"
He swings around to her angrily, but both of them pause for a minute. She's slightly taken about by how hot he is. He's tall with a body that any woman desires – defined, wide shoulders, lean frame – and wears a business suit that gives him a certain je ne sais quoi.
His blond hair just about avoids his eyes, which she thinks is good because his eyes are a captivating crystal blue that causes her to lose her train of thought for a minute. He shakes his head at that moment, "I was just taking issue with your latest edition about to go to print... It—" He stops again, simply looking at her, "It's not what my client wanted."
Quinn scolds herself silently and banishes all wicked thoughts, "I'm sorry to hear that. Well, Ms. Schue isn't available at the moment, but if you wait twenty minutes, she'll be right out."
"Can you not help me?" He asks, an exasperated expression facing her.
She smiles slightly and shakes her head, "I'm afraid not. I've got no pull around these parts, just a bit of writing skill."
His eyes become suspicious, "The gossip column?"
"Not quite. I do the advice section," Quinn laughs, a little embarrassed. She hates telling people that. This isn't what she wants to do forever – when she had finished college, no publishing place would take her without experience and so she ended up here. She supposes she just hasn't gotten around to leaving yet or searching elsewhere.
His smile is animated when he replies, "Oh, I know that one! It's usually something that cheers me up. Just when you think your life is bad, you read about someone whose wife is secretly a heroin addict and sleeping around with all your female friends."
Quinn quirks her brow, "I don't think I've ever given advice on that one.."
"Really? I'm pretty sure I read that. Or about the brother who's really a sister?"
"Now that one, I've had." Quinn can't help but chuckle, and glances down for fear of giving too much of herself away. She doesn't want to seem like she's flirting – because she's not. She's just keeping him company until her boss is ready. That's not a crime, is it? No, she assures herself, it's not. It's polite and upholding the reputation of the magazine.
His eyes seem to catch onto something then, "I actually do know your column... you're the bitchy one, aren't you?"
She should be offended by his words, but seeing as they're true – and the fact that he has the most adorable amused expression on his face – she simply grins, "Bitchy may be a tad harsh. I would sayhonest.."
He shrugs, "If it helps you sleep at night."
A thought strikes Quinn, "Who is your client, by the way?"
The man grins, "Lamar Odom. I used to be strictly a sports manager, but lately I've begun to branch out.."
"Isn't he a sports star?" She asks, frowning. She wonders if that gives the impression she actually follows any sport, because in reality, she doesn't know the difference between American football and rugby, but Keeping up with the Kardashians – that's definitely something she knows.
He leans forward, and her heart – irrationally, in her opinion – beats a little faster. His voice lowers to a whisper as he replies: "Between you and me, he's more reality and celebrity than anything else these days,"
A small, mousy-haired woman scurries over to them then, and Quinn knows her as her boss' personal assistant, Grace. She reminds Quinn distinctly of a mouse due to her hair and facial features – an upturned nose accompanied by freckles scattered across her cheeks that she thinks could be whiskers potentially – and has an irritating voice that causes Quinn to avoid her. "Um, Ms. Schue is ready for you now,"
His eyes widen, as if he forgot what he is here for, and glances at Quinn, "That's my cue, I guess. Thanks for the distraction," He sends her a dazzling smile. His mouth is a little oversized, she thinks, but somehow that still makes him highly attractive, "I never got your name?"
"Quinn Fabray," She replies simply, with a small grin.
He holds out his hand, "Sam Evans. Hey, are you free after this?"
Quinn forgets all about her stupid bet.
Santana's had an awful day today, and is just looking forward to a nice bath and some hot sex. Blaine invited her over again – yes, yes, she's just as surprised as you that he's managed to hold her attention this long – and she thinks he'll help her unwind and get her mind off of pressing business matters. It's been a hectic week in work with her fellow economists, arguing and debating over potential matters, and she's counting down the days till the weekend. She finds herself doing that a lot these days.
Hopping into her tiny, red car that she adores as it's one of the only valuable things Santana truly owns, she thinks about her life at the moment. It's not ideal, but it's definitely different. For starters, she'sdating. A word that had become foreign to her in the past few years. She hadn't seen the point in dating just to cut them loose eventually – it was always so much hassle. But Blaine? He makes things so easy for her. He listens, he consults, he helps, and by god is he hot in bed. Because let's be honest, she wouldn't be with him if he wasn't.
She's not even close to being in love, but for the first time in a long time, she feels like maybe this man could make her fall in love. (There's something missing that she can't pinpoint, or is not willing to, but she ignores this part steadily.)
Blaine knows a lot of things about her that she very rarely shares. Such as her secret penchant for singing, her teen and childhood dream of making it as a singer, her ambition to simply make it and her absolute terror of ending up like her mother.
Santana focuses her eyes on the road – thoughts of her mother should be left in the back of the mind.
She pulls up outside Blaine's quaint flat, and smiles to herself. Slapping on her sexy demeanour, she approaches the door. She only has to knock once before it answers. He leans into kiss her immediately, and when he pulls back and looks into her eyes, he frowns. "Hard day?" Santana probably should have mentioned that she never really told Blaine anything about her, he seemed to read her and then drag it out.
Santana nods, "You have no idea. It's hard being the only woman in a room, let alone the only hot woman."
"I'm sure you can manage," He laughs, then points towards his bedroom – even though she knows it's his bedroom, "Change into something more comfortable if you want. I think there's some clothes from when you last stayed,"
She heads towards his room wordlessly, hoping that he's not about to comment on her staying every now and again. She's desperate to keep things the way they are – why fix something that's not broken? Santana doesn't want to define. She doesn't want to change. It's too much to ask of her.
When she enters the room, she takes a step back again. Turning around to him with wide eyes, she feels at least one layer of ice melt from around her heart. "Blaine?" she asks softly, partly scared, and mostly disgustingly pleased.
The room is decked to the nines in cliche, but she's never had someone make a cliche for her. There's red rose petals scattered across the bed, candles lit on every available surface and the lights are dimmed. There's a bottle of – what she knows is – expensive champagne on the locker beside the bed, and when he takes her hand and leads her into the kitchen, she's further surprised. There's a homemade meal of her favourite (she wonders how he knows already, how he remembered from the meals they've had together) and a candle in the middle of the table. Two wine glass have been set out already. She wants to comment on how cheap it all is; how horribly and awfully cliche'd it all his. She wants to mock him and ask if they're doing some human sacrifices (she knows some people the world would be better off without). But she can't.
Men always attempted to impress Santana. That's nothing new to her – but no one ever really went through trouble to please her. She's never been cooked a dinner, never had a room decorated – and whyis he doing all this? She eyes him carefully, and asks a simple why.
The answer? For most men, it's getting her to sleep with them again. Or to consider keeping them around for longer.
Blaine shrugs, "You've been stressed this week. You deserve pampering every once and a while, San... You may be made of ice, but I'm pretty sure even ice needs tending to." He flashes a smile then, "And I wanted to impress you, of course. Fabulous cooking skills or what?"
Although she tries against her might, she can't stop her heart skipping a little faster when he smiles. She absolutely hates it.
(She really does absolutely hate it.)
Hope you enjoyed that chapter! Mega sozzles for the delay in updating, but my exams start Monday so I'm afraid I can't promise that I'll update quick. I'm not even supposed to be on now!haha... Once exams are finished though, I'll be writing bits from my stories daily. Anyway, song title from "Enchanted" by Taylor Swift, and I think it's one to take notice of... I don't own it anyway, or glee or Friends. I know, I was shocked too.
Thanks for reading :)
Reviews – they are the best.
xCNx