AN: Hello everyone! I'm back from the dead. Been working on this for a while now and am happy to finally share it. Drop me a review/comment if you're still around and shipping QS. I'd love to know if my long ass hours spent writing also brings other people joy :)
An embezzlement scandal plunged the Fabray family to utter ruin and propelled the Lopez family to the top one percent. After a decade of disparity and bitterness on both ends, the two families become embroiled again when their daughters get entangled with each other.
Santana Lopez: the untouchable billionaire banker and the city's most eligible bachelorette—bold, tenacious, and with a chip on her shoulder.
Quinn Fabray: the disgraced former heiress who once had it all, is hell-bent on regaining everything she's ever lost—even if it means seducing her sworn enemy's daughter.
Love like you're never counting the cost.
Santana
"You'll never believe who just got out of prison."
Caught off guard, Santana looked up from her laptop as her mother breezed into the meeting room. The older woman took off her sunglasses, the corners of her mouth turned down into her usual disapproving frown.
"I assume you're going to tell me." Santana didn't give a damn about gossip. That was her mother's currency. The leverage Carmen Lopez used against their family's enemies. And their family had too many enemies to count.
Santana's currency had always been knowing exactly which pressure points to push until an adversary turned into an ally and handed over whatever she wanted. As vice president of the Lopez Investment Group, she lived by one code alone: finding someone's weakness to bend things to her will. On that score, she was exactly like her mother, though she loathed to admit it. Every Lopez had a ruthless streak. Owning one of the largest multinational banks on earth guaranteed that trait, even if part of Santana wished that it didn't.
Her mother snatched the TV remote from the table she was working at and turned on the television. "Haven't you heard?"
Santana folded her arms in annoyance and glanced at the wide-screen TV. Surprise made her body go rigid as memories of the past hit her like a ton of bricks. "Shit, that's Russell Fabray."
Her mother nodded. "He got out on parole four years early on good behavior."
Footage of a gray-haired Russell Fabray limping out of prison flashed on the screen. Santana shook her head in disbelief. When Russell had been sent to prison nearly ten years ago, he'd been in the prime of his life. Of all the Lopez family's enemies, Russell had been the most dangerous by far. For years Santana's parents had worked for the Fabray family, steadily climbing their way to the top of the corporate ladder, until her ruthless father had knocked the Fabrays off their golden tower. Knocked them off, seized their company, and exposed Russell's crime and corruption so thoroughly that he had been sent to prison. Now he was out. A free man.
"He looks terrible," Santana finally said.
"Don't get all soft-hearted," her mother warned. "He treated your father and me like dirt all the years we worked for him. That man will always be a snake."
"I'm not getting soft-hearted. He just looks so different." Despite the bad blood between the families, Santana couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for Russell. Before ending up in prison, he had been stripped of his wealth, leaving his family the poorhouse. The Fabrays had been one of the most illustrious families in America until Santana's parents had utterly ruined him.
She reminded herself that the Fabrays had been destroyed by the very forces that had made them successful for generations. The only way to get to the top was to knock down all the people above you. That was how the Fabrays had ended up amassing so much wealth over more than a century. After over a hundred years of complacency, Santana's upstart parents had shown them that mistreating their subordinates would cost them dearly. The Fabrays had been ready to toss her parents under the bus to save themselves when their misdeeds came to light. What choice had her parents had?
Throwing the Fabrays into the abyss had been her family's gain, and they now had more wealth than they had ever dreamed of. In Santana's thirty-two years, she had gone from living in a five hundred-square-foot apartment with her parents and her brother to having the world within her reach.
"Now that he's out we need to look over our shoulders," her mother said, lowering her voice.
There was nobody else in the glass-encased meeting room, but paranoia was another of her mother's traits. She always thought someone was out to get them. Though, considering how many enemies they had, some of her paranoia was understandable.
"We have other problems." Santana leaned back in her chair. "We've got a meeting with some pissed-off investors in fifteen minutes."
"Forget that." Her mother smoothed down her stylish cut dark hair and eyed her. "Our mortgage loan officer decided to have his baby today."
Santana forced herself to keep her exasperation to herself. "It's hardly Rupert's fault his wife went into labor. I'll have my secretary send a card and a gift."
"Rupert isn't here today, so I expect you to handle his clients."
Santana narrowed her eyes. Doing a task that menial was only going to piss her off. "Get one of the managers to do it."
"If you want to take over the reins from your father and be president someday, you have to prove yourself."
Her mother was always dangling that carrot over her head because she knew that was all that Santana ever wanted. Running LIG was Santana's chance to prove herself. Prove that even though she was new money, she belonged here just as much as the old-money families. Just as much as the people who resented the fact that the Lopezes had exposed Russell Fabray and the corruption at the heart of San Diego's old financial system.
If Santana ran LIG, she could expand the company. Use her vision to surpass her father. Secure the family's legacy. A second generation taking over the bank would turn them from new money upstarts into a dynasty that has as much right to a place in the upper class as all the blue bloods who looked down on them. Not to mention disrupt the market share held by the entitled white folks in this industry.
"How is this a way to prove myself?" she finally asked.
"Rolling up your sleeves and getting your hands dirty shows that you're still tough," her mother said. "Show me that all this money hasn't spoiled you."
"You expect that to sway me? I need more than words."
The older woman sighed, shoulders heaving in frustration. She hated pushback of any kind, but Santana wasn't going to let her mother control her destiny. Not now that Russell Fabray's release served as a stark reminder of just how much they stood to lose if they let the past rule them. Now wasn't the time to cower and look over their shoulders. It was time to act. To make their own future. And Santana intended to be the architect of that future no matter how hard she had to fight her own mother to do it.
"If you do this, we'll talk. Talk for real. You give me your ideas and I'll take them to your father."
"I'll be holding you to that," Santana warned. "No more stalling. I want a bigger stake in the company."
Her mother's lips formed a rigid line. "As you wish. And while we're making demands, I still think we need to take Russell Fabray seriously. Now that he's out of prison he's liable to come after us."
"With what?" Santana stood, smoothed her pencil skirt, and grabbed her laptop. "He's broke. Nobody in this town will give him the time of day. His life is over. Basically."
"Never underestimate the power of desire for vengeance. Before he went to prison, he vowed to destroy us. I take that vow very seriously. So should you."
Santana headed for the glass door without responding. If her mother wanted to give in to paranoia, that was on her. Right now, she had a task to complete. And then, she would claim the future that was rightfully hers.
Talking about loans was a draining exercise. A reminder of where Santana and her family had started—the gutter. When lunchtime finally came around, she decided to deal with one more client before getting the hell out of Rupert's pitifully small mortgage loan office.
She reached for her phone. "Hold all calls," she instructed the secretary on the other end. Not waiting for a response she hung up, her attention caught by the office door swinging open.
As her next client sashayed in, Santana froze. She didn't know why the air squeezed out of her lungs. Didn't know why the temperature in the room rose so many degrees that her ears burned hot.
Santana had dated so many beautiful women that it took more than looks to catch her attention anymore. Not with this woman though. Everything about her was arresting. From her blonde waves that cascaded down her shoulders to her shapely legs. And the way she walked. She was as graceful as a dancer, her head held high and her shoulders thrown back.
When their eyes locked, Santana had the sudden realization that she recognized this woman. Knew her from somewhere but couldn't place it. There was no way in hell Santana had slept with her or dated her. She'd remember bedding a woman this beautiful. And if she had ever done anything more serious with her, she wouldn't have let her go without a fight.
The blonde's eyes widened as if she recognized Santana, too. Though she composed herself quickly enough to stretch out her hand. "Hi. I'm Quinn… Johnson." She tilted her head. "You're Santana Lopez."
Santana got up to take her hand. Squeezed it. Didn't want to let it go. Quinn wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Without thinking, Santana's thumb brushed against Quinn's soft skin and she pulled her hand back suddenly. Any kind of romantic contact with a client was unacceptable, no matter how much she wanted to touch her. "I am. How do you know me?"
Quinn smiled, her full pink lips distracting. Her kissable mouth made Santana's pulse quicken as the smile on her sinful, sensuous lips widened. "Everybody in town knows who you are. I just didn't expect you to be my loan officer." Quinn let out a laugh. It was a breathy, nervous sound that Santana wanted to hear again and again.
Her reaction to Quinn stunned even herself. Sudden infatuation wasn't Santana's style. Her entire life centered around her work and ambitions. She scheduled women in, and if she couldn't make time she broke things off before they got the wrong idea. Dating wasn't a priority for her, and yet, right now she'd give anything to take Quinn out to dinner.
"I'm filling in for Rupert today. Please, sit." Santana motioned to the chair on the other side of the desk before taking her seat. "I know you from somewhere, don't I?"
Quinn sat down and crossed her legs. She had the grace of a ballet dancer, but she exuded far too much sex appeal to be a ballerina. Honestly, she looked more like a Hollywood star than anything else. "I don't think so. Unless you know about my designs…"
"What do you design?" Santana asked.
Quinn lowered her captivating green eyes as if the question was making her shy for some reason. "Oh, mostly clothes." She pulled out some forms from a binder that Santana noticed for the first time. "I make fine clothing for women and suits for men."
"Make them?" Santana leaned forward, studying Quinn with interest. "You create clothes as well?"
"Yes. I design them and then sew them—make them."
"By yourself? You don't have a staff to help you do that?"
"Not yet." Quinn gave a faltering smile. "That's why I've come in for a loan. I want to buy a store with a workshop. That way I'll have a staff to help create my designs and build my brand."
Santana thought for a moment, realizing that sewing all her own creations must take Quinn hundreds of hours. "Doing all that work on your own is a massive commitment."
"Yes, it is." Quinn took a deep breath. "Which is why I want a store of my own with staff. Right now it takes so long for me to make an outfit myself, which means I don't make as much money as I could if I had workers to help me."
"Let me have a look at your loan application," Santana said.
Quinn handed the application over and Santana scanned the forms. When she stopped at her income, she actually felt sympathy. Quinn's situation reminded her of her early childhood when her parents had been flat broke. There was no way one person get by on a wage like hers. Not if they hoped to have a roof over their head and three square meals a day.
Santana stole a glance at Quinn. Her dress was well-tailored and looked expensive. She suspected she had probably made it herself, and her jewelry actually looked genuine. If Santana didn't know any better, from her bearing and her clothing she would have guessed Quinn came from money. Her shoes were the giveaway, though.
Santana didn't keep up with fashion magazines, but even she could see how scuffed and worn Quinn's shoes were. Many of the people coming in for loans wore their best clothes so that they would look responsible, rather than what they actually were. Desperate. Quinn had probably done the same thing. Worn the finest clothes she owned so that she could come to LIG and ask for a loan.
Judging from how much attention she had paid to properly filling out all the loan forms, it was clear that she was driven. Santana admired that ambition. Many of the wealthy people in his world were content to live off their billions without accomplishing anything. And yet here Quinn was, trying to make her dreams a reality.
"It says here that you were born in Italy," Santana said, still going over the forms.
"Yes. It's a beautiful country." Quinn's eyes lit up and she clasped her hands together in obvious excitement. "The architecture is simply amazing. And the food." She closed her eyes and let out the tiniest moan, the sound sent Santana's pulse racing. "It's absolutely divine."
There was something infectious about Quinn. Like her enthusiasm might rub off on people around her. Usually that would have put Santana on guard because, frankly, earnestness wasn't something she trusted in her world. But she couldn't help being charmed by Quinn. "So, you remember Italy?"
"Well, I don't remember when I was born," Quinn said with a laugh. "But I went back on a college exchange program when I went to design school and it was incredible. Have you ever been?"
No wonder she seemed like she came from money. Her travels had probably made her worldly. "No, I haven't," Santana replied.
"Oh, you'd love it. And the people there are beautiful. You'd fit right in." Quinn's cheeks flushed pink as she spoke.
As arrogant as it sounded, Santana wasn't surprised Quinn was flirting with her. A lot of people did. It was the way Quinn flirted that impressed her. Subtle. Classy. Left her wanting a hell of a lot more. "If I had a tour guide as lovely as you I might have visited Italy a long time ago."
Quinn blushed again. "Maybe someday…"
If Santana didn't get back control of their conversation, things were liable to get unprofessional pretty damn quickly. "Your education in Italy served you well. You've definitely done your homework. Your five-year business plan is thorough and well thought out. Unfortunately, your credit score is an issue."
For the first time, Quinn's face fell. She sagged in her chair. "My ex-roommate took my credit cards, line of credit, and anything she could get her hands on, then basically maxed everything out. I'm trying to get it cleared, but it's next to impossible. And I refuse to pay off a debt I didn't create."
The debt was a huge problem. If she had a good credit score her company had a good shot at being a success, but a credit score like hers wasn't something LIG could take on. "While I admire you sticking to your principles, debt is tough to sell."
"It's just a hard several years," Quinn said softly. A shadow of sadness fell over her eyes and she looked down, avoiding Santana's gaze.
Letting a stranger go over her financial records must have been agony for her. It was then that Santana noticed how fragile she seemed now that she had shifted in her seat. "It's almost lunchtime. Have you had lunch yet?"
"I've eaten," Quinn murmured. "I went to a diner and got some soup."
"What kind?" Santana asked. "Something Italian?"
"Oh, nothing fancy." Quinn sighed heavily. "Just some ketchup in water. I added salt to season it."
"What?"
Quinn flinched but lifted her gaze to look at Santana. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said—"
"I shouldn't have tried to pry," Santana said quickly.
The silence that followed was like a deafening roar. A condemnation of Santana's good fortune. Sometimes it was easy to forget her own humble beginnings. At this level of success, problems seemed enormous. Being in charge of billions of dollars was a unique kind of pressure. But having to improvise a meal sounded like something out of a Victorian-era novel. One of those books about orphans and street urchins.
Quinn had walked in here with so much confidence. So much excitement about her dreams. Now her sudden frailty gave her a waifish air. As if she would be crushed at any moment. If Santana was going to deny her loan request, the least she could do was offer her a meal. "Quinn," Santana started, and swallowed, trying to figure out why she was so nervous. "How would you like to go to lunch with me?"
