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

Thanks for all the reviews!

Previously:

Rachel's eyes widened.

The blonde stood and sauntered over to her. "You're late."

"You're stunning."

The blonde blinked, smiling as she dipped her head. "You're forgiven."

Rachel laughed and offered her arm. "Shall we go to dinner?"

"This way, Ms. Berry. Your party is waiting."

Rachel leaned into Quinn, giving her arm a light squeeze. "Stop fidgeting."

The blonde brought her hand out from her hair, and tried to focus on Rachel to keep her mind off of the dinner and its many rules.

Why had she agreed to this again?

Oh right, three thousand dollars.

When the hostess brought them to the table, the gentlemen stood, smiling.

"Mr. Schuster?" Rachel prompted politely.

"Yes, Ms. Berry. I'm Will Schuster." He shook the brunette's extended hand, and clapped the young man next to him on the back. "This fireball is my son, David."

The son laughed, shaking his head. "Well, I don't know about the fireball part, but son is true enough." He smiled at Rachel. "Big fan."

"Oh, thank you. I would be nowhere without my cast mates and fans, though."

"Pardon me, but I'd have to disagree with you there," Schuster said.

"Yeah, I'm with Pops on this one," David agreed. "Your voice is big enough to pack stadiums and opera houses on its own."

Rachel smiled in response, waving away the praise. Maybe it would be easier than she thought to change their minds, and convince them to pass over the Hollywood contract. She glanced at the blonde, who seemed to be eyeing the two men with uneasiness.

"I'm pleased to meet you both," she continued, and placed a hand at the small of Quinn's back. "This is a friend of mine, Quinn Fabray."

The blonde straightened, shaking hands. "Hi. I'm really glad to meet you."

Schuster gestured to the chairs. "Please, sit."

The blonde beat Rachel to the seat, and pulled it back for her. The brunette smiled in surprise, and sat down, unfolding the napkin in her lap.

She glanced up to find Quinn hovering by the table and tilted her head in silent question.

"Excuse me," she said, suddenly.

"Where are you going?" Rachel asked, confused.

"I'm going to the ladies' room," she said, softly.

Rachel nodded. "Upstairs, to the right."

"Okay. Excuse me." She took a few steps before the brunette stopped her again.

"Shall I order for you?"

"Yeah," she said, then blushed and sighed. "I mean, please do so. Thank you."

"I'll do that," Rachel confirmed, smiling.

When she reached the bathroom she leaned over the sink, hands gripping the counter.

She could do this. She was Quinn fucking Fabray. She said when, she said what, she said business. All she had to do was sit there and look sexy. She'd been doing that for years now, so it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. It was the same thing, except cloaked in a classy front.

Right, no big deal. She was a damn professional, after all.

"Please, God," she muttered, "let me get through this dinner."

"Ms. Berry, my father believes the men who create a film should control its destiny," David said.

The waiter returned to their table with appetizers, food that Quinn didn't recognize. It looked kind of like cheese and crackers, but with a leaf of some fancy lettuce, a slice of an unknown vegetable, and a something that looked a lot like a green olive but smelt like sardine.

She glanced at the forks, knowing the salad was supposed to come first. Was this it? Was this some kind of experimental restaurant, pushing boundaries in cuisine? No, maybe it came later. She'd probably just heard Kurt wrong, and mixed up which came first.

Quinn turned to Rachel, lowering her voice. "Where's the salad?"

"Um," Rachel said, glancing at her, "the salad comes at the end of the meal."

"That's the fork I knew," she muttered. Rachel slipped a hand onto her thigh, patting it reassuringly. Quinn gave her a small smile, biting her lip at the shiver than threatened to shoot up her spine.

"Let me, uh, put it another way," Schuster started, picking the conversation back up. "Between the neglected meetings with us as a sponsor and the sudden attention you're now giving us, we find it very hard to figure out what your real intentions are, calling us to this dinner."

Quinn's hand wavered over the array of silverware, picking one up to count the tines and remember Kurt's rhyme. But how was she supposed to know which one to pick when she didn't even know what was in front of her?

David watched from his seat, recalling the first time his father had dragged him to a business meeting. It had been just as hard keeping up with proper dining etiquette as following the conversation.

He nudged the blonde. "I don't know about you, but I've never been able to figure which goes with what." Smiling, he picked up the appetizer and bit into it, ignoring the silverware altogether.

The two shared a laugh, and Quinn smiled gratefully, following his lead. Rachel couldn't help but shake her head at the blonde's endearment.

"You know, there was a time when Hollywood wasn't about the money," Schuster said, trying to steer the conversation back to business. "Used to be as good as Broadway. I want to bring it back to that standard."

"And I'd like to help," David said. "There are certain timeless qualities that everyone would agree make a great film, or even a play. Of course, those variables can be paired differently each time, resulting in a variety of greatness. What Pops and I plan to do with the Hollywood contract is to bring back the reputation Hollywood has lost along the way."

"How do you plan on doing that?" Rachel asked, thanking the waiter as he placed the next course in front of her. "The audience has changed."

A plate of pearled shells appeared before Quinn. She stopped the server, asking him quietly, "Who ordered this?"

He nodded towards Rachel. "The miss did, ma'am. Bon appetite."

Quinn's nose crinkled as she examined the seafood in front of her.

Rachel watched her eye the meal, and urged her to give it a chance. "These are escargot. It's French for snails. It's a delicacy." She took one of her own in the metal clasp, using the special utensil to scoop out the snail. "Try it." She glanced up at the table, and prompted the two men to continue. "David?"

"Look, Ms. Berry, if you were to change our minds—and I don't think you will—but if you do, what do you have us do instead?"

"Screw the contract and have David work from the inside out."

The two men exchanged a look. "I'm sure you'll understand I'm not thrilled at the idea of disregarding our status at the top to work from the ground up, yet again."

Quinn decided to refocus her attention on the food. Rachel wasn't so good at business. Even she knew you were supposed to butter up the clients before any level of bluntness like that. Hopefully she was a better singer than she was businesswoman.

She glanced back up at the brunette, who was arguing with the Schusters. Was it weird that she had never heard Rachel sing? Yes, they had only known each other for two days, and granted, the time had been spent between driving Lotuses and small chat, but for a star known for her love of Broadway and all things musical, shouldn't she have at least heard a few melodies by now?

As she took a shell in the clamp, she made a mental promise to make Rachel sing by the end of the night.

"With lessons from me and some of my associates, David will gain a strong repertoire of talent, from various circles. He'll be the best in dance, song, acting, improv…you name it. Hollywood won't be able to turn him down. He'll gain a reputation and be able to work with directors to repair Hollywood, rather than against them."

Schuster clenched his jaw, sensing he was losing the fight. David seemed interested, but uncertain. He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a snail shell ricocheting out of Quinn's grasp and off a tray, into a waiter's quick hand. The server tucked it behind his back, giving Quinn a small smile.

The blonde blushed, dipping her head and chuckling nervously. "Slippery little suckers."

"It happens all the time, miss," the server said, disappearing around the corner.

The others laughed off the incident, and the blonde tried not to sink into her chair in embarrassment. Rachel restarted the conversation, drawing attention away from the blushing blonde.

Quinn, deciding not to fight with one of the gross little slug things again, played with the silverware to look busy. She tried to follow the conversation, but wasn't really interested. She didn't understand why Rachel was taking such an interest in this particular sponsor. The brunette had explained that it was one of her richest supporters, and had been with her from the beginning, but the blonde didn't see why she still needed him. She was rich enough to lose him, especially since she still had countless donators remaining by her side. Why not let him go after his own son's dreams?

"I met one of your fathers. What're their names?" Will said.

Rachel hesitated, wondering where this was going. "LeRoy and Hiram."

"Yeah. Hiram. Hiram Berry," he repeated, smiling at a memory. "He's not quite the pain in the ass everybody says he is."

Rachel shook her head. "No, he isn't."

"He's a stickler in show business, but that's only because he wants things done his way. But, you know, he knew what he was doing. Everything was done properly." Schuster paused. "Do you make him proud?"

"I, I'd like to think so," Rachel said, quietly. Quinn looked up, concerned at the brunette's uncharacteristic stutter. "It doesn't really matter now. He passed away."

Quinn took her hand under the table, giving her a gentle squeeze for support.

Will exhaled. "Oh, I hadn't heard. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Rachel murmured, before clearing her throat. "Mr. Schuster, you accepted the invitation to this meeting. What can I do for you?"

"Allow me to gain headway on Hollywood. Let me take the contract."

The waiter placed the palate cleanser in front of them. Quinn took the leaf and hesitantly bit into it. It tasted of mint, for a second. But immediately after, her mouth was filled with a bitter taste. She wrinkled her nose and swiftly slipped it out of her mouth and back onto the dish. The lime green ball of substance remained before her, and she took a spoonful of it, sniffing it discreetly. It looked kind of like ice cream.

She ate the spoonful, and her eyes widened at the first taste she actually enjoyed that night.

"I can't do that," Rachel said. Quinn furrowed her brow, trying to figure out what was stopping the brunette. She saw a spark of emotion ignite in her brown eyes, but couldn't place it. "I'll provide invaluable lessons for David, even provide you with support, both verbal and in a sum of money, to create your dream film. But David will go nowhere until he gains more experience."

"You don't know that. David's got talent, and everyone has to find a start somewhere. This could be—will be—his beginning. Together we'll transform Hollywood, and I don't understand why you'd want to stand in front of that."

The waiters returned to remove the sorbet and replace it with another exotic looking meal, and Quinn reflexively grabbed onto the plate, not quite finished. She bit her lip, unhappily relinquishing it when she realized the others were watching. Rachel shook her head, amused, before returning to the conversation.

"It's not that I'm standing in front of your dream, it's that I'm helping you recognize that the way you want to approach it, the plan that you are about to put into action, will flop. It'll ruin his reputation. It'll ruin your mission to revive quality films."

Schuster stood, tossing his napkin onto the table. "Don't you dare forget that I've been in this business, too, Ms. Berry. You're belittling me, in front of my son!"

David eased out of his chair, resting a hand on his father's arm. "Easy, easy, calm down. Calm down, Dad."

Quinn fiddled with the napkin hem, uneasy. This was not going well.

"Ms. Berry plays hard," David began.

"Yes, yes, I do," Rachel said, not about to back down.

David rolled his eyes, continuing. "But she has a point. It's not only Hollywood that has changed, it's the people, too. Everyone is money crazy, out for whatever film will draw in the cash. Nowadays, that means movies about alcohol blackouts that involve tigers and giraffes, or 3D movies about celebrities. If we are serious about our vision, and we are, we're going to have to compromise at first—gain a standing in the business."

He turned to Rachel, his father unhappily placated. "Look, we'll consider your offer. In a week's time, we will meet with you again and discuss more if we want to pursue the idea, or less, if we choose to continue with our plan."

Rachel nodded. "Fair enough. Thank you, David."

David shook her hand, turning to leave with his father. He paused. "Quinn, it was a great pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Quinn said, smiling.

"You two enjoy your dinner. I'm sure it'll be delicious," Will said, before the two left.

There was a beat of silence before Quinn cleared her throat and broke the silence. "Rich people throw their napkins a lot, don't they?" Rachel chuckled, leaning back and pinching the bridge of her nose. "He seems like a nice man."

Rachel sighed, dropping her hand. "I guess I came on a little strong, didn't I?"

"A little." Quinn snorted. "I just mean it's sweet the way he's crazy about his son."

"Oh, his son thinks he's a relic. He hates that he does, but he does."

"Really? I thought David was very protective of his father."

Rachel nodded. "Exactly. Protective. He's stepping up, because he realizes his father may not have all the answers anymore, because he's aging. The times are changing, and he doesn't want to change with them." She paused. "I mean, they do want to rekindle old Hollywood."

Quinn leaned on the table, tilting her head to the side. "Well, I think there's a difference between wanting to turn back time and wanting to return to timeless qualities, don't you?"

Rachel hummed. "Good point. But what reason are they each doing it for?"

Quinn shrugged. "Who knows. Does it matter?"

The server returned to refill the water glasses, and Rachel smiled at him. "Check, please."

"Yes, miss."

Quinn sat out on the ledge of the balcony, gazing at the lit up city below. It was surreal, returning to the penthouse after a dinner like that. She had almost forgotten what the city was like, from the streets below her. The streets she worked nightly, ambled aimlessly. All the talk of Hollywood, of money, of ruined values, when the real problems remained untouched, unseen.

Quinn sighed, swinging her leg and leaning back against the pillar. She did wish that David and Schuster could see success, though. There was enough crap in the real world; films were one of the few escapes, the portals to different realities that were not always fairy tales, but somehow better.

At least with Hollywood, you got the ending you wanted.

The chair behind her creaked as someone sat in it, and Quinn turned, surprised. "Rachel?" The brunette smiled, stretching out. "Rachel, you said you never come out here."

She shrugged. "Well, I'm only halfway out."

There was a pause, and Quinn returned her attention back on the darkened streets. "You didn't say much in the car on the way home. Are you thinkin' about dinner? I was a mess." She turned back to Rachel. "I mean, the business was good, I think. At the end, you know? He's got a vision and potential money. You know the trade better. He doesn't want to let go of control, of being his son's hero."

Rachel snorted. "Thanks for the recap."

"The problem is, I think you liked them."

Rachel huffed. "I'd like for you to get down from there; you're making me nervous."

"I'm making you nervous?" Quinn smirked. "What if I just leaned back a little bit like this?"

She saw Rachel tense as she leaned sideways. "Quinn."

"Would you—would you rescue me if I fell?"

"Quinn, I'm serious. Come—I'm not looking." Sure enough, the brunette had screwed her eyes shut.

"It's really high. Look, no hands, no hands!" Quinn teased, and when the brunette still didn't open her eyes, she sighed, hopping off the ledge and quietly moving to Rachel's side, squatting next to her. "Okay, all right. I'm sorry. I'm right here."

Rachel, feeling the blonde's breath on her neck, glanced to the side, surprised at the sudden closeness. She took Quinn's hand, playing with her fingers. "The truth is, it really is totally irrelevant whether I like them or not. I will not let myself become emotionally involved in business."

Quinn hummed. "I know. San's always saying to me, 'Don't get emotional when you turn tricks.' That's why no kissing. It's too personal. It's like what you're saying: You stay numb, you don't get involved. When I'm with a guy, I'm like a robot. I just do it." She looked up, locking eyes with Rachel, and threw her a flirty wink. "I mean... except with you, hon."

Rachel laughed. "Oh, of course, not with me."

The blonde smirked, and moved to sit in the brunette's lap, playing with her hair. "I was sorry to hear about your dad. When did he die?"

The brunette frowned. "Last month."

"Do you miss him?"

"I hadn't spoken to him in four and a half years." She hesitated. "I wasn't there when he died."

Quinn rested her head on her shoulder. "Do you want to talk about this?"

"No."

"Well, I tell you what, 'cause I got an idea," she said, pulling back. "Let's watch old movies all night. We'll just veg out in front of the TV."

"Veg out?"

"Yeah. Be still like vegetables. Lay like broccoli."

Rachel laughed, and motioned for Quinn to stand up. "Look, I'll tell you what. I'll be back. We'll do broccoli tomorrow."

"Where are you going?" Quinn asked, helping her out of the chair.

"I'm going downstairs for a while."

After a few hours of passing time in front of the TV, Quinn couldn't shake the feeling that Rachel was hurting. She thought back to their conversation about the dinner. They'd talked about one of her fathers, and she hadn't had a close relationship with him recently. It sounded about the time Rachel had declared a hiatus from the stage to work on a Hollywood project. Or at least that's what Santana had said, when they had talked earlier.

Maybe that, coupled with the close relationship of David and Mr. Schuster, was taking an unexpected toll on the brunette.

What had Will said to her? Something about her father being proud of her?

What a douche. That was a low blow, even for fucking bad business.

That's probably why Rachel had been so keen to help them—even if she refused to admit that she did like them—they reminded her of her own family. And she would hate to see Hollywood tear the pair apart, just as it had with her.

Quinn sighed, pulling a bathrobe over the lacy black lingerie Mercedes had made her buy.

She grabbed the spare key and headed into the hallway. The bellhop nodded at her, curious as to what she was doing out without Rachel. He took her to the first floor, and she walked into the cocktail lounge. The wait staff was in the process of closing the room, stacking up unused chairs and tables. She stopped one of them.

"Hi, uh, I'm in the penthouse. The woman that was here, Ms. Berry, have you seen her anywhere?"

The man nodded towards the stage, where a tiny brunette was pacing. She had discarded her heels at this point, as well as the blazer, but kept on the dress shirt and slacks. The sleeves to the light blue collared shirt were loosely rolled. Rachel's hair fell down in waves, and Quinn had never realized the effortless beauty that she held.

She walked towards the stage, pausing at the edge. The blonde could hear muttered lines, and assumed it was the script for Rachel's project.

She waited a beat. "He would have been proud of you, you know."

Rachel jumped a little, squinting against the stage light. "Quinn?"

"I was getting worried," Quinn said. "It's late."

"Sorry," Rachel said, hopping off the stage.

Quinn took the script out of her hands. "It's going to be perfect, Rach. You have your father's work ethic."

The brunette hummed.

"Don't you ever get tired of working?"

Rachel shrugged. "It could be worse. I could not have something to work on."

"You're crazy, you know that?" Quinn said, and tugged her away from the stage. "Come here."

"Where?"

The blonde sat down on the piano bench, and gestured for Rachel to join her. "You're going to sing."

"I didn't know you played."

Quinn shushed her. "Don't change the subject." She began to press down a few keys, playing the opening notes. She glanced up at Rachel. "Recognize it?"

The brunette nodded, closing her eyes and exhaling, letting the notes wash over her. "There's a harvest each Saturday night, at the bars filled with perfume and hitching a ride…"

"A place you can stand for one night and get gone," Quinn joined in, giving her a small, encouraging smile.

Rachel stood from the bench, moving to lean on the piano. "And it's clear this conversation ain't' doing a thing, 'cause these boys only listen to me when I sing…"

"And I don't feel like singing tonight, all the same songs…" Quinn finished, and rocked into the keys as the melody picked up.

Rachel twirled, throwing her head back as she let go of control. "Here in these deep city lights, girl could get lost tonight. I'm finding every reason to be gone, nothing here to hold on to…Could I hold you?"

Quinn found it becoming harder to focus on the chords, as Rachel's voice was unlike anything she'd ever heard, and the soul leaking out of it was pained."The situation's always the same. You got your wolves in their clothes whispering Hollywood's name. Stealing gold from the silver they see, but it's not me…"

At this point, Rachel had circled the piano, dropping next to the blonde on the bench and leaning into her. Quinn joined her on the chorus, unable to break their gaze.

As it dropped into the bridge, Rachel stood suddenly, looking up at the ceiling. "Calling out, somebody save me I feel like I'm fading away… Am I gone? Calling out somebody save me I feel like I'm fading…" She fisted her hand in her hair, sinking back onto the bench. Quinn gave her a worried glance, but continued playing for the last chorus.

When they finished, Rachel's breathing was shallow, and she was blinking furiously. Quinn slipped an arm around her waist as quiet applause echoed their impromptus performance. The blonde nodded at the scattered spectators. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

When Rachel dropped her head onto her shoulder, the blonde pulled her tighter against her, relaxing as she realized the brunette was growing calmer. She opted for humor to lighten the heavy air around them. "I was getting lonely upstairs all by myself."

Rachel laughed, pulling back to look at her. She cleared her throat. "Sorry about that. I just needed to be alone."

"I get it," Quinn said. She moved to kneel in front of Rachel, resting her hands on the brunette's thighs, thumbs rubbing small circles into them. "No need to apologize."

"Mm-hmm." Rachel glanced around them. "Gentlemen, would you mind leaving us, please?" The waiters and few guests exchanged looks, but left nonetheless.

Quinn watched them go, and stood, smirking at Rachel. "Do people always do what you tell them to do?"

Instead of answering, Rachel stood, bringing herself nose to nose with the blonde, whose breath hitched. Rachel hiked her up onto the piano, the keys sounding in protest. Quinn's eyes widened in surprise as the brunette tugged her closer, stepping between her legs and looking up at her expectantly.

The blonde chuckled, sliding her hand down Rachel's arm. "I guess so."

The brunette leaned into her, and Quinn turned her head. The kiss landed on her jaw, and Rachel tried again to connect their lips, in vain. With a frustrated sigh, she resigned to having Quinn kiss up and down her neck, kneading her hands into the blonde's hips and running her hands along her thighs.

She tugged at the bathrobe string, pulling it open. Quinn pulled back to shrug out of its sleeves. Rachel's eyes darkened at the skimpy clothing that faced her, at the expansive plane of pale skin exposed to her.

Quinn shivered under her gaze, and rolled back as Rachel's hand traveled higher up to cup her chest. She bit her lip to stop the moan from slipping out when it was given a tender squeeze. All of the little gestures, little touches between them from earlier in the night flashed to the front of her mind. She briefly wondered what this was for Rachel, before pushing the thought from her mind. What did it matter?

Deciding it was time to take control, she wrapped her legs around the brunette's waist, smirking as Rachel gasped. Pulling herself upright, she latched her lips onto her pulse point, giving no mercy. The brunette staggered back, collapsing onto the bench. Quinn dropped her legs, falling into her lap more securely, and slid onto the floor, opening her legs so that she could sit between them.

As she worked on Rachel's collarbone, she ran her hands along the outside of Rachel's thighs to the inside, near her core, getting closer each time. And each time, the grip on her waist would tighten as she neared, and relax in frustration when she edged away. After hearing a sight growl, she unbuttoned the rest of the brunette's blouse and kissed her way down it, unhooking the bra as well. She focused her attention on Rachel's breasts as the brunette hooked a leg around her, giving her more access to her center. The blonde took the hint, and not wanting to be a terrible tease, immediately slipped her hand into the pants, rubbing circles onto the sensitive area.

When Rachel began to rock her hips into Quinn for more friction, the blonde slipped two fingers inside, biting her lip as Rachel's sudden gasp blew against her ear. A quiet moan sounded, though neither were quite sure who uttered it.

Again, Quinn thought, did it matter?

"Wake up. Time to shop."

Quinn groaned, tugging the blankets over her head. Why was the brunette up so early? When had she even left the bed? Quinn could've sworn she was a light sleeper, and would've noticed if Rachel had gotten up and moved around the room to get ready.

But, as she peeked out from the covers into the daylight, the brunette was standing fully dressed, smiling softly at her. This time, instead of slacks, she had on a form fitting sun dress. She held out a plastic card, and Quinn took it. "Now, if you have any trouble using this card, have them call the hotel. All right?"

Quinn nodded, and sighed. "More shopping?"

"Mm-hmm," Rachel said, pulling her hair into a messy bun. "I'm surprised you didn't buy more than one dress yesterday."

"Wasn't as much fun as I thought it was gonna be."

Rachel tilted her head, frowning. "Why not?"

Quinn sat up, shrugging. "They were mean to me."

Rachel quirked her eyebrow. "Mean to you?"

"People are looking at me," Quinn muttered, playing with the hem of her shirt.

Rachel rolled her eyes, looping her arm in Quinn's. "They're not looking at you; they're looking at me."

"The stores are not nice to people. I don't like it."

"Stores are never nice to people; they're nice to credit cards," Rachel said, smirking at her. "Okay, stop fidgeting. Get rid of your gum."

Quinn stood straighter, spitting her gum onto the sidewalk.

Rachel gazed at it wearily. "I can't believe you did that."

"What? Where else was I supposed to put it?"

"Oh, never mind, come on." Rachel tugged her into a store, and an employee quickly approached them. "I am Mr. St. James, the manager. May I help you?"

"I'm Rachel Berry."

"Ah, yes, miss." His smile grew. Quinn narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious.

Rachel gestured at Quinn. "You see this young lady over here."

"Yes."

"Do you have anything in this shop as beautiful as she is?"

"Oh, yes," he said, nodding. At Rachel's raised eyebrow, he backtracked. "Oh, no! No, no, no, I'm saying we have many things as beautiful as she would want them to be." He swallowed thickly as Quinn stifled a laugh. "That's the point I was getting at, and I think we can all agree with that. That's why when you came in—"

"Excuse me," Rachel interrupted. "We're gonna need a few more people helping us."

The manager nodded quickly, motioning for several employees to join him.

"I'll tell you why. We're going to be spending an obscene amount of money in here. So we're going to need a lot more help sucking up to us," Rachel continued. Quinn smiled at her, loving merciless Rachel. "That's what we really like. You understand that."

The manager smiled. "Miss, you're in the right store and the right city for that matter. Anything you see here, we can do, by the way. Get ready to have some fun. Come on. Bring it out, girls."

Rachel glanced at one of the dresses. "Oh, this is absolutely divine."

"Excuse me, Ms. Berry, uh…"

"Yes?"

"…exactly how obscene an amount of money were you talking about? Just profane or really offensive?"

Rachel smirked. "Really offensive."

The manager clapped his hands, turning to his workers. "I like her so much!"

A few moments later, Quinn had taken over the dressing rooms, using the hallway as a fashion runway. The employees were jumping over her, trying to appease her with various styles of dress.

The manager stopped by. "Ms. Berry, how's it going so far?"

"Pretty well, I think," Rachel said. "But I think we need some major sucking up."

The man's eyes widened. "Very well, miss. You're not only beautiful, but a powerful woman. I could see the second you walked in here, you were someone to reckon with—"

"St. James."

"Yes, miss?"

"Not me. Her." Rachel pointed to the blonde, who was strutting down the hallway in grey slacks and a slimming grey vest, with a white collared shirt underneath. She threw Rachel a wink, and spun on her heel, tossing her hair.

"I'm sorry, miss. I'm sorry."

A/N: The song used for the piano scene was Sara Bareilles's "City," and I know it didn't exist back when this was set, but it was too perfect not to use.