A/N: Okay folks... building up again. *G* I have at least another two chapters written, but won't be back in town until Saturday (3/24/2012). So I hope this keeps you entertained until then. Enjoy! And remember: I love reviews! :D
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His rejection stung, just like the silent fury that was building within her. He had closed the portal. That.. that.. jerk! She crossed her arms and stood in front of the mirror, fuming.
How dare he! How dare he cut off – holy schnikees, what the hell was he doing at Hoggle's house? Were they in trouble? She dismissed the notion almost and Yubs were good, kind folk who did their King's bidding without issue – most of the time.
Well, maybe seeing her was just too much for him to take in, she allowed.
Sarah Williams was a woman grown now and she doubted he'd been peeking at her like she had him.
Ha, so she'd scared him off, she talked herself into believing while she paced in front of her vanity. Yeah, that's it. He couldn't face her in all her – she looked up and down at herself in the mirror for the fiftieth time since he'd cut the magic off – jean and t-shirt glory. She huffed a breath into her hand; she'd remembered to brush her teeth and her hair was only slightly mussed from the slide earlier. Sarah sat on the previously slippy chair and wiggled a bit to make sure her butt wouldn't suddenly meet the floor again.
She studied her reflection. The complexion that shown in the mirror was flawless porcelain just as his had been. Her eyes were still pools of deep green. Sarah squeezed them shut and opened one eye to look back at her reflection. Nope, still no magic call. Dammit Jareth, don't leave me hangin' like this...
"I am not that repulsive you freakin' Fae! If you were here, I'd show you, Jareth. I would show you..." her anger burned out leaving her slumped on the vanity, slightly toward the mirror. "I'm a wreck! I hate him, but I love him – no, scrap that – I am infatuated with the being I knew when I was fifteen. How sick is that?" She stuck a finger in her mouth and make a gagging sound. "Like, gag me with a spoon!"
When Sarah realized she was talking to her own reflection she sighed wearily and pulled herself up to stand. She wanted to call back to Hoggle and Yubbica, but didn't dare as that tricky King might try something. Like hanging up on her again. Gahhhrrrr... boys are dumb, boys are dumb, boys are dumb, she kept repeating the mantra until she had finished packing her bag for work. She'd call them in a few days and see how things were, she promised, once the sting of Jareth's brush-off wore away.
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As she did every night she worked, Sarah left her apartment around seven thirty. Not only was it good exercise, but she didn't own a car. Not yet. She'd just never seen the need. Metro transit went everywhere that Sarah wanted or needed.
Vonda however, had a sporty little red Honda Accord that Sarah would smirk at whenever she would see it. "You do know it's in the top five cars to be stolen for parts, right Von?" Her friend had smiled serenely and told her in a singsong voice, "That's what insurance is for sweet cheeks! Plus, you can borrow it whenever you want." Sarah had yet to take her up on the offer, still preferring mass transit or walking.
She could smell the street vendors' foods – carne asada, potstickers, tamales, and the occasional kebab stand as she traversed the sidewalks lined with businesses – but wasn't actively participating in identifying the cuisines.
Usually the ten minute walk into the offices was relaxing.
Tonight, she couldn't really shake the feeling something was brewing. Something big. Had she unknowingly let him in? Or was she just being paranoid and Jareth was toying with her. Then again, she tilted her head to the side and looked longingly at a storefront window with Pan Nuevo, maybe she should give up her obsession with what was down his pants. Maybe he – oh no, was it possible that he could trace back her 'calls'? Was there such a thing as replaying the calls she had made if he could trace them? Oh holy hell, she could be in some serious shit. Damn her and that bottle of red wine! Okay, okay, those several bottles of red wine, she lamented and checked her watch. Nope, no time for a pastry, and kept on to her destination.
A hundred more feet had her grasping one of the large brass handles attached to a door that bore in small red print "Valentine Evenings". The storefront windows had been curtained inside with heavy black velvet drapes to maintain their privacy and to hide the on-going renovation and construction. Honestly, they would never really let anyone see what they were doing inside anyway; they'd definitely splurged on the window coverings for the dramatics.
She hiked her bag higher up on her shoulder and pressed her personal code into the keypad beside the door. The offices were housed within an old strip mall Woolworth's that had gone out of business long ago. It was on the smaller end at about two thousand square feet, but it was theirs.
She waited for the small snick as it was accepted and opened the heavy door, to see a friendly face at the reception desk.
"Hey babycakes! How're you tonight?" Stella, the daytime receptionist greeted Sarah happily. She was just so damn perky, Sarah decided. From her blonde weave down to her pink pointed Manolos. Too bad she was really a he, she smirked. And a he with better fashion sense than her for sure.
Sarah and Vonda had picked out Stella themselves; she was the only staff member that could act like oh-my-god-I'm-so-scared-of-that-teeny-tiny-spider and still bench press over five hundred pounds if necessary. S/he was not only an excessively well-organized receptionist, but a well-meaning busy-body.
"Hey Stell, how's it hanging?" she joked and wandered off to the kitchenette, hidden behind a cubicle panel to the right. Housing a full size fridge, a microwave, sink, and coffeepot and mugs, Sarah was proud they kept it as clean as they did. She placed her nouvelle cuisine – peaches with cottage cheese and some crackers and cheese with carrots. What could she say, she always craved peaches when she was agitated.
Stella followed Sarah into the kitchenette cubicle,"Girlfriend, you have got to do something about your wardrobe! I know you work the overnight and all, but those jeans and …. oh gawwwdd... that shirt? Just scream HELP. You are hiding yourself away in those bags. Dress like you own this place, Sarah. And really, cheese and rice, when's the last time you had a date, sweetie?" Stella clutched her purse – or murse, as Sarah described it – and glanced pointedly at her boss.
"I date plenty," Sarah fibbed unconvincingly, "I just don't brag about it, bigmouth." She stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry, "Ppbpbpbpbptttt!"
"Oh yeah, Miss Maturity for ya! Please don't feel the need to lie to me." Stella huffed and slung her murse over her shoulder, "Honey, you need to get a life. And a sense of fashion." Her Adam's apple bobbed, "Any man would be interested if you showed a little T & A, ya know what I mean?"
"I, my dear Madam, answer the phones mostly, and thus do not feel the need to dress up. I'm just a lowly peon – in my own company," she smirked and moved to the coffeepot counter. "And trust me, I had a date recently." Sarah took a cup and filled it with the office coffee, stirring in creamer and mumbled, "Within six months counts as recent, right?" If you could count a working lunch with her accountant for V.E.
Stella guffawed, "Oh sweets, you crack me up! And I'm not the Madam around here," s/he winked, "When you are ready for a fairytale makeover, you just give me a ring. I'll have the men coming at you in droves. Gotta run, darlin'. Have a good night!" She walked perfectly tall, stable, and elegant in her cream Dior knockoff skirt and jacket with those killer four inch heels. "Bitch Goddess; must be hell to shave those legs." Sarah sniggered and made her way down the hallway to her own desk, and sat down to began payroll.
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Damn that ringing. The shrill tones were waking her from a delicious dream where some mystery man covered in glitter was nuzzling her neck and - oh shite, I'm at work!
Sarah blearily opened her eyes and realized that she'd drooled onto her hand, having crossed her arms under her head as she slept with her head on the desk. The last thing she'd remembered was focusing her attention on the scheduled dates for tonight and tomorrow. Gotta verify all the girls had their notes and assignments. Wow, she must have been more tired than she thought. Ughh... The phone was still waiting to be answered!
"Good evening and thank you for calling Valentine Evenings. This is Sar – Samantha,"she smacked her forehead, "and how may I assist you?" Sarah's sleep-husky voice sounded far too sexy, she admitted. Let's hope and pray they don't mistake this for a phone sex company, she grimaced.
The cool and crisp British tone on the other end returned with, "Yes, is this Valentine Evenings, the premier Escort agency for Hollywood, California, within the borders of the United States?" the caller cleared his throat.
"Well, that's a bit strange way to say it, but yes." She was more awake now, and kinda weirded out. Borders of the United States? Was this guy smoking crack?
Her brows drew together in concentration to pick up on any more abnormality.
The Brit's clipped voice continued with, "My apologies. My name is... Jeeves and my employer and I are not … natives here. He has tasked with obtaining a female escort for an event. He's a European Royal – minor Royalty, really -" a heated whisper in the background exclaimed "Minor? I'll have you bo-" a throat was cleared, "and he's very specific in his wants."
Sarah took a moment to assess the situation as non-threatening – but still weird – and began to launch into her standard script, "Valentine Evenings has a woman to fit every occasion; for both public and private parties, charity events, and soirees. Your employer will be more than satisfied with our services. As a client he will have total confidentiality – but we do need to ask a few questions to determine what type of woman he wants for his date evening. Physical characteristics are a good place to start."
Jeeves listed off as though from a list, "He is fond of brown hair, I believe they are called 'brunettes'? He adores curly hair. He would prefer green or hazel eyes above all." More whispering in the background with Jeeves and his co-hort that Sarah couldn't make out, "Does he have a preference for cup size? Waist? Hips? Some of our clients are very -" Jeeves interrupted haughtily, "He would like a woman with a woman's body – not an anorexic twig. Bra and cup size matters not, but she must be intelligent and well-versed in polite topics and conversation in mixed company. It will be a royal event, after all, and offending other ranking royals would be a major faux pas. Oh, and she must be a believer in fairy tales."
Sarah chewed her lower lip. All of the girls at VE were quite conversational and understood polite society talk, but none of them had ever taken official deportment classes. This could be a problem.
"Sir, I believe I may have a couple women for your employer to choose from – I can email you their bios and pictures of each of them if you're interested, but I need to advise you that as much as I would like to lie and say we've served royal clients before, I cannot. Is this a problem? Will you trust our judgment to select candidates with as close experienceas possible to what you're asking?" He was seriously fruity bonkers if he thought these women would believe in fairy tales though, she snorted silently. But she would do her best to see to everything else in the wanted description.
A heavy sigh sounded from him as he relayed the information to his partner, "He is willing to see what you can come up with."
"Excellent! Now we just need a date and time for the event and I can narrow down the playing field." she breathed a sigh of relief. This was going to be a major coup for VE if she could pull it off! One of her girls going to a Royal Ball. Fantastic!
"He is looking to attend a masquerade ball the weekend of June 29th and 30th. Is this feasible?"
Sarah checked the calendar, "That's a week from now. Yes, that should be sufficient time to work something out. Would the client like to have the escort on site both days and nights?"
Jeeved again repeated the question to whomever was with him, and the bark of "Yes!" was relayed back to her. "Alright then, Jeeves, I have the documentation in the system of your employer's requirements, the necessary contract and bios will be sent to the email of your choice for your purvey." He rattled off an email address to which Sarah addressed and attached all documents with the standard letter form. "You may sign and fax this back to us as soon as you can, and please let me know your choice of the two women right away. Confidentiality is guaranteed. We accept payment in full and accept all major credit cards. Will that be all for this evening?"
A deep breath, "Yes – err … well, my employer would like to know if you have-," he stopped and exchanged a ,"Why the hell don't you ask the dem girl yourself?" sounding less British and more Jersey for a moment, "Pardon me, Samantha. I have an unruly," he sounded like he was gritting his teeth, "companion this evening. That is all for now. We'll call again if we have further questions. Or email you directly. Good night." Jeeves, if that was really his name, rang off abruptly.
Sarah looked over the email and the wish list on her split screen thoughtfully. A potential plan was forming. She grinned mischievously. Maybe she should add in herself as a contender, she debated. She was a good actress, and thanks to her step-mother Karen, she'd spent a summer during high school taking ettiquette classes. Hmm... she was the owner after all, and who said that she couldn't throw her hat in the ring. It would be a major coup for her – whether or not it was her or one of her gorgeous girls. If Jeeve's boss picked her, it would be her fault and no one else's if something got screwed up.
Before she could let the doubts crowd in, Sarah attached her own bio documentation with the others and hit the Send button. Then she did a happy dance in her chair, and nearly tipped it over.