DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction using characters from the Supernatural/Pretty Woman universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).
Dean would never admit it to anyone but he did his own version of a happy dance after Castiel closed the door. He fell back on the bed and whooped at the ceiling.
"Three thousand dollars!" Dean shouted.
Rolling over, Dean reached to the floor and hunted in his jeans pocket for his mobile. He waited impatiently while the line rang. A sleepy voice finally answered. Dean grinned. Gabriel was not a morning person.
"Where were you last night, dude? I called and called!"
'Kali?!" Gabriel yelped.
"Gotcha, shortie," Dean laughed. He hadn't heard Gabriel talk about his on-again, off-again girlfriend in a long time. "It's Dean."
"Oh what the ever-lovin' fuck, Dean-o?" Gabriel groaned. "Is the sun up? Yes ... why am I on the phone with you instead of sleeping?"
"Oh get over it ... guess what?" Dean said, relishing his next words. "You know the guy ... the Lotus? I'm in his hotel room in Beverly Hills ... the Penthouse! His bathroom is bigger than the Blue Banana!"
"Do I have to hear this?" Gabriel grumbled.
"Gabe ... he wants me to stay the whole week and you know what he's gonna give me? Guess - you're never gonna guess," Dean said with glee. "Three thousand dollars!"
Dean had to hold the phone away from his ear at the long streak of cursing that erupted from his roommate. When the rant faded, Dean spoke again.
"Plus, Gabe, he's givin' me extra money to buy clothes."
Gabriel groaned over the line. "Ugh, I cannot believe I gave that guy to you! Three thousand ... really? Is he twisted?"
Dean snorted. "Not unless you call bein' a workaholic twisted."
"Ugly?"
"Shit no ... he's good-lookin' ... nice bod," Dean smiled at that memory.
"Well what's wrong with him? Wait ... did he pay you?"
"End of the week," Dean said.
It was Gabriel's turn to snort. "That's what's wrong with him."
Dean winced because technically Gabe could be right. Still, he was in no position to quibble – he had three hundred cash already plus the money Castiel handed him this morning for clothes. "Well ... he gave me the dough for last night. Gabe – I'm gonna leave some at the front desk, ok? You get your ass over here and pick it up."
"Yeah, ok."
"Gabe, I'm serious – write it down ... I'm at the Regent Beverly Wilshire – are ya writing it down?" Dean asked.
Gabriel yawned and Dean heard him scribbling – probably on a pizza box. "Reg ... Bev ... Wil ..."
"Ok, one last question ... where do I go for the clothes? Good stuff, on him?"
Gabriel chuckled. "In Beverly Hills, Dean-o? Rodeo Drive, baby."
Dean dressed quickly, he skipped the eyeliner and lip gloss but he did leave his shirt unbuttoned. He sauntered past a man dressed in a crisp black suit and headed for the front desk, oblivious to the looks he received. Handing an envelope to the desk clerk, Dean gave her his best broad grin. He was rewarded with a faint blushing smile.
"I'm leaving this here for a guy named Gabriel. He'll be by to pick it up."
"Of course, sir."
Dean winked and walked out the front door smiling. He didn't hear the man in the suit ask the clerk, "Ms. Wilson, do you know who that gentleman is?"
"No sir."
The manager of the Regent Beverly Wilshire made a mental note to look for the young man if he returned to his hotel.
Dean walked down Rodeo Drive and was hard-pressed not to have his mouth open in shock at nearly everything he saw. Store windows filled with things that sparkled and glittered pulled his attention to them. He didn't understand the need for most of it and the prices made his breath catch in his throat – why anyone would pay over $500 for shoes was completely beyond him. The traffic that zipped by was filled with expensive cars of all makes and models. Dean drooled over a white Aston Martin V12 Vantage Roadster until the owner came out and regarded him like he was about to be mugged. The little man jumped into his car and drove away with a squeal of tires. Dean snorted and walked on.
The morning was headed into noon and Dean knew he needed to find something to wear to dinner tonight soon. He chose a small store with suits of all styles hanging in the display window. Walking in, Dean sent a quick "How you doin'?" grin to the two salesmen. He did not see the dark look they shared between them.
Dean looked at a few of the displays and tried to picture himself in the outfits. He winced at a plaid suit and wished Sam was with him – his little brother had a better sense of conservative fashion than Dean. Running his hands along the shoulders of the jackets, Dean realized he had absolutely no idea what size suit he wore. He was also flabbergasted at the different fabrics and patterns – which would be appropriate for tonight?
Dean moved over to the tie display and blinked at the rainbow of colors. He picked up one and when he lay it back down, it slithered off the table. Dean blushed and grabbed it quickly, trying to put it back in the neat way he'd found it.
"Shit ..." Dean muttered after the third try.
He simply roughly folded it and walked away quickly to a wall filled with, of all things, handkerchiefs. Again, his eyes widened at the vast array of colors and sizes ... he wondered vaguely about the difference between a handkerchief and a pocket square. A look toward the right showed him shoes of every possible variation. Dean sighed. He was sorely tempted to find a bus to the mall and just find a JC Penney's. Would Castiel even notice?
Walking to the racks with the suit jackets again, Dean realized he'd picked up a shadow. He hadn't immediately registered it, but the man had been nearby every time Dean had gone to a different area of the store. He frowned and looked up to meet an even deeper frown. The man was tall and had dark but graying hair carefully combed back from his forehead. His long thin face was not made softer by the frown. Dean thought he looked like the stereotypical undertaker. He crossed his arms in front of him.
"Can I help you?" the man said. His voice held just a tinge of annoyance.
"Just lookin'," Dean replied. "You, uh ... you got nice stuff."
"And are you ... lookin' ... for something in particular?" the man asked.
Dean did not miss the snipe at his speech. He also noticed the other, younger, sales clerk had moved to stand just to the side of the man, flanking Dean. Dean cleared his throat nervously. "Look, I just wanna find somethin' ... conservative."
The man ran his gaze from Dean's scuffed work-boots up his faded jean-clad legs to his generic leather belt and exposed torso. Dean was wearing a leather cord with a cheap gold-tone charm on it given to him by his little brother. That got a little snobbish quirk of the mouth. Dean swallowed. He suddenly felt woefully under-dressed and utterly ridiculous.
"I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for elsewhere. I very much doubt we can be of assistance." Dean could not miss the insult implied in the statement.
Dean pulled himself up a little straighter, intending to stand his ground. At the movement, the two men stiffened and actually pulled back. "Hey, easy, I just -"
The man fixed Dean with a steady glare. "You, young man, have obviously wandered into the wrong place. I would advise you to leave or I will ask my assistant to call the authorities."
Dean felt the blush work its way up his face to his hairline and ducked his head. "Yeah, sure ... whatever."
Moving quickly around the men, Dean escaped to the dubious safety of the walkway. As he moved down the sidewalk, he suddenly noticed the looks and the stares from the richly dressed individuals that flowed around him. He did not miss the way most of them gave him a wide berth. Dean buttoned his shirt up and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Head down, he morosely made his way back to the hotel.
Dean did not look up as he walked back into the hotel. He didn't think he could handle seeing any more disapproving looks. He couldn't seem to swallow the lump in his throat and he wondered how much Castiel would hate him if he just left a note and went back to Hollywood Boulevard. Walking toward the elevators, Dean startled when a man in a black suit quickly got in front of him.
"Sir? Yes ... can I help you?" Asked a commanding voice with a British accent.
"Just goin' to my room," Dean growled moving around the man.
"Do you have a key?"
Dean snapped his fingers. "Damn it, I forgot that little plastic thingy."
Dean looked at the man standing between him and the elevators. Tall with dark blonde hair precisely combed and ice-blue eyes, the man reminded him of the two salesmen he'd had the unfortunate luck to meet this morning.
"You're a guest here?" the man asked with a quirked eyebrow.
"Uh, yeah – I'm on the top floor ... I'm, uh ... with a friend." Dean replied cautiously.
"I see ... and who would that be?"
Dean groaned inwardly. He'd never had to get the last name of any client – he didn't even know half of his regulars' last names. "Uh ... Castiel ... "
Dean cast around, hoping he could pull the last name from the ether of his brain. As he did so, the elevator dinged and the attendant stepped out. He was a nice young guy with a cute upturned nose that Dean had noticed the night before. Dean pointed immediately. "He knows me!"
The man in the suit snapped his fingers and motioned for the attendant to come over. "Dennis ... are you coming off the night shift?"
"Yes sir."
Moving to refasten the young man's uniform collar, the suit kept Dean's eyes. "Do you know this young man?"
Eyes sliding over to Dean, the attendant looked at his employer and said, "He's with Mr. Novak."
Dean jumped, patting Dennis on the shoulder. "Yep, that's it! Castiel Novak – thanks, Dennis!" Moving around the two men, Dean walked into the elevator. He frowned when the suit followed him a minute later and took him by the elevator.
"What? What the hell, man?" Dean protested. The guy's grip was stronger than it looked and Dean had to move quickly to keep up with the brisk pace. He jerked his arm out of the man's hand and sighed heavily. "Whatever ... lead on, Jeeves."
With an annoyed glance, the man herded Dean to his office. Dean fell heavily into a chair across from an ornate desk. He waited for the inevitable and the man did not disappoint.
"What is your name?"
Dean snorted. "Whaddya want it to be?"
The man paused in watering his plants and looked over sternly. "Do not toy with me, young man."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Dean."
"Thank you. Well, Dean, allow me to explain. Things that go on at other hotels do not happen at the Regent Beverly Wilshire." The man leaned against the front of the desk. "However, Mr. Novak is a very special customer and we like to consider our special customers as ... friends. Now, as a customer we would expect Mr. Novak to sign in any additional guests, but as a friend we are willing to overlook it." He looked at Dean directly. "Now, I assume that you're a ... relative, perhaps?"
Dean blinked and nodded.
"Excellent. That would make you his ... ?"
"Cousin?"
"Of course. Naturally, when Mr. Novak leaves I won't see you in this hotel again."
Dean sighed. "No."
"I assume you have no other ... family ... here?"
Dean shook his head dismally.
"Excellent, then we understand each other. I would encourage you to perhaps dress a little more appropriately. That will be all." He gestured to the door.
Dean, however, could not stop the anger that had been building since he walked out of the suit shop. His frustration spilled over into a rambling protest. "No, dude, that ain't all! That's what I was tryin' to do – I have all this cash and I tried to get a damn outfit on Rodeo Drive this morning and those jerks at the store made me feel like a fuckin' parolee or somethin' and I don't figure you're gonna help but I'm just sayin' I've gotta to get a suit for dinner tonight and no one gives a shit!"
Dean knew his face had to be beet red. He bit his lip and crossed his arms over his chest to try and still his pounding heart. He hated losing control and he hated looking weak to anyone. He'd managed to feel that way once today and now he'd lost his footing again. He cursed softly as the manager picked up a phone.
"Great ... just fuckin' great ... if that's the cops, tell 'em I said 'hi'." Dean snapped.
The man regarded Dean calmly as he held the receiver to his ear. "Mens clothing, please ... yes, Charlie, please ... hello, this is Balthazar over at the Regent – yes, the same, how are you?" Balthazar chuckled. "Yes, well, thank you very much ... I need a favor. I'll be sending someone over. His name is Dean and he's a special guest. He's the cousin of a very special guest."
Castiel stared at the video presentation and listened to Crowley but his mind kept drifting. He wondered what Dean would purchase to wear tonight. He hoped it would be appropriate. The vague memory of Dean's soft lips working their way down his body came to mind and he had to shift uncomfortably and refocus his attention on Crowley's voice.
"This is the jewel in Singer's crown ... prime industrial property straddling the port of Long Beach and Los Angeles. We cannot overstate the real estate possibilities – I suspect we can level most of the yard," Crowley said with a grin. He glanced down as his phone vibrated and he frowned darkly. Turning off the projector, Crowley looked at the other men at the table. "What is this? What is this?! Singer is working a $700 million dollar contract to build destroyers for the Navy? I thought there was nothing in the hopper!"
One of the men looked down at his laptop and shook his head. "There wasn't ... I mean, we didn't think there was ..."
Castiel smiled inwardly as Crowley berated his team. He poured himself a glass of water and finally broke in. "Gentlemen, relax ... who do we know on the appropriations committee?"
Crowley thought for a moment. "Senator Adams."
"Fine. Contact him and we'll go from there – I assure you, the Navy is not going to spend that amount of money on anything without going to appropriations." Castiel said calmly. "Fergus, I assume you will worry enough for both of us on this?"
Crowley nodded irritably. "Fine. Oh ... Castiel ... is everything set for dinner this evening?" He followed Castiel to the door. "Who ... who is your date again?"
Castiel chuckled. "No one you know."
Crowley watched Castiel uneasily as the man headed for his office. Castiel was never so close-mouthed about mundane matters like who was accompanying him to dinner. It did not bode well.
Dean stood in the large menswear section of yet another store. He kept nervously adjusting his shirt and he was about to bolt when a bubbly little redhead came over to him. "You have to be Dean," she said. "I'm Charlie."
"Uh, yeah, hi – Balthy said you'd be nice to me ..." Dean said with another blush.
"Balthy ... I like that. He's a great guy." Charlie said with a smile. "So what are your plans for tonight, Dean?"
Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "We're gonna be going to dinner."
"Great ... you'll need a suit. Come on, I have something that'll look uber-sharp on you ... it'll knock the socks off your cousin."
Uber-sharp? Dean thought as the girl led him up a flight of stairs.
"Uh, Charlie? He isn't really my cousin," Dean said.
Charlie grinned and then winked. "Exactly ... you're gonna look so hot he won't know what to do with himself."
"Oh, I can probably come up with a few things ..." Dean smirked.
"Dean, I think I'm gonna like you."
Balthazar was explaining the architecture of the hotel to one of their Asian guests when Dean appeared in front of him, a suit bag thrown over one shoulder. "Hey, Balthy ... I got a suit for tonight."
"And why aren't you wearing it?" Balthazar said with a thin smile.
"Didn't wanna mess it up ... hey, Charlie was great. I wanted to say thanks." Dean play-punched the man's shoulder. "You're not half-bad for a suit, Balthy." Dean smiled.
Balthazar returned the smile not unkindly. "You're welcome, Dean."
The actual room phone was ringing when Dean got the door open. He picked it up on the third ring. "Yel-lo!"
"Dean, do not ever pick up the phone," Castiel said firmly.
Dean chuckled. "Then why are you callin' me?"
"Did you get clothes today?" Castiel asked.
"Yep ... suit and tie." Dean said proudly.
"Good. I will meet you in the lobby at 7:45 pm sharp."
"What, you're not gonna come to the door? Cas, I'm hurt," Dean teased.
Castiel snorted in spite of himself. "Dean, this isn't a date .. it's business."
"Where we goin' anyway?" Dean asked.
"A restaurant called the Voltaire ... very high-end."
"Fine," Dean sighed dramatically. "I'll meet you in the lobby but only because you're payin' me to."
Castiel chuckled. "I appreciate your understanding, Dean." Castiel ended the call and then pressed redial. He grinned when Dean answered the phone again. "I told you not to pick up the phone!"
"Dude, stop calling me!"
Castiel laughed out loud and ended the call. He found himself actually looking forward to evening.
Balthazar startled when Dean appeared again in the lobby. He sighed. "It didn't fit?"
"Huh?" Dean asked, confused. "Oh, uh no ... it's just ... Balthy I got a problem."
Dean stared at the shiny array of silverware. Balthazar walked behind him. "One more time, Dean."
"Uh, napkin ... put in ... no wait ... lay in the lap," Dean said.
"Good. Elbows off the table. Don't slouch, Dean."
Dean groaned. He'd grown up in motel rooms eating out of paper sacks and drinking most of his beverages through a straw or straight from the bottle. He couldn't imagine who needed three different forks to eat. He forced himself to focus again as Balthazar reviewed the placement of the silverware and its use.
"Again," Balthazar said pointing inward toward the plate. "Shrimp fork, salad fork, dinner fork ..."
"I got the salad fork ... but the rest ... it's a little confusing."
"Very well, Dean ... if you get nervous ..."
"Dude, I don't get nervous ..."
"Humor me ... dude," Balthazar said with a smile. "Count the tines ... sometimes there are four tines – dinner fork. Sometimes there are three tines – salad fork ... "
Dean began to wonder why everyone didn't just eat soup.