A/N: All rights belong to the writers, cast, and crew of Glee and Pretty Woman.

Previously:

The car made an awful screeching sound, and the driver grimaced, before noticing Quinn's presence. Big brown eyes trapped hazel, and they were locked in a gaze for a moment, before the blonde cleared her throat, remembering why exactly she had approached the car.

"Hey, sugar, you lookin' for a date?"

Rachel bit her lip, staring the woman with choppy blonde locks. Who would put streaks of pink through hair like that? People dyed—died—for that shade of bottle blonde. Maybe it was a rebellious move. Maybe it was a wig. Maybe it was daddy problems. Or maybe, it was an act.

The blonde arched her eyebrow, looking amused.

Rachel huffed. "No, I want to find Beverly Hills. Can you give me directions?"

"Sure," she drawled. "For five bucks."

"Ridiculous."

"Price just went up to ten."

Rachel threw her hands up. "You can't charge me for directions."

The blonde smirked. "I can do anything I want to, baby. I ain't lost."

"All right, okay?" Rachel turned to dig into her bag, pulling out a thin bill. "All right. You win, I lose. Got change for a twenty?"

The woman snatched it out of her hand with a grin, slipping into the car. "For twenty I'll show you personal. Even show you where the stars live."

"Oh, that's all right. I've already been to Stallone's."

She smiled. "Right. Uh, down the street."

Rachel nodded and returned her attention to the stick shift, cursing under her breath when the woman beside her stifled a chuckle.

"Hey, where you goin', baby?" Some guy said, nearing the car.

The blonde glanced at the figure and tensed. "Uh, let's go."

"I'm going," the brunette muttered.

"Quinn!"

"Go!" she shouted, and Rachel jumped, hitting the gas pedal and peeling out.

"Lights! Lights would be good here," the woman reminded her, reaching over to flip a switch. Rachel shivered when their skin brushed.

She glanced back in the rearview mirror at the man on the sidewalk, wondering what kind of trouble the woman was involved in. Maybe the pink wasn't a mask. "I guess this is not the greatest time to be a hooker, is it?"

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Look, I use condoms always. I get checked out once a month at the free clinic."

Rachel nodded, shifting gears. There. This wasn't so hard.

"Not only am I better in the sack than an amateur, I am probably safer."

"I like that. That's good." She shifted again and the car shrieked at her. Rachel frowned, choosing to ignore the whole ordeal. "Should have that printed on your business card."

The woman faced her. "If you're makin' fun of me, I don't like it."

"No, I'm not making fun of you." She glanced at the blonde, who stared out the window, unconvinced. "No, I'm not making—I'm not. I wouldn't offend you. I'm sorry."

The woman shrugged.

Rachel sighed, and fiddled with the radio before leaving it on a random station, just for some white noise. After a few stop lights, she tried again.

"What's your name?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "What do you want it to be?"

Rachel laughed. "Really?"

The blonde bit her lip, hesitating. "Quinn. My name is Quinn."

"Quinn," Rachel repeated, satisfied. It had a nice ring to it. She was right to guard it from sleaze bag clients.

"So, what hotel you stayin' at?"

"The, uh, Regent Beverly Wilshire."

"Down the block, right at the corner."

Rachel fought with the gear as she turned the corner, and it growled at her again. She sighed, wishing she could just teleport there.

"Man, this baby must corner like it's on rails!"

Rachel looked over to see Quinn on the edge of the leather seat, with a small smile of appreciation for the car. She ran her hands over the dashboard, the smile growing ever so slightly. The brunette raised her eyebrow, surprised. "I beg your pardon?"

Quinn matched her stare. "Well, doesn't it blow your mind? This is only four cylinders."

Rachel shifted and watched the blonde's face crinkle, as if in pain, when the gears screeched. "You know about cars. Where did that come from?"

She shrugged. "Road and Track. The boys back home I grew up with, they were really into American heavy metal: Mustangs, Corvettes."

"Ah."

"They bought 'em cheap and fixed 'em up. I paid attention." Quinn ran her eyes along the brunette's form. "So how is it you know so little about cars?"

Rachel blushed. "My first car was a limousine."

"Oh."

"So where is this," the gears clashed again, and Rachel grunted, before continuing, "heavy metal home?"

"Millage Ville, Georgia." The blonde glanced behind them, smirking. "You know, I think you left your transmission back there."

Rachel huffed.

"You're not shifting right. This is a standard H."

The brunette rolled her eyes."Standard H. Like I know what that means."

Quinn laughed.

"Have you ever driven a Lotus?" Rachel asked, slowing the car.

"No," Quinn replied, exhaling.

She pulled over, and unbuckled her seatbelt. "You're gonna start right now."

"You're joking."

"No. It's the only way I can get you off my coat." Rachel smirked, before stepping out of the car and trading seats with the blonde.

They settled in their new seats, and Quinn gripped the steering wheel, committing the grooves to memory.

"Fasten your seat belts," she said, and winked. "I am taking you for the ride of your life."

Rachel smiled in return, clicking the belt into place.

"I'm gonna show you what this car can really do. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready."

"Hang on."

"Okay."

"Here we go."

The blonde smirked when the Lotus purred under her and swiftly shifted out onto the road. Rachel's heart fluttered, and she gripped the side of the seat discreetly for support.

"This has pedals like a race car. They're really close together," Quinn explained. "So it's probably easier for women to drive, 'cause they have little feet. Well, except me. I wear a size nine." She glanced at Rachel. "You know your foot's as big as your arm from your elbow to your wrist?" The blonde chuckled, as if she were hearing it for the first time. "Did you know that?"

Rachel couldn't help but laugh with her. "No, I didn't know that."

"It's a little bit of trivia."

They sped down a few more streets until Rachel spoke up again. "Tell me, what kind of—what kind of money you girls make these days?"

"Ballpark?" Quinn asked, and continued at the brunette's nod. "Can't take less than a hundred."

"A hundred dollars a night." Rachel hummed.

Quinn snorted. "For an hour."

"An hour?" Rachel's eyes widened. "You make $100 an hour and you got a safety pin holding your boot up? You got to be joking."

"I never joke about money."

"Neither do I," Rachel said. "Hundred dollars an hour. Pretty stiff.

"Well, no. But it's got potential." Quinn pulled into the hotel's archway, grinding the gears to a halt with sudden pressure on the breaks. The valet men exchanged looks, surprised, as one of them moved to open the doors.

"Good evening, Ms. Berry. Will you be needing the car anymore tonight?"

Rachel glanced at Quinn before laughing. "I hope not!"

The valet took the car away, leaving the two standing by a bench. Rachel cleared her throat. "Ah. We're here."

Quinn rocked back on her heels. "Yeah."

"So you'll be all right?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna grab a cab with my twenty bucks." Quinn waved the bill.

Rachel smiled. "Go back to your office."

"Yeah," Quinn said, laughing. "My office. Yeah."

"Well, thanks for the ride," Rachel said, backing away a few steps. "See you."

"Good-bye."

Rachel watched as the blonde stepped out of the lit area, into the dark night. What was someone like that doing as a hooker? How had she ended up on the trashy streets of Hollywood, trolling for creepy douche bags and cheating husbands with potbellies? What caused her to drift away from Georgia, the heart of the Bible belt south?

The thought made Rachel smile a little. Seriously, how had someone with those morals resulted in someone like Quinn? A rebellious ex-Church-goer, who sold herself just to get by. A guarded woman who grew emotional about gears and pumps and horsepower.

A blonde that lived in the shadow of angels.

Would she be okay, gong back? What about the man who had called after her?

She blinked a few times, and checked her watch. It had been ten minutes since Quinn had walked off, ten minutes since she should have checked into her room.

But something pulled her around the corner, and she peered into the darkness. There was a faint outline of someone perched on a bench. Rachel found her feet moving her towards the figure without any thinking.

It was Quinn.

Rachel paused a few steps away. "No taxis?"

The blonde looked over her shoulder, and smiled. "No, I like the bus."

Rachel hesitated. "I was thinking—did you really say a hundred dollars an hour?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"Yeah," Rachel breathed, not believing what she was about to do. "Well, if you don't have any prior engagements, I'd be very pleased if you would accompany me into the hotel."

"You got it." The blonde hopped off the bench and took Rachel's offered arm, laughing. "What's your name?"

"Rachel."

"Rachel. That's my favorite name in the whole world!"

"No!" Rachel said, chuckling.

Quinn tapped her nose. "I tell you what, this is fate, Rachel. That's what this is."

Rachel shook her head, smiling. She handed Quinn her spare pea coat. "Why don't you put this on?"

Quinn frowned. "Why?"

"Well, this hotel is not the kind of establishment that rents rooms by the hour," Rachel said, biting her lip.

"Ah," the blonde said, putting on the coat. It was a little small on her, but fit nicely. She followed Rachel into the building, smoothing the fabric and sticking her hands in the pockets. When she looked up, the architecture hit her. Above their heads was a giant ceiling, seemingly carved from colored marble. The stonework composed the entire lobby, with its grand columns and elegant arches. There was even a marble fountain. Right there in the middle of it all.

"Wow!" Quinn murmured, pulling the coat tighter around her.

Rachel took the blonde's hand out of the pocket, smiling warmly. "It's all right."

"Holy shit."

"You're gonna be fine." Rachel squeezed her hand before letting go, moving toward the front desk. "Come with me. And stop fidgeting."

Quinn ran a hand through her hair, leaning against the wall by the desk.

The woman at the desk eyed the blonde before refocusing on Rachel. "Good evening, Ms. Berry."

"Hello. You have messages?"

Quinn glared down the other occupants as they looked her way.

The receptionist flipped through a few files and nodded, handing over the notes. "Yes, we have several."

"Thank you," Rachel said, and tapped the counter. "Could you send up some champagne and strawberries, please?"

"Of course," the woman said, and glanced at Quinn again, whose coat had fallen open to expose some revealing clothing. The blonde glanced down and blushed, tugging at the coat. Rachel cleared her throat, gaining Quinn's attention, and walked off to the elevator.

The receptionist picked up the phone and pressed a number, watching the odd pair leave. "Room service for Ms. Berry, please."

As they waited for the doors to slide open, an elderly, well-to-do couple approached the elevator and waited off to the side. The husband fixed his stare on the gold doors, knowing what would happen if he looked the hooker's way even so slightly. His wife, who would berate him for taking a glimpse at the blonde's body, stared, openly disgusted and weary.

Quinn glanced at them, and seeing the woman's face, grew bold. She linked her arm through Rachel's, and rested her chin on her shoulder. "Oh, honey."

The brunette furrowed her brow in response, curious.

"You know what's happened? I've got a runner in my pantyhose." Quinn glanced at the elderly couple, who were both staring at her as if she had just told them an apocalypse was on its way. She then forced an obnoxious, ditzy laugh out. "Oh wait, I'm not wearing pantyhose."

Rachel shook her head at Quinn, and couldn't deny that her behavior was amusing. Refreshing, even. She wished she had the guts to mock her judgmental sponsors like that.

The elevator door pinged open and a bellhop stood to the side, expectantly. Quinn gasped and skipped inside, plopping down on the bench with her legs spread. "Well, color me happy! There's a sofa in here for two."

Rachel tried not to smile and faced the shocked elderly couple. "First time in an elevator."

"Ah," the old man said.

"Close your mouth, dear," his wife said, slapping his arm.

Rachel followed Quinn into the elevator, happy the couple had chosen to wait for the next one.

Quinn stood from the plush couch, moving to Rachel's side. "Sorry, I couldn't help it."

Rachel glanced at her and rolled her eyes. "Try." She turned to the bellhop. "Penthouse."

"The penthouse." Quinn echoed, raising her eyebrow.

Rachel nodded. "Yes."

Quinn hummed, and strode out of the elevator when the doors opened.

"To the left," Rachel said, smirking.

The blonde faltered. "Oh."

She turned and trailed Rachel to the door, leaning against the frame as the brunette fumbled the card.

"Oh, I miss keys."

Quinn took it from her hands gently and swiped it, widening her eyes when the room—well, rooms—were revealed. She swaggered into the room, dropping her bag at the mini bar and spinning around to take it all in.

Rachel hadn't been kidding when she said this wasn't the kind of hotel that rented by the hour.

"Impressed?"

Quinn's eyes found Rachel's, and she shrugged. "You kidding me? I come here all the time." She smirked. "As a matter of fact, they do rent this room by the hour."

Rachel threw her head back and laughed. "Sure they do."

Quinn went out on the balcony while Rachel moved behind the bar for a bottle of water. The blonde shouted from outside, "Wow, great view!"

She had never seen her city lit up like this. It made her forget what a dump it really was; it made her believe that maybe that man strutting down the sidewalk earlier hadn't been completely insane when he bellowed about dreams. It was Hollywood, after all. And all lit up like this, all the scars and craters of broken promises and shredded hopes covered in a comforting blackness, it was easy to grow optimistic. Quinn sighed. "I bet you can see all the way to the ocean from out here."

"I'll take your word for it." Rachel leaned in the doorway, watching Quinn lean over the railing. "I don't go out there."

"Why don't you go out here?"

"I'm afraid of heights."

"You are?" Quinn teased, moving over to tug at Rachel's collar and diminish the space between them. "So how come you rented the penthouse?"

Rachel tried not to be distracted by the sudden closeness. "It's the best. I looked all around for penthouses on the first floor, but I can't find one."

Quinn nodded, running her hands down Rachel's arms to link around her waist. "Well, now that you have me here, what are you going to do with me?"

"Want to know something?" Rachel said, and Quinn nodded. "I don't have a clue."

"No?" Quinn said, pressing closer.

Rachel swallowed. "I hadn't exactly planned this."

"Well, do you plan everything?"

"Always."

"Yeah. Me too." Quinn tilted her head. "I'm actually—no, I'm not a planner. I wouldn't say I was a planner." She dipped her head so that her lips were almost touching Rachel's ear. "I would say I was, um, a kind of fly by the seat of my pants gal." She felt the brunette shudder. "You know, moment to moment. That's me. That's—yeah."

"Mm-hmm," Rachel managed to say, beyond coherent words.

Quinn suddenly pulled back. "You know, you could pay me. That's one way to maybe break the ice."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sorry. Uh, I assume cash is acceptable." Rachel snapped out of the spell, rushing into the room. If Quinn didn't know any better, she'd think that the woman was trying to escape. And if she didn't know any better, Quinn would say that she herself was enjoying this more than she should.

She sauntered into the main room, hopping onto the office desk. "Cash works for me, yeah."

Rachel glanced up from the chair, handing her the money. "You're on my fax."

"Well, that's one I haven't been on before."

"Cute. Very cute," Rachel said, chuckling.

"Thank you," Quinn replied, and unzipped her boot to store the cash and pull out female condoms. "All right. Here we go. Pick one. I got red, I got green, I got yellow. I'm out of purple, but I do have one gold circle coin left. The condom of champions. The one and only. Nothing is gettin' through this sucker."

She looked up to see a confused brunette. "What?"

"Well, it's just… I don't have a penis, Quinn."

"Yeah, but you could have STDs or HIVs and I'd rather not take my chances," the blonde countered. "Gay sex needs safe sex, too. So what d'you say? Hmm?"

Rachel glanced over the options. "A buffet of safety."

"I'm a safety girl."

The brunette sighed, leaning back in her chair to gaze at Quinn.

The blonde squirmed under her stare, growing self-conscious. "All right, let's get one of these on you."

She bent forward and made to undo Rachel's belt, but was stopped by a soft hand on her wrist, again frozen by shining brown eyes.

"No. I," the brunette laughed awkwardly. "Why don't we just talk for a little bit, okay?

Quinn furrowed her brow, sitting back up. "Talk. Yeah... uhm... okay. Rachel, are you in town on, uh, business or pleasure?"

"Business, I think."

"Business, you think." Quinn leaned back on her arm. "Well... let me guess. That would make you... a lawyer."

"A lawyer?" Rachel said, scoffing.

"Mm-hmm."

"What makes you think I'm a lawyer?"

"You've got that, uhm... sharp, useless look about you."

Rachel laughed. "I bet you've known a lot of lawyers."

"I've known a lot of everybody," Quinn said.

"Well, I'm not a lawyer. I'm on Broadway, but here for a Hollywood project."

"Ah," Quinn nodded. "The entertainment business. Is there a difference?"

Rachel chuckled, but before she could retort, the doorbell chimed.

"What is that?" Quinn asked, jumping off the desk.

The brunette stood. "Champagne."

"Oh! Well." Quinn beat her to the door. "Might as well make myself useful."

The bell rang again, and Quinn swung the door open, smiling.

The service looked startled but nodded at her. "Good evening."

"Hi," she responded, blocking the doorway unintentionally.

"Uh, where would you like it?"

Quinn turned to face Rachel. "Where would we like it?"

"Uhm, over by the bar."

The man looked at her expectantly. She realized he was waiting for her to step aside and giggled. "Excuse me!"

He placed it on the bar. "It'll be on your bill, Ms. Berry."

"Thank you."

The man returned to the doorway and hesitated, looking back at the two of them.

"What are you lookin' at?" Quinn snapped. When he didn't answer, she cleared her throat and looked at Rachel. "What is he lookin' at?"

"Ah, yes." Rachel jumped up from her chair, slipping him a bill. "Here you go. Thank you very much."

"Thank you very much, ma'am. Have a nice night." He closed the door behind him.

"A tip. Wow. I missed that one. Oh." Quinn scuffed the floor with her boot. She muttered. "Stupid."

Rachel touched her arm as she made her way to the bar. "Don't worry about it."

Quinn sat down on the steps. "You mind if I take my boots off?"

"Not at all." Rachel popped the cork.

The blonde watched her. "So, do you have a wife? Girlfriend?"

"I have both."

Quinn snorted. "Where are they? Shopping together?"

Rachel poured a glass of champagne. "My ex-wife is now in Long lsland... in my ex-home...with my ex-dog." She handed the glass to Quinn. "There you go. My ex-girlfriend, Jessica, is in New York...moving out of my apartment even as we speak." Rachel sat down beside her, extending a bowl of fruit. "Why don't you try a strawberry?"

Quinn sniffed. "Why?"

"It brings out the flavor in the champagne."

"Oh, groovy." The blonde picked up a strawberry, bit it, and drained the glass of champagne. Rachel sighed.

"Pretty good," Quinn admitted. "Don't you drink?"

"No."

Quinn frowned, not used to being pampered. Somehow, it was harder than the usual fuck and flee that the job called for. It was more dangerous. It involved feeling. "Listen, I-I appreciate this whole seduction scene you've got goin', but let me give you a tip: I'm a sure thing, okay? So, I'm on an hourly rate. Could we just move it along?"

Rachel quirked an eyebrow. "Somehow I'm sensing that this time problem is a major issue with you. Why don't we just get through that right now?"

"Great, let's get started."

"How much for the entire night?"

Quinn clicked her tongue. "Stay here?" When the brunette nodded, she snickered. "You couldn't afford it."

"Try me."

"Five hundred dollars."

"Done. Thank you. Now we can relax."

Quinn was skeptical. "Are you sure you want me to stay for the entire night? I mean, I could just pop you good and be on my way."

Rachel shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I don't feel like being alone tonight."

"Why? Is it your birthday or something?"

"No. I mean, I have been the party at a couple of birthdays," Rachel said, smirking.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I bet you have. So what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," Rachel paused. "I really don't know."

The blonde nodded and stood. "Do you have a restroom I could use?"

"Down the hall to the left."

"Thanks."

Rachel nodded, and decided to take the few minutes alone to touch base with her lawyer. He was probably crying about his car, assuming she'd either crashed it, abandoned it, or broken it. And she probably would have managed to do all three if Quinn hadn't come along.

When she assured Finn that his Lotus was fine and safe and well (really, he spoke about it as if it was his baby), she reviewed the day's events and what some of her sponsors had said or asked him. She promised to call him later to go over what the next few days would look like, and hung up, wondering what was taking Quinn so long.

She wouldn't be stealing, right?

No, Quinn had the opportunity to steal a lot more from her than hotel shampoo, and hadn't.

Maybe she had hit her head, and was unconscious on the floor in a pool of blood.

Oh, shit.

Rachel knocked on the bathroom door.

"I'll be out in just a minute. That champagne kind of got to me."

Rachel poked her head in the room. "I didn't hear you. What did you say?"

"Uh," Quinn hid a white box behind her back. "I said I'd be out in just a minute."

The brunette opened the door wider. "What is—what do you have in, uhm, your hand there?"

Quinn looked down at her feet, slightly blushing.

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing."

Rachel sighed. "All right, look. I do not want any drugs here. I don't want any of this. Get your things and your money and please leave."

She tugged Quinn by the arm but the blonde squirmed. "I don't do drugs, all right ? I-I stopped doing drugs when I was fourteen."

"What is this, then? What is this?" The brunette took the box out of her hand and peered at it, suddenly confused. "This is dental floss."

Quinn tensed. "Yeah? So? I had all those strawberry seeds. And you shouldn't neglect your gums."

"I'm sorry," Rachel said, handing back the floss, feeling like all those sleazy jerks that were Quinn's usual clients. Was she any better than them? "Please continue."

"Thank you," Quinn retorted, turning back to the mirror. She caught Rachel's eyes. "Are you gonna watch?"

"No, I'm going." Rachel shook her head, inching out of the doorway. "It's just that, uh, very few people surprise me."

"Yeah, well, you're lucky," Quinn said, leaning into the counter. "Most of 'em shock the hell outta me."