Santana

Quinn seemed to freeze as Santana introduced her to Chef Emil. Her body tensed and the blood drained from her face like she'd seen a ghost.

Emil glanced at Quinn quizzically, but Quinn averted her gaze.

"Wonderful to meet you, Miss Johnson," Emil said in his Swiss accent.

"Likewise," Quinn said softly.

Santana frowned, concerned about Quinn's sudden change in demeanor. It was similar to the sudden change she exhibited when Santana had so callously brought up money. Sometimes Santana felt guilt about her good fortune while others still languished in poverty the way her family had, but it was nothing compared to the regret that was pummeling her now. Quinn was going through a financial crisis, and all she had done was remind her of what she didn't have. Quinn had been too polite to tell Santana what an ass she'd been.

Determined to make it up to her, Santana motioned for her to sit at the island. "Please have a seat, Quinn."

Quinn sat and Santana took a seat beside her.

"Tell Emil what you'd like for dinner. He really can make whatever you want."

"I can give you something simple to eat in the meantime, so you are not starving," Emil offered. "There is the meat and cheese platter that Miss Lopez's cousin adores so much. Would that be to your liking, Miss Johnson?"

"Yes. If that's no trouble," Quinn said.

"No trouble. No trouble," Emil said with an insistent wave of his hand. "A beautiful woman must be waited on, don't you think, Miss Lopez?"

Quinn smiled and then her shoulders relaxed, a tinge of pink coming back to her cheeks.

"Of course." Santana returned her smile.

Within minutes, Emil set out a meat and cheese platter and then set out the iced tea Santana's cousin, Oscar, couldn't get enough of.

Santana took a huge gulp of iced tea. "Why are all of my cousin's favorites here all of a sudden?"

"Don't you remember?" Emil asked as he washed his hands at the sink. "Your cousin will be coming here later this week to sample the meals I will be preparing for his wedding. I have all of his favorites here.

The wedding. Damn, Santana had forgotten all about that. She'd been swamped with work lately, especially with Lopez Investment Group in Latin America. Previously, when LIG had been the Fabray Financials there had been branches throughout North America and Europe, but now it was time to expand and truly make the bank into an international company.

On top of all that Santana's mother had sent a message earlier today, insisting they strategize over what to do about Russell Fabray's release from prison. No doubt her mother would probably use it as a stalling tactic to avoid discussing Santana's future at LIG. But she was going to get her mother to see things her way because, in the end, she always knew how to negotiate for what she wanted.

Regardless, it left Santana little time to think about Oscar's upcoming wedding. "It slipped my mind."

"How could you forget your own cousin's wedding?" Emil scolded as he wiped his hands. "And do you even know who you are taking? Why not take the beautiful Miss Johnson here?"

Santana grimaced. "We don't have that sort of relationship, Emil. Quinn is our guest."

"Oh. A pity." Emil sighed dramatically. "Imagine having such loveliness on your arm, but does the boss ever do anything but work? How are you to settle down if you don't even try to court such a sweet and beautiful woman? Why, Miss Johnson would outshine the bride, don't you think?" The chef winked at Quinn good-naturedly and then began to busy himself around the kitchen. "Honeyed chicken. That can be finished quickly. That way you will not have to wait long for dinner."

Quinn laughed softly at Emil's antics as she reached for a slice of cheese from the platter.

Santana hated admitting it, but Emil probably had a point. Sure, she dated, but that usually meant a handful of dinners and sex before her relationships fizzled out. That's why talking to Quinn at lunch had made such a big impact on her. She felt like they were genuinely trying to get to know each other. It hadn't been about scratching an itch or distracting herself from boredom. The more time she spent with Quinn, the more she wanted to see her. But as long as she was helping her they couldn't be anything more than friends. Though a part of her wanted to see if they could be more.

Maybe that was Santana's problem. Quinn was totally off limits, so that strengthened her desire. God, how shallow was she being that Quinn's unavailability might be influencing her reaction to her?

Emil's grumbling pulled Santana out of the haze of her thoughts, and another idea struck her. Even if romantically pursuing Quinn was off the table, she still wanted to keep helping her. And she knew the perfect way to do it.

"Quinn, I want to commission you to make a gown for my cousin's wedding."

Quinn's mouth fell open. "You don't give a girl time to get prepared, do you? Just firing off those ideas."

"It's how I've succeeded all these years in business," Santana said.

"Is that so?" Quinn paused. "When exactly is the wedding anyway?"

"In a little over three weeks." Santana held up her hands when Quinn balked. "There must be a charge for short-notice work, which I'm ready to pay."

"I mean, a gown would probably take about eighty hours of work," Quinn said, uncertain. "Three weeks isn't much time, but it is doable. I just don't know if this is such a good idea."

"Why? It's your line of work, isn't it?"

"It's just, you're helping me so much already," Quinn explained. "I've taken advantage of your kindness enough as it is."

"This isn't a kindness," Santana said firmly. "You provide a service. A service I want and am now requesting. Unless… this is your way of saying you aren't up to it.

"Of course I'm up to it." Quinn lifted her chin defiantly.

"Never try to talk a potential client out of hiring you." Santana gave Quinn a hard stare for emphasis. "Call it the rule of business. I'll teach you some of what I know if you're willing to learn."

"I'm more than willing to learn. I'd give anything to know how to make it in business the way you did." Quinn shifted uncomfortably in her seat, visibly tensing up again. "Okay. I'm going to need you to be available to collaborate." When Santana nodded in agreement, she seemed to relax a bit. "If this gown is going to be the best it can be, then we're going to have to work together on it. I know you're a very busy woman, and I don't want—"

"I'll make sure to make myself available to you," Santana said. "So, are we in agreement?"

Quinn nodded. "Yes. Typically the client pays half upfront and the next half on delivery. Since this is short notice, the cost will be a bit higher than what I usually charge."

"Name your price."

Santana watched as Quinn clasped her hands together, obviously anxious. It was clear that, though she had a lot of talent and vision, Quinn was still uncomfortable about the financial side of things. Hopefully taking Santana on as a client would help boost her confidence.

Taking a deep breath, Quinn finally said, "Six thousand dollars."

"Done." Santana held out her hand to give her a firm handshake."

Quinn looked Santana right in the eyes as their hands met. "I'll write up your order and send you a copy."

Santana nodded. "I'm available tomorrow evening."

"Great. We can go over ideas and take measurements then."

"While Emil makes dinner, I can take you on the tour of the house."

"I'd like that." Quinn smiled, her eyes lighting up.

Santana decided to stick to the main house rather than give a tour of the entire estate. So, she led Quinn around, showing her the dining room, the game room, the home theater, the home gym, and the wine cellar. Quinn was especially excited about the wine cellar, rattling off some seriously impressive information about the Italian wine Santana had in stock.

"What's that room?" Quinn asked, pointing at a set of closed double doors as Santana wound down the tour to head back into the kitchen.

"That's my home office and study." The home office held a lot of private and confidential information Santana guarded fiercely. It wasn't that she distrusted Quinn, but she hadn't survived a decade in business by letting LIG's secrets get out.

"Oh," was all Quinn said before following her back to the kitchen."

"Dinner is ready," Emil announced. "I shall have the staff serve it in the dining room."

"I've imposed enough already," Quinn said, a distinct breathlessness in her tone. "I don't want the staff to go through all that trouble. I'd be more than happy to eat in the guesthouse."

"But—"

"You heard her, Emil," Santana said. "Our guest would like to eat in comfort and privacy." She gave Quinn a small smile. "Formal dinners here can be boring, so I don't blame you for wanting out."

Quinn let out a breath and a relieved smile.

Emil shook his head and tutted, but he did as instructed and packed a lunch basket for Quinn, filling it with enough food and drink to feed a whole family.

"Stock the guesthouse refrigerator tomorrow for Quinn," Santana said, taking the basket from Emil.

"Of course. It would be my pleasure." Emil gave Quinn a little bow. "An honor to meet you, Miss Johnson. You may come to me and request a meal at any time."

"Thank you so much."

With the basket in hand, Santana led Quinn out of the kitchen before Emil could lay down more of his charm. Luckily the Swiss chef was as old as Santana's parents, or she'd have a real fight on her hands for Quinn's attention.

Soon they were outside, walking past the swimming pool to get to the nearby guesthouse.

Santana unlocked the front door, opened it, and flicked on the light as she stepped inside. "Welcome to your new home."

"It's lovely," Quinn said as she glanced around the living room.

The guesthouse wasn't nearly as big as the main mansion but there was ample space for her to work. Plus, the guesthouse had everything she could possibly need. In addition to the living room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen, there was a washing machine and dryer in the laundry room at the back, a flat-screen TV in the living room, a phone, and Wi-Fi.

After a quick tour of the guesthouse, Santana handed Quinn the house keys. "Six thousand dollars probably isn't enough to land you a loan or long-term lease at a new place, but we'll come up with something. Between me and all the wealthy people I know, we'll get you something permanent. Maybe even a shot at a real loan. That said, you really are welcome to stay as long as you like."

"I don't know what to say." Quinn clutched the house keys like they were more precious than gold. "Thank you doesn't sound like enough."

"It's more than enough," Santana said. "Besides, you really are doing me a favor by making a gown for me. You've got my number, so you can contact me anytime if there's an emergency. Don't hesitate to request food, and the staff will be here to attend to your needs."

"I feel like I'm imposing."

"You're not," Santana insisted. She understood Quinn's pride. It was the exact kind of pride her parents had instilled in her and her brother. But now that she was a success and had the chance to help someone, she was going to pay it forward.

Suddenly her phone rang, and she yanked it out of her pocket. "Damn, it's my mother. If she's calling at this hour, it's got to be some kind of problem. Probably something to do with Russell Fabray."

Quinn gasped. "Russell Fabray?"

Santana put the phone to her ear. "Yeah, do you remember him? That lying crook who stole all that money and destroyed people's lives all those years ago? You must have been a kid when it happened. He's out of jail now, but if you ask me ten years wasn't enough. Cheats like that should die in jail."

All the warmth in Quinn's hazel eyes vanished, and they turned steely. Her features hardened and she said something, but whatever it was got lost as Santana's mother's voice blared through the phone.

Santana held up her hand. "I'm sorry, Quinn, but I have to take this. We'll talk more tomorrow." Leaving Quinn mid-conversation was the last thing she wanted to do, but if her mother wanted to talk about Fabray or keep the promise about listening to her ideas, she had to take the call.

As she turned around and headed out the front door, Santana couldn't help but wonder what it was that had turned Quinn's demeanor so icy.