Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

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Enjoy :)

Los Angeles, California

He barely had time to brace himself after the last punch before another one landed on his jaw, causing his neck to snap painfully to the side. He felt blood pool in his mouth and spat a wad on the ground, his eyes locked on his attacker's as if to say "That's all you got?"

As he flexed his hands against the ropes tying him to the chair and inhaled painfully – there was definitely a broken rib or two – he heard a door open.

"So Mr. St. James," a low voice said, emerging from the shadows, "how about we try this again?"

Jesse watched as Klauss Donovan Mitchell stopped directly in front of him, unbuttoning his expensive suit jacket and handing it to one of his men waiting on the side.

The man stooped down so the two were eye level and Jesse felt a flicker of fear at the cold calculating look in his eyes.

"Where the fuck is my money?"

Nashville, Tennessee

"You've been turning that card around in your hand all morning. What is it and why does it have you so captivated?"

Mercedes jumped at the teasing voice and looked up to see a smiling Quinn standing at her door. She quickly put the card on her desk and turned her attention to the computer.

"It's nothing."

"Lies and propaganda," the woman said, walking in and closing the door behind her. "Spill it."

"Don't you have that contract due soon?" Mercedes asked, trying to change the subject.

Quinn sat down in the chair in front of Mercedes' desk and settled back into the seat. "I do." She crossed her legs and folded her hands on top of her knees. She clearly wasn't going to be leaving anytime soon.

The two women stared at each other, each waiting for the other to make a move before Quinn finally reached over the desk and picked up the card lying there. She read the name on the front silently before looking at her friend with a questioning glance.

"Sam Evans? Why…? How do you…?"

Quinn took note of the way Mercedes avoided her gaze and her voice trailed off as realization hit her. "Mercedes Jones, is this who I think it is?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.

Mercedes waved her off and began sorting the emails she had been neglecting all morning.

"Mercedes!," she whispered, scandalized. "Wait, how did you -? When did you - ? Explain."

Mercedes smiled in spite of herself at the blonde's excitement.

"Well… last night I stopped at the grocery store on my way home and bumped into him."

"'Him' being…?" Quinn prompted, clearly waiting for Mercedes to confirm her suspicions.

Mercedes rolled her eyes and stopped typing. "'Him' being the man from the bar."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Mmm hmmm. Ok, so you bumped into him in the grocery store and…" she pressed, refusing to accept the abbreviated version.

"And we talked for a little bit and he gave me his card." Mercedes tucked a loose curl behind her ear and cleared her throat. "I'm supposed to call him to confirm plans for dinner."

"Wait a minute," Quinn said, holding up a hand. "You're having dinner with this man? Have you called him yet?"

"No I-"

Quinn's eyes widened in disbelief. "What exactly are you waiting for?"

Mercedes shrugged. "It's been such a crazy day. Artists coming in and out, vender cancellations, meetings to prepare for and…" She trailed off at the look Quinn shot at her.

"Call the man. Now."

Quinn leaned back in the chair and motioned for Mercedes to proceed.

"I-"

"Mercedes…," she said warningly.

"Ok, fine." Mercedes sighed and looked pointedly from her friend to the door. "Do you mind…?"

Quinn shrugged and pointed to the phone. "No, not at all. Call."

Mercedes shook her head and thought again of how great she would fit in with her friends from home. She said as much to her, but Quinn waved off the statement.

"Yeah, ok, great, cool. I'd love to meet them at some point. Yada yada, blah blah blah. Stop changing the subject and dial."

Mercedes smiled as she took her cell phone out of her purse and punched in the numbers from the back of the card. She chewed on her bottom lip as the phone rang and felt a twinge of disappointment when a pre-recorded message encouraged her to leave her name, number and a brief message. She cleared her throat.

"Hi Sam, this is Mercedes." She glanced at Quinn who was watching her intently and nodding with encouragement.

"I just wanted to call about dinner… tonight… If you're still interested give me a call. My number is 615-276-0076." She paused. "Have a wonderful day," she finished in a rush, wincing as she hung up.

She dropped the phone on her desk and her head in her hands.

"Never again," she said shaking her head. "Never ever again."

Quinn laughed and gave her a quiet golf clap.

"I'm proud of you Mercedes. You did your part so when he calls, which he will, just figure out a time and place and go from there."

The woman stood up and straightened her skirt.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go close a deal and make someone else's dream come true." She walked over to the door and opened it, turning to her friend who still had her head in her hands. "Oh! I almost forgot the real reason I came in here – the gala security team. Meeting's in an hour. Are you available?"

Mercedes nodded weakly.

"Ok great." Quinn smiled, a plan forming in her head. "See you in the conference room at 1."

"So what do you guys think?" Mike asked as the three men walked out of the boardroom having finalized details on their first international office.

Puck smiled. "I call dibs on attending the monthly meetings. Can't wait to build up some frequent flyer miles."

The three laughed and continued down the hallway. Sam was the first to break away.

"Alright guys, I gotta get back to my office. Great meeting, but I've got another one in an hour. Puck, wanna join? It's the music gig I mentioned a few weeks ago."

"Yeah sure. I'm stepping out for a few, but can meet you there. Where is it?"

The two exchanged information and Sam walked into his office, groaning at the stack of papers waiting on top of his desk. It was as if the pile from this morning had multiplied. He sat down and began preparing for his meeting, sketching out the venue, highlighting entry points and jotting down notes for suggested security measures. He was so caught up in his work that he didn't even hear Lauren enter until she was snapping her fingers in front of his face.

"Don't you have a meeting right now?" she said.

Sam looked at his watch and let out a few choice words.

"Dammit. Thanks!" he said as he grabbed the files from his desk and rushed out the door.

Damn, damn, damn, Mercedes chanted to herself as she rushed to get to the conference room. In an effort to catch up on work from this morning she completely lost track of time. She slowed down as she approached the room and took a deep breath, looking at her watch. Ten minutes. Damn.

She opened the door and walked in just as a well dressed man was speaking.

"My apologies," he was saying. "I spoke with my partner before stepping in and he's caught in some traffic. He'll be here shortly."

Quinn waved off his apology. "Not a problem. My partner just arrived so we're even."

Mercedes put on a smile and walked over to introduce herself. "Sorry I'm late, I got caught up in some paperwork. Mercedes Jones."

The man stood and took her hand. "Hi Miss Jones, Noah Puckerman. Pleased to meet you."

Mercedes took in his megawatt smile and the features that complimented it. Nice eyes, olive complexion, firm handshake... the man was a sight to behold.

"As I was saying to Miss Fabray," he continued, waiting for Mercedes to take a seat before sitting back down himself, "my partner will be here momentarily. Why don't we get started as to not take up too much of your time?"

Mercedes nodded and opened up her notebook. She reached over to the center of the table to grab a water bottle and uncorked it, bringing the plastic to her mouth to take a sip.

Quinn opened her mouth to begin when the door opened.

"Sorry I'm late," a voice came from the entrance.

The three looked over and as her eyes locked on the person standing in the doorway Mercedes almost choked.

Sam did a double take before walking over to the table. He reached over to shake the blond woman's hand.

"Sam Evans."

"Quinn Fabray," she responded with a smile and a hint of recognition that he found curious. "Pleased to meet you."

He turned his attention to Mercedes and extended his hand. Eyes trained on his, she reached out to shake it, sending a shock up his arm the minute they connected.

"Mercedes Jones," she said calmly as though nothing had happened, but the look in her eyes gave way to the fact that she felt it too.

Feeling two pairs of eyes watching the interaction with interest, Sam forced himself to remember where they were and reluctantly let her hand go.

"Pleased to meet you," he said, clearing his throat. He unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat beside Puck. "Let's begin shall we?"

Once the initial shock of seeing Sam enter the room was replaced with a professional curiosity, Mercedes had to admit that he and his partner were good at their job. Damn good.

The four got wrapped up in the duo's presentation and although she asked all the right questions and provided the necessary feedback, throughout the conversation her mind kept going back to the moment her hand connected with his. There had been an unmistakable something.

The longer they were in the same room, the more anxious she became and she found herself getting uncomfortably warm. Mercifully, the meeting began wrapping up and as soon as a date was set for a follow up discussion, she quickly closed her notebook and prepared to stand. Between the voicemail she left this morning and their close proximity in the large conference room, she needed to escape.

"Sorry to step out suddenly gentlemen," she said as she gathered her belongings, "but I have another client coming in about thirty minutes."

Quinn looked up. "Is this the new artist? How about I take that and you do a quick tour for our new partners? I haven't done a 'welcome to the business' talk in a while and could use a refresher and I'm sure Mr. Puckerman and Mr. Evans would love to get a sense of our operation. It's one thing to hear about the venue, but another one to see it."

Mercedes looked at her coworker and noted the mischievous glint in her eyes. She didn't even have to glance his way to know that Sam was watching her.

"Are you sure?" Mercedes asked slowly, mind racing to think of what Quinn could possibly be up to.

"Definitely." The woman turned to the two men with a smile. "Gentlemen, do you have time for that?"

Mercedes braved a look in their direction and watched nervously as Sam's partner glanced down at his watch.

"I'm afraid I can't. I have to run off to that meeting I mentioned earlier."

Quinn nodded understandingly. "Oh yes, that's right you did mention that." She looked over at Sam. "Are you available Mr. Evans?"

Sam slowly nodded and continued to look at Mercedes, his eyes darkening and a cordial smile rearranging his features. "I'm all yours, Mizz Jones."

Everything in her mind told Mercedes that this was be a bad idea, but she couldn't argue it right now without raising suspicion and possibly damaging the professional rapport the four had just spent the past two hours building.

Professional, she said to herself quickly. Be professional. You can do this.

She smiled and walked over to shake the other man's hand. "Mr. Puckerman, it was a pleasure meeting you and I look forward to working with you further. Mr. Evans, right this way."

She walked over to the door and reached for the handle, but Sam got there before her.

"Thank you," she said without looking at him. Before walking through the door she turned to Quinn with a tight smile. "Thanks for taking that meeting for me. Follow up when we're both done?"

The blonde sent her a bright smile in response and nodded. "Of course. Have fun!"

Sam had noticed the hesitancy with which Mercedes agreed to give the tour and the mild panic that flashed across her face when she realized that Puck wouldn't be joining them. This was going to be interesting.

"So where do we begin?" he asked as he joined her in the hallway.

"I guess here is as good a place as any," she said walking ahead of him. She pointed out some rooms and rattled off information about the building and company, but he struggled to focus on what she was saying. Between replaying the memory of their hands connecting and taking in the way she moved and commanded each room they entered, his mind was occupied.

When they reached the top floor signaling the end of the tour, they walked over to an elevator and she pressed the call button. When it arrived, they stepped inside and although he was closest to the buttons, he waited until she leaned across him to press the one to the parking garage. As the doors closed he turned to face her in the empty car.

"So I'm gonna be honest here and let you know that I didn't hear a word of what you just said."

She kept her eyes focused on the doors in front of her. "Would you like me to repeat it?"

"I think you might have to. It's a good thing we're having dinner tonight. That'll give you plenty of time to run through the important details."

She raised an eyebrow, but didn't shift her glance or position. "Is that so?"

"Yes ma'am." He turned so that he was facing the doors as well. "That is if you're still up for it."

She looked at him before answering. "I take it you haven't looked at your phone today?"

Sam shook his head. "Been in meetings from the moment I walked into the office."

The door opened and the two stepped out into the parking deck.

"One of those days, huh?" she said understandingly. She cleared her throat. "I left you a message."

"Oh?" Sam looked over at her as they walked and smiled. "Was it dirty and highly suggestive?"

She unsuccessfully tried to stop the laughter that burst from her lips. "You wish."

Sam stopped walking, forcing her to stop in her tracks as well, and waited until she turned to look at him. "You have no idea."

He watched as she licked her lips and he bit back a groan. "What did the message say?"

She blinked. "Basically to give me a call if you were still interested."

Sam took a step towards her and brushed a loose curl from her cheek. There it was again. That spark. "I'm definitely still interested."

He took a step back. "7 still work?"

It was silent for a moment before she nodded.

Sam smiled. "Perfect. I know just the place. I'll text you the address."

He began walking to his car which wasn't parked too far from where they stood.

"What's wrong with telling me now?," she called after him.

He turned and faced her, walking backwards with a smirk. "It's all about the anticipation Mizz Jones. See you tonight."

Mercedes walked back into the building and entered her office to find Quinn sitting in the same chair she had occupied earlier that morning.

"So…" the woman said as Mercedes closed the door.

"So how was your meeting with the artist?" Mercedes asked, walking over to her desk and lowering herself into the seat.

"It was fine. Sweet kid. Lots of talent. Gonna go far. Stop changing the subject."

"Fine. Mind telling me what that was about?"

Quinn looked at her before answering. "Are you upset?"

Mercedes didn't answer.

"Ok look. I recognized his company name from the card this morning. I didn't know if he'd be the one in the meeting so I didn't say anything. Before you walked into the room, Mr. Puckerman mentioned that he'd have to step out as soon as we were done, so when Mr. Evans entered I figured I'd use that fun fact to give you two some time alone."

Mercedes shook her head, impressed. "You're good."

Quinn smiled. "So I take it it went well?"

Mercedes couldn't help the smile that formed. "Yeah, it did."

"Good." Quinn stood. "On a somewhat related note, they're great for the job. Let's prepare a debrief for the rest of the committee and get the rest of this planning underway." She walked over to the door and pulled it open. "Don't stay too late. You have a date and I expect a full report tomorrow."

Mercedes waved her away jokingly and turned her attention back to the work on her desk. She got so caught up in what she was doing that it wasn't until her phone buzzed that she looked at the clock and saw that the day was over. She picked up her cell and smiled when she checked the message waiting for her.

320 11th Ave. S. Let Jane (person at the front) know you're here for Sam Evans. Bring your appetite; I've heard great things about this place.

She shut off her computer, grabbed her coat and purse and turned off the lights as she closed her office door behind her. As she walked out of the building and into her car, she began thinking of an outfit to wear, feeling giddy and excited for the first time in a long time.

Los Angeles, California

Despite what his name may suggest, Jesse St. James was not a religious man. He didn't attend church and based on his associations and history, he was almost certain that he'd be barred from entering the threshold. But here, in this dingy warehouse in the middle of nowhere, he prayed to whatever entity was listening.

The pain he had felt earlier in the day was nothing compared to the fire racing through his body at the moment. He had heard the stories, had seen the victims, but nothing prepared him for being the recipient of Donovan's rage.

So he prayed.

Through every broken bone, through every buzz of the drill as it entered his flesh. Through every sentence forced past swollen lips, through every name moaned through painful gasps.

He prayed and prayed until finally sweet release came.

Nashville, Tennessee

Sam was selecting a playlist on his iPod when he heard the soft knock at his door.

He opened it and moved to the side so Mercedes could enter.

"You've heard great things about this place huh?"

"Welcome to La Casa de Sam," he said with a smile. "On the menu tonight we have something amazing and something great."

She laughed and walked into the living room. As he put her coat in the closet, he could tell that her brown eyes were taking in every detail, from the books on his bookshelf to the way he organized his furniture.

Sam walked back into the kitchen and started taking vegetables out of the fridge, laying them on the counter alongside some bowls and pots. He heard her walk into the room and offer her assistance.

"Nope. You're the guest. Just sit right there and watch me work my magic."

Mercedes settled onto one of the barstools at the island in the middle of the kitchen and took in the scene before her. She watched the lazily meticulous manner in which Sam sliced vegetables and took in how he went from cupboard to cupboard almost without thought. There was nothing sexier than a man who knew his way around the kitchen and this one was clearly in his element.

She blinked at the direction her mind was wandering in and knew she had to refocus her thoughts.

"If you weren't in the security business, what would you be doing?"

He smiled at the question. "Probably making comic books."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Sam nodded and scooped up the onions he just chopped, dropping them into the skillet and putting on the lid as they sizzled in the oil he poured out a few minutes earlier.

"Yeah. I love drawing and have been reading comics since I was a kid."

"Iron Man or Superman?"

"Captain America."

Mercedes laughed. "Not an option."

He shrugged and flashed her a smile. "Always the answer." He moved to pour out some rice into a boiling pot. "How about you? If you weren't in music management, what would you be doing?"

She smiled as she answered. "I'd be a singer."

Sam looked up as he continued preparing the meal. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. It's actually the reason I originally moved out to LA, but things change…" she said, her voice trailing off as she thought about the circumstances that led to her being in Sam's kitchen.

She raised her eyes and saw him studying her. She forced out a smile. "So tell me how you and Noah got started."

It was an obvious change of topic, but Sam didn't push. There was clearly a story there, but he'd let her tell it when she was ready.

Giving her the space she clearly needed, he explained how him, Mike and Puck got started. "And today we just finalized plans for an office in London," he wrapped up.

She gave him a genuine smile, clearly impressed. "That's amazing, congratulations."

"Thanks," he said, focusing his attention to the pots on the stove, stirring the rice and checking on the salmon. When he was confident that the meal was well on its way to completion, he leaned against the counter by the sink and looked at her.

By this point she had left her seat in the kitchen and was now standing by the bay windows in the living room, taking in the city skyline. The windows were Sam's favorite part of the apartment, but the view it provided paled in comparison to the one before him.

She had changed from the pants and blouse she had on earlier and now wore a gorgeous coral dress that stopped right below her knees. Instead of the heels he became accustomed to seeing her in, she paired the outfit with flat gold sandals.

"I meant to say this when you walked in, but you look phenomenal."

"Thank you," she said, turning to him with a smile.

"You're welcome."

There must have been something in his voice that gave his thoughts away because Mercedes' smile faltered.

Mercedes took a deep breath.

"Sam, look. I wasn't kidding about what I said in the bar that night. I don't date. The only reason I agreed to have dinner with you is because it never hurts to have too many friends and I..."

She trailed off as he slowly pushed himself off of the counter. He didn't say anything as he walked over to her, slowly as though he was a lion stalking his prey. One look in his eyes told her that he saw right through her lie.

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, wanting to look away, but not knowing how. She hadn't realized she'd been retreating from his advance until she felt the window against her back. He stopped directly in front of her, eyes dark with barely controlled lust. She closed her eyes to push the image away and felt him scanning her face, taking in every detail. The room was silent save for the smooth jazz playing, the sizzling of the meal he was preparing and the thumping of her heart. She opened her eyes and he waited until her eyes locked on his before speaking. "I have enough friends."

Mercedes opened her mouth to respond, but couldn't get a sound out. He was so close to her, so close that if either of them moved a centimeter their lips would be touching. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her mouth, and held her own, silently begging him to put her out of her misery. Finally she couldn't be silent any longer.

"Sam, I –"

She saw the moment his control snapped and before she finished her statement he closed the small distance between them, making it so that the only thing touching were their lips.

He took his time, patiently waiting until she opened her lips before continuing his exploration. She moaned into his mouth, moving her hand to run her fingers through his hair, pulling him close and pressing her body against his. He groaned and grabbed her waist, bringing her impossibly closer. The sparks she had felt earlier in the day paled in comparison to the fire that raced through her veins at the moment. Just as their tongues touched he broke the connection, stepping away and turning to walk back to the kitchen. Mercedes looked at his retreating form unseeing, breathing heavily and wondering what just happened.

She watched as he took two wine glasses down from the cupboard and turned back to face her.

"White or red?" he asked.

Walking away from Mercedes took every ounce of strength he possessed. He thought shaking her hand and brushing her hair away from her face were bad. Those were nothing compared to actually kissing her, to actually holding her in his arms and feeling her body against his.

He waited for her to answer his question and bit back a smile as she smoothed out her dress. She walked back into the kitchen and sat back down on the stool.

"White will be fine," she said.

He moved over to the fridge and took out the wine he had put there after work. He poured her a glass and handed it to her before pouring one for himself.

"So..." he said, returning the bottle to the fridge. "What were you saying about friendship Mizz Jones?"

Los Angeles, California

Artie Abrams received the call a little after 4:30am and although it was expected, he didn't like it. Not one bit.

When he had gotten word earlier in the day that their key witness in the Mitchell case went missing, he immediately knew how this chapter of the story would end. Klauss Donovan Mitchell didn't leave things to chance and over the years had perfected the art of tying up loose ends. Artie's presence at the abandoned warehouse at the crack of dawn confirmed what he had been dreading. There was a mole in the precinct. One of his men was on that monster's payroll and had told him about the St. James deal. What else did they leak?

"Sir, over here!"

Artie walked over to where the medic was standing and swallowed the bile that threated to creep up. He looked down at the severed arm.

"There's more where this came from. Scattered all over the place."

Artie took a deep breath. "And we're sure it's him?"

"Yes sir. ID'd by the tattoo on his left bicep."

Artie sighed. "Ok, tag it and bag it. I want everything tested to make sure it's our guy. No point in working on suspicion alone when it could be a ploy to divert our attention."

He walked away and reached into his pocket. After pulling out his cell phone, he ran through his contacts and pressed 'Send' when he reached the name he needed.

Given the time of day, he wasn't surprised when it went to voicemail, but that didn't stop the disappointment he felt. Voicemails were the world's ultimate middlemen.

"Evans, it's me. Remember that favor I mentioned a few months back?" Artie turned to look at the scene before him. "Looks like I'm gonna have to call it in after all. Give me a ring as soon as you get this."

He hung up the phone and sighed.

How long did it take you to break St. James? How much did you tell him? And who the hell is he working with?