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"Miss Fabray?" Stephanie was back. Two days had passed since Quinn's encounter with Santana in Central Park, and her assistant had not yet found her a suitable man. "I think I found the perfect man." Quinn's head shot up, and she slowly pulled off her reading glasses, beckoning the young woman over. Stephanie crossed the room, hugging a purple binder to her chest, which she placed on Quinn's desk, careful not to spill her piping hot macchiato. The blonde opened the binder, flipping a few sheets over, before getting to the 'perfect man' Stephanie had mentioned previously.
However, as Quinn studied the man's face, she realized how familiar he looked…then she realized. All the colour drained from her face, and she looked up, her eyes wide.
"Finn Hudson?" She breathed, not truly believing it. Stephanie nodded eagerly, pointing to Finn's description.
"Yes! He's a successful banker, excessively wealthy, good friends with fashion designer Kurt Hummel. You wore one of his dresses to London Fashion Week last year, remember?"
"Oh, I remember," Quinn replied dreamily, thinking back. Kurt had an eye for fashion, and his designs were to die for. "Hmm. Fine. I'll meet with Finn Hudson today, and if not today, then tomorrow."
Stephanie stammered a few times before nodding, picking up her binder and exiting, only pausing by the door to ask a quick question.
"What if he's not free today or tomorrow?"
Quinn fixed her with a sweet, slightly patronizing smile.
"Oh, sweetie. It's me. Of course he'll be free."
Rachel didn't even bother calling Santana in advance to let her know she was coming over. They had fallen into a certain rhythm since becoming best friends. They had met at a small coffee shop, just a few blocks from Santana's apartment. Even though a Starbucks was right around the corner, she refused to go there, stating it was 'full of hipsters taking black and white photos of their coffee on their white iPhones'. She was right, of course, and that was the exact reason Rachel refused to go into a Starbucks. They had bonded over that, and ever since, they had been like sisters.
"How's the novel going?" She asked, settling down on the bed next to Santana. Santana sighed, tapping the laptop with one nail.
"It's alright. I did have some inspiration when I went to Central Park," Rachel beamed at that. "But, now it's all dried out. I can't move the plot along. I've got the general gist of it down, but it's hard to develop plot ideas and characters and relationships, you know?"
"Well, actually I don't know because I don't write, I sing and act on a stage," Rachel stated matter-of-factly, but smiled warmly at Santana, who rolled her eyes fondly. "But, you know, if everything you've already done was inspired by one event or place or person, go out and get inspired by whatever inspired and motivated you in the first place."
Santana chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully for a few moments, mulling the suggestion over. It was a good idea, but that was no surprise, Rachel was full of them. But it was freezing outside, and she didn't even know how to find that Quinn girl. She didn't even know her last name, which was one of the main downfalls.
"Fine," Santana mumbled, pushing her laptop off of her and onto the bed. She leapt up, stretching and sighing. "But don't come to my funeral if I die of pneumonia." She joked, leaving the room.
"I won't!" Rachel called back in a singsong voice and giggled to herself. Rachel did love her best friend, in fact, she loved her indescribable amounts. She just wished Santana was a bit more motivated, like herself. Rachel worked hard for what she wanted, she practiced her singing, dancing and acting daily, took great care of her voice and body and made sure never to stress herself out too much. Santana, however, was the complete opposite. She wanted to be a best selling author, but she lacked the drive that Rachel had running through her veins. Rachel would do whatever it took to get Santana to the top of the bestseller list. That's what best friends were for, right?
To say Quinn was nervous was an understatement.
Her stomach was in knots, heart thudding, and blood pounding in her ears. Sure, she walked with confidence, head held high, her heels clipping on the pavement, but inside, she was a nervous wreck. Well, you would be too, right? If you were going to see your ex-boyfriend for the first time in 7 years. Especially since he's incredibly successful, and probably less dopey than he used to be in high school.
Quinn breezed into the small yet fancy bistro, sliding her aviators off as she looked round. Finn stood up, waving her over, his business suit crisp and creaseless. She forced a smile and walked over, trying to give off that famous 'I'm confident, beautiful, successful' vibe she usually did.
"Finn. Lovely to see you again." Quinn greeted him politely, fluttering her eyelashes at him as he pulled out her seat for her. Ever the gentleman.
"You too, Quinn. You look lovely."
"Why, thank you. You too. Your suits suit you better than your old polo shirts." She grinned, and he chuckled, turning briefly to the waiter to order some wine.
"How have you been?" He asked her, folding his hands in his lap and leaning backwards. She raised one eyebrow, as if to say 'Really?'.
"Well, I'm the founder and CEO of the biggest cosmetic brand in the world. I am adored by everyone, especially young girls dealing with self-loathing and insecurities. Oh! And I made my first million by the time I was 21. You do the math, Finn." Quinn boasted, shooting him a wry smile, her perfectly sculpted eyebrow still raised. Finn felt his mouth drop open and his eyebrows shot up.
"Wow," He chuckled nervously, regarding her carefully. "You've got a good life, Q." The mention of her old nickname made something snap inside of Quinn. Her head shot up from looking down at the menu and she fixed him with a death glare.
"Q," She started angrily. "Is in the past. It's Quinn. Or Miss Fabray. Whatever floats your boat." She damn near hissed and Finn raised both hands in surrender.
"Sorry, sorry. I forgot you're a big shot now. But you're not the only one. I'm sure your little assistant told you I was an incredibly wealthy banker, and that I'm fighting girls off." He smirked at her, and Quinn's glare intensified. When did Finn get to be such a smart ass? He was never like that in high school. It was weird to see him so…patronizing. Like Quinn used to be. He obviously thought the roles had been reversed, but Quinn was about to prove him otherwise.
"She mentioned the banker part. Nothing about fighting off girls though, Finny." Quinn bit back, scowling at him.
"What's the matter, Q?" Finn emphasized the Q heavily, and Quinn watched as the letter rolled off his tongue easily. "Got your panties in a twist?" He leant forward on his forearms, watching for her reaction.
Quinn snarled at him, and flipped her hair back casually.
"Whatever, Hudson. Get the bill."
Finn narrowed his eyes in confusion, but did so anyway. Quinn stormed out, Finn striding behind her, still smiling like the cat that had got the cream. As soon as they were outside, Quinn whipped around, staring up at the tall man.
"I should hate you," Quinn glowered. "But you've never been so hot. I haven't had a good lay in a while, and I'm sure you think yourself a god in bed. Right?"
"Right. But I don't just think, I kn-"
"Shut up," She snapped, silencing him with one finger. "I don't want to listen to you gloating and going on and on about how great you are. Meet me tonight, at my apartment, and don't say a word. If you do, well, you won't get to tap this piece of ass like you've wanted to since we dated."
And with that, Quinn turned on her heel and sauntered away, leaving Finn in her wake. Just like she used to, in high school.
Santana settled on the same bench as last time, pulling her duffel coat even tighter around her. She shivered and clutched her hands together, cursing herself for forgetting her gloves.
"This seat taken?" There is was. The same light, angel-like voice from last time. Santana turned, smiled, and shook her head, patting the space next to her.
"Nope. Sit." She offered, watching as Quinn, once again, sat with all the grace of a prima ballerina. What Santana wouldn't do to have that amount of elegance and poise.
"So…you're back." Quinn started.
"As are you."
"I thought you said Central Park wasn't very inspiring." Quinn enquired, grinning at Santana.
"And I stick by that statement," Santana replied, feeling the corners of her mouth turn up. "However, the people are definitely not lacking in inspiration." Quinn laughed loudly, a real belly laugh, and Santana started as well. It was infectious, and it made Santana's heart soar.
"Thank you, thank you. Aren't you glad I came back then?" The blonde sat back and crossed her legs, smirking over at Santana, who chuckled.
"Damn right I am. All my inspiration has gone, completely, and my best friend, Rachel, made me come out and get inspired again. I thought it was a futile attempt, seeing as I didn't know if I was going to see you again. But…here you are. So, thank you. Now I can finally finish the second chapter."
"Second already? Wow." Quinn breathed, watching a couple walk past, hand in hand. She watched them till they were out of sight, and then she turned back to Santana.
"So, you write. Tell me more about yourself."
"Uh," Santana stammered. What did she say? Why was it whenever someone asked you about yourself, you forgot every damn detail about yourself? "I hate mushrooms." She blurted out, then mentally kicked herself for being such a dork.
"Well, I'll keep that in mind, Santana." Quinn giggled, a breathy, angel-like giggle, and Santana truly thought it the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.
Quinn glanced down at her watch and sighed. Time to get a move on back to the office, then to home to get dressed up for Finn.
"I had better go." She sighed, uncrossing her legs and standing up. She picked up her designer bag and slipped her sunglasses back on. She waved goodbye to Santana, but not before the brunette asked her the question that had been bugging her since they first met.
"Wait! Quinn…what's your last name?" Santana asked, scuffing her feet on the floor. Quinn thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. She didn't want Santana to know who she really was. She missed the normality of just having a normal conversation with a normal person. She loved being Quinn Fabray, but she also hated it. People treated her different when they realized who she really was. Actually, she was surprised Santana hadn't twigged who she was yet. Obviously the girl wasn't a huge makeup fan.
"I think it's best if you didn't know." Quinn replied, nodding. Santana sighed, but also nodded, in understanding. The blonde waved again and walked off, leaving Santana in disappointment. But at least she had a shit load of inspiration for her book.
The buzzing sound that signaled someone wanted to come up to her apartment jolted Quinn out of her daydream. She gasped, quickly smoothed her hair, checked herself out in the mirror (spending a bit more money to get the more expensive set of underwear at Victoria's Secret was a good choice) before rushing downstairs.
"Come up, it's open." Quinn spoke into the intercom, pressing the button to let Finn in. Well, she hoped it was Finn, and not her parents. That would be way too embarrassing for words.
Finn had barely knocked before the door swung open to reveal a scantily clad Quinn Fabray, smirking at him in a way only a Fabray knows how. Finn gulped, before remembering he was Finn fucking Hudson, and immediately grabbed her, pulling her toward him. It didn't take long for them to get to the bed.
The next morning, with Finn snoring quietly beside her, Quinn realized something. She had conquered two goals: find a respectable man that fit her criteria, and have sex. Yes, Quinn Fabray was well and truly the boss.