Chapter Eight
Sunny mornings in Seattle aren't anything to take for granted. Way too many days, Brittany had to power walk through the rain. So, on this particular morning, she was taking it all in. It was getting pretty chilly, sure. It was late September. But, all in all, it was much more pleasant than it would be in a few short weeks. It was a nice morning. No, a great morning. Not even Terri, the forever complaining Starbucks barista, could bring her down today.
Brittany was nearly skipping as she maneuvered herself between bodies on her way to work. She had just drained the last of her iced coffee and was reaching for her headphones when she felt a vibration in her pocket.
Her morning had just gotten a million times better.
"And what do I owe this pleasure?" she answered.
"I took an early lunch," Santana said. "I wanted to catch you before you got busy."
"Oh, what's up?"
"Nothing," the New Yorker replied shyly. "Just...saying hi."
Brittany beamed, "Hi."
"And I wanted to apologize."
"For what?"
"I keep flaking out on you," Santana griped, "and it's not cool."
"I know you're busy with Rachel, San. That's your job."
"Yeah," the other woman said. "But I'd rather be with you...talking to you. I'd rather be talking to you."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yeah," Brittany said. "I have no doubt about it."
"Good," Santana was pleased. "How's your morning been?"
"Awesome," the blonde replied as she winked at an elderly man passing her on the street. "It's a great day in Seattle."
"No rain?"
"Not today."
"It does sound like a great day in Seattle then," Santana agreed. "So...I wanted to ask you something last night before Rachel kept me out babysitting."
"You want my lucky number now? Shoe size? Favorite Sesame Street character?" Brittany just couldn't let the favorite color thing go. It was too cute and every time it crossed her mind, she felt like she was floating on a cloud of marshmallow cream. "It's the Cookie Monster, by the way."
"Really?" Santana was surprised. "I would have pegged you for an Elmo girl."
"Nope," Brittany threw her empty cup into a trashcan outside her office building. "Lemme guess, you like Oscar?"
"'Cause I'm a bitch, I have to like the grouch?" the woman complained.
"Logical conclusion."
"Bad assumption," Santana said. "Actually, I'm with the Count all the way."
"Ah-ah-ah."
"Exactly."
"Counting is fun."
"You always get me sidetracked," Santana laughed.
"I'm sorry, what was it you wanted to know?" Brittany asked as she passed the elevator bank and headed toward the stairwell so she could prolong the conversation.
"I thought maybe...if...you want to...we could possibly ramp up our...interactions. Maybe."
The blonde stopped suddenly on the second set of stairs she had come to. "What do you mean?"
"We don't have to," Santana backtracked furiously. "It was just a suggestion, don't worry about it."
"No, really," Brittany had leaned against a rail. "What do you mean?"
"You know..."
Holy shit. Brittany didn't curse a lot, but holy shit. If Santana was thinking what she was thinking, and they were both thinking that together then...holy shit.
"...Face time."
"Huh?"
"Face time," Santana repeated.
"Oh." That so wasn't what she was thinking. "Yeah, sure."
"You don't sound sure."
Brittany continued up the stairs, "No, that's a great idea. I mean, I've thought about it, but I never knew if you'd be into it. Plus, I don't know, just talking on the phone has been kind of..."
"Retro?"
"No," Brittany chuckled. "Romantic."
There was a long pause before Santana replied, "While I agree, I think technology has given us a gift and we'd be remiss not to use it."
"Okay," the Seattle woman agreed.
"That and I really, really want to see you move."
"You're such a flirt," Brittany accused her as she opened the door that lead into her floor.
"Guilty as charged."
Hours later, the ad exec was still thinking about what the night would bring. The promise of Santana, in color and in motion, was short circuiting her brain. Not to mention, they'd been talking throughout the day. There were a couple more super short phone calls and one ongoing text conversation since that morning. This was becoming something more than friends who exchange phone calls. She had known that, maybe all along, but the reality was really starting to settle in. It was happening. It was happening and she'd never even met Santana.
Movement out of the corner of her eye snapped her out of her daze and she focused back in on Blaine at the head of the table. He was talking, because his lips were moving, but she had no idea what the guy was saying. He held in one hand the packaging for Whoopsies and in the other, a pointer. He was pointing to a graph that she had seen a hundred times, but hadn't take the time to memorize yet. He was wearing his stupid checkered bowtie with those bright red pants. He always looked like he got dressed in the dark by a blind comedian.
If she really zeroed in maybe she could ignore that awful pinstriped shirt.
Blaine looked at her as he was sweeping across the group, "I believe we've got a lock on the market..."
That's all she caught because her phone lit up with another message.
Santana
I'm stuck in the master closet watching Rachel and Kurt reenact I Hope I Get It from A Chorus Line. I would pay someone to kill me.
Brittany
How much?
"Britt..." Blaine said a little louder than the previous two times he had tried to get her attention. "Hey Brittany!"
"Huh, what?" she asked him, looking up from her phone. "Yeah, Blaine."
"What'd you think of my pitch?"
"I think it's great," she told him. "It's really...you're great...it's just a little..."
"Bor-ing," Sugar finished for Brittany as she continued to file her nails.
"That's not what I was going to say, no," the blonde said to the woman.
"Yeah," Sugar stopped and pointed to Blaine with her nail file. "You're boring."
"What?" Blaine scoffed in disbelief. "I'm informative, Sugar. Not boring."
"You don't think so?" Sugar asked. "I'll prove it to you." She grabbed a jelly doughnut that had been sitting on the conference table since the morning and rifled it at Artie.
The doughnut hit the man's arm, which was precariously balanced on the armrest on his wheelchair. His head bobbled before he recovered, eyes wide. "Is it my turn?" he asked the group.
"You put Artie to sleep, Blaine," the woman told him. "And this is a man who writes source code as a hobby."
"Can we not?" Artie begged her.
"I'm sure it's very fulfilling," Brittany assured him quietly.
"Oh, settle down," Sugar went back to her nails. "Quit pouting like I just threw a rock in the spokes of your wheelchair. I was just making a point."
"A bad one," Blaine argued as he took his seat. "I'm not boring. Artie was up all night playing World of Warcraft."
"Really, guys," Artie groaned.
Sugar took a deep breath, carefully set down her file and walked around to the other side of the large table. She pulled out a chair, sat down, and reached out to take the man's hand, "Blaine, I want you think back on all the people who ever said you were charismatic and charming. Those two people were your parents and they lied."
"Sugar!" Brittany warned.
"Too far?" the other woman looked surprised. "Asperger's."
"You can't continue to blame your self-diagnosed Asp.."
Santana
How much will it take?
Brittany
How much do you have?
Santana
Ha. Is that an offer?
Brittany
Maaaaybe.
"...can't help it," Sugar slammed her hand on the table.
"Who else is going to do it then?" Blaine asked the group with a smugness that made Brittany think he was probably always picked last for kick ball on the playground. Well, that, and the fact that he doesn't like dirt, or grass, or playing, or any combination of the three.
"I can't," Sugar told them. "I could literally say anything at any time. I'm practically a time bomb of verbal assaults."
"Public speaking makes me queasy," Artie informed the group. "Plus, I'm in charge of the slides."
"What about Will?" Sugar asked hopefully.
"Wait, where is Will?" Blaine questioned Brittany.
"Divorce court."
"I thought that wasn't for weeks," Artie said.
Brittany shook her head. "That's real divorce court. This is mock divorce court. Emma wanted to do a run-through."
"Will's too unstable," Blaine said matter-of-factly. "That leaves me."
"When we get a crack at the Temper-Pedic account, I'm all for it," Sugar remarked. "But not for this.
"Okay," Brittany held up her hand to stop the oncoming pissing and moaning. "Sugar, stop picking on Blaine. He's still trying to learn our American customs."
"Huh?" Artie asked dumbly. He looked to Blaine, who was just as dumbfounded.
"You weren't adopted from Guadalajara?" Brittany was shocked.
"No."
"I thought it was Spanish for Land of Thick Eyebrows," the blonde reasoned. "And you're always eating bean burritos."
Blaine took a swipe at his brows before saying, "I'm from Van Nuys."
"Oh," the blonde said. "Go ahead then, Sugar. Blaine's just really lame."
Blaine sighed, "That's funny, Britt..."
Santana
U better act fast. There's other offers on the table.
Brittany
I don't think any other offers will be as good as mine.
Santana
I think I need to know the exact specifications of this offer.
Brittany
There are lots of special things about my offer...I'll even send you pictures of my offer later. ;)
"...Blaine's crying like a cakeless fat kid and Brittany won't stop making squishy faces at her phone." Sugar complained.
The mischievous grin slowly slid off her face. "Sorry."
"Who ya texting, Brittany?" Blaine lifted in his seat to try and get a glimpse.
"That woman in New York?" Artie asked with a scowl. "Samantha?"
"Savannah," Sugar corrected incorrectly.
"Santana." Brittany slowly slid her phone forward across the desk. Just enough that her middle finger could still tap on it nervously.
"Britt," Artie rolled his wheelchair just a bit closer, "how much do you actually know about his woman?"
"I know a lot," Brittany assured him.
"Like?"
"You don't have to tell him anything," Sugar threw another jelly doughnut at him.
"Lots of stuff," she reiterated.
Artie dismissed that with a sullen nod, "See, Britt, you can't have a real relationship with som-"
"I know she hums Journey songs when she's nervous," Brittany cut him off. "I know her dad's a doctor, but not the rich kind. He's the kind that pulls Red Hots out of kids' noses on Valentine's Day. I know that she snores because she's fallen asleep on the phone with me eight times, even though she doesn't believe it. I know she was born in Brooklyn, but she spent most of her childhood in Jersey. She doesn't tell people that because it's nobody's fucking business that she used to kick it at the Shore. I know she used to stuff her bra with double rolls of Charmin-"
"Okay, Brit-"
"I know that she mumbles when she's embarrassed about something. I know that she clicks her tongue when she's excited. I know that she smacks her lips when she's thinking about sex-"
"Okay," Blaine said loudly. "We get it. I think Artie was just try-"
"I know she stutters when she's confused about something. I know she repeats herself when she's pissed off. I know she has four different laughs. And I know she would think you're a tool," she finished with a glare.
Sugar, who could barely contain her laughter, said, "And there you have it, Artie."
"I'm sorry, Britt," the man told her. "It's not any of my business."
"No, it's really not," Brittany shot back at him.
The room was drenched in tension until the door of the conference room flung open and in walked Holly Holliday in all her long-legged glory. "Hey bitches!"
"Hey Boss!" Blaine was inclined to stand and got his legs under him a bit until Holly pushed him back down by the top of his head. She then wiped her hand off on his shirt.
"Nice to see you, Holly," Artie smiled his big toothy grin.
"Blah, blah," Holly waved him off. She snapped in Brittany's direction, "Britt, baby, are we ready to go on the Whoopsies?"
"Everything's coming along," Brittany said and looked around to see everyone nodding their agreement.
"Adam," she looked at Artie. "You got all the tech stuff?"
"It's Artie."
Holly looked at him blankly.
"Yes," he finally answered.
"Sugar," Holly snapped at her now. "Are you doing whatever it is you do?"
"To the best of my ability."
"Righteous," Holly pumped her fist. "Where's Will? Last time I saw him he was in a curled up in a ball under my Lexus."
"Pre-divorce court," Brittany answered. "He's better now. He started wearing real pants again."
"Who's pitching?"
Blaine raised his hand, "I am."
"No," Holly told him. "Who's pitching?"
"Seriously, Holly, I am," Blaine insisted. "I've written the proposal and practiced it. We've got the whole thing down."
"No offense, Blaine," the woman said. "But no. You make stale bread look like Lollapalooza. In fact, I fell asleep twice just as you were telling me that."
"Toldja," Sugar snickered under her breath.
"But-"
"No," Holly refused. "Britt, you're doing it."
"What?" Brittany blurted. "No, no, no, no."
"Yep."
"Holly, I can't."
"You can," the bossier blonde said. She motioned for Brittany to stand up and placed her hands on Brittany's shoulders. "And you will."
"I'm not so sure."
"I'm totally sure," Holly told her. "And frankly that's all that matters."
Brittany was still in some kind of post-traumatic shock when Holly yelled back to them from the door, "Oh yeah, the Whoopsies people aren't flying in anymore, we're going to them."
If the previous news had made Brittany's heart stand still, then that news kickstarted the hell out of it. She tapped the screen on her phone where Santana had left a series of messages.
Santana
Can't wait to see your offer. :)
I bet it's a great offer.
Britt...
You there?
Brittany
Yeah, I'm here. And I'll be there in two weeks.