Four Player Ruse

By Steampunk . Chuckster

Summary: When a fake blind date goes wrong, Sarah Walker, president of a major frozen food developer, finds her life inextricably entwined with Chuck Bartowski, one of her company's top food researchers. Contracts, bad behavior, idiocy, madcappery...and maybe even love follows. AU. Charah and Ellie/Devon.

A/N: Thanks again everyone. One thing I have to note. The general plot of this fic is loosely based on a K-drama called Business Proposal. It's a really fun, madcap show and definitely worth the watch, but if you do watch it, know that I'll be deviating quite a lot. :) Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own the TV show Chuck or its characters.

She rushed out onto the sidewalk after him, honestly really glad to have left that horrifying shitshow behind. Did she have enough money to burn this whole building down for what she'd seen in there? Why did it even exist?

But she needed to focus as she scampered after him in her heels. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know, but somewhere away from you. There's no damn way I'm doing this."

"Why not?!" she exclaimed, grabbing his sleeve to stop him. He shook her grip off of him and kept walking down the sidewalk.

"You said I was a conman! You were so pissed off at me for being a lying liar, for fooling you into thinking I was really Thomas Baxter, and now you want me to lie again? I won't do it."

"But I need it!"

He stopped and turned to face her so quickly she nearly rammed right into his chest. She skidded to a stop just in time, looking up into his face that was…uncomfortably close all of a sudden.

"Oh, she needs it? She needs it, she says. That changes everythiiiing."

Why was she breathing so hard? She didn't know. She went for a jog nearly every morning, if not outside then on her treadmill in her condo. She'd barely walked fast, and she was breathing hard.

"Don't be so sarcastic. After what you did, you owe me."

He groaned and slapped his hands over his face, slowly dragging them down. "Ms. Walker, I know I do. Okay? But I apologized and—"

"That isn't the only reason. There are a few reasons. Let me give them to you." She began counting them off on her fingers. "You're the best person for the job."

"Job? Best person? What is this, anyway? Why do you need a fake boyfriend?"

"There are a few reasons for that too, but I'm still working on the first group of reasons. You're the best person for the job. You're clearly a fantastic actor considering you had me fooled a few times and I am not easily fooled. You already know the situation I'm in with the blind dates and everything so I can skip the time wasting trying to explain it to some other guy, and I trust you'll keep the secret. Didn't you say that night when you revealed your real name to me that you wanted to repay me for what you did but you didn't have the wealth that I have? Well, this is something you can do for me, to repay your debt," she said. "We all win."

"How do we all—Okay, you know what? I'm gonna go. You have a nice night. I'll do you a solid and forget this conversation happened. And that…freakishly terrifying, trauma-inducing puppet show. I'll definitely forget that."

Even in the midst of an argument, Sarah found herself giggling slightly at that last part. He made her laugh, and she was well-aware of the fact. It was something entirely different from what she'd gotten used to.

But he was still walking away from her and he still hadn't agreed. That wouldn't do.

"I'll get you some other rare…video game thing…" Nathan paused slightly. "That was what Eleanor Crawford paid you when you first fooled me, right? A CRV25 or whatever."

"VX24," he whispered, turning to look at her with his jaw slack.

"Okay, whatever it's called. What would you say to $5000?" She pursed her lips, walking in closer to him. "You get $5000 every time you meet with my dad. He's suspicious and smart—not as smart as I am but he's up there." She was even amused by the dry look he gave her for that. "So it's gonna take a few family dinners to convince him." She winced. "I really need these blind dates to fucking stop, Mr. Drake. It's driving me batty. But appeasing him right now is the only way I can get any work done without having him on my ass."

"Why is everyone's solution to their problems lie or lie a lot?" he asked, throwing his hands up. His leather jacket made a cute squeaky sound and she pursed her lips to keep from smiling. "Why don't people try to just tell the truth? Tell your father the truth. That you don't want to do this dating thing, that you're fine, that you just wanna focus on the stuff you wanna focus on."

"You've never met my dad and that's the only reason why you're saying that, Mr. Drake. Please."

"Nope. Sorry."

"I offered you a lot of money to just sit at a dinner table with—"

"A very important person who could literally get me thrown off a cliff and nobody will do anything to him because he's that important and that rich," he finished for her.

Sarah winced. "He hasn't thrown anyone off of cliffs yet…"

"Funny," he said flatly. "Reeeeally funny. You're a real comedian."

"I have a lot of great traits besides that one. Fake dating me will be a blast."

"Jesus," he chuckled, putting a hand to his forehead. "You're really serious about this. Asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend like we're in those tropey romance novels my mom leaves lying around with cartoonish people on the cover, standing back to back and wearing sunglasses."

"That's…very detailed. But that's why I think this could work. It'll be easy for you. Easy money."

"Easy money and getting tarred and feathered by your dad? Or the paycheck I'm already getting from the job I have and the bonus of my physical safety? Hmmm…"

She got another idea, a way to buy herself a bit of time. "Did you drive here?"

"No, I took the train today."

"You're gonna hop a train back right now? At this hour? Nonsense. I'll drive you home."

"No, no, no. I'm not gonna… The train station is just a street over. That way. I'll take it back and—"

"That's, like…what, thirty minutes on a train? I can't let you do that."

He gave her a blank look. "Do you think we're in Europe or something? Getting to LA from here is almost an hour and a half trip on the train."

"WHAT?!" she practically yelled. "No. Nuh uh. Come on. We're going to my car, and I'll drive us both back to LA. Come."

"No, I'm fine. It'll breeze by. I'm used to it."

"Come. To. My. Car."

She led the way, hearing him scamper after her a bit. And she heard him mutter, "You really sound like a kidnapper, you know that?" which only served to make her smile harder.

}o{

The car slid to a stop after the more than half hour drive, and he glanced up at the pizzeria he was raised in, clearing his throat. "I really appreciate you driving me home. And, uh, coming out all that way…"

"Have you thought about it some more?"

"I have."

"And?"

He really had. And he thought about all of his debt. He thought about how his whole life had been in debt, how the pizzeria was in debt, how his parents had barely paid off the mortgage on their place, how he took on debt for school, and then more debt for cooking classes on top of his science background, and then and then… With even a handful of family dinners as Sarah Walker's fake boyfriend, he could eliminate that debt in one fell swoop. He could even help his parents quite a bit.

But…

"I won't lie to more people. Not even fo pop. It just isn't right, Ms. Walker. I'm sorry."

She let out an all-too-human groan, thumping her head back against her seat. "Mr. Drake, please. You're my only hope here."

"Find some other guy who really needs that money, okay? I really do appreciate the ride home. It was very nice of you."

"Mr. Drake… You told me, anything that was within your power, you'd help me."

Had he really said that? He didn't remember using those exact words.

"This is something that's within your power."

Sarah Walker was the president of Ice Q Foods. His employer. Chuck couldn't keep this up. He knew he couldn't. The president of the company, and her father was the chairman? Absolutely not. Never. No way.

"I'm sorry, I just can't."

"Okay, you won't say yes right now and I get that. So say yes to at least thinking about it. Please."

He'd never seen someone with this much power and this much wealth be so desperate. It was sort of fascinating.

Okay, it was really fascinating.

"I'll…think about it." He made a pained face as she grabbed his shoulder and squeezed happily. "I just said I'll think about it."

"Got it. Okay. We'll talk when you decide."

Chuck slumped out of the car, across the street, and up the side stairs to the living space above the pizzeria. He snuck through to his bedroom, changed his clothes, and moved into the bathroom to wash the crap out of his hair, grabbing a towel to scrub his curls dry as best he could.

He slipped on a pair of flip flops and headed down into the pizzeria. There was still a small group of college kids having their shrimp and pizza after nine o'clock on a weeknight, meaning they'd either been drinking and had munchies, or they'd been studying and needed to give their brains a break.

He respected it either way. He'd been there either way.

"Ah! Back from work late, huh?" his dad asked, straightening up from where he'd just shoved a pizza into the oven. He took off his thick gloves and plopped them on the nearby table, coming over to ruffle his son's hair. "Ah! Why's that wet?"

"I washed it, why you think?" Chuck asked with a what the fuck look.

"Ah. Makes sense. Wait, wait. The drama is about to begin." He shushed Chuck, who hadn't even said anything, and turned to the TV set they had up on the wall of the restaurant.

It was his dad's favorite soap opera. Again. God, he did not miss an episode and the thing was insanely terrible. One of the worst written things ever. Why it didn't play during the middle of the day like the rest of the soaps, he didn't know. Maybe the viewership was insane. For some reason.

"I told you to stay away from my daughter!" the rich dad guy yelled in front of the customers in the cheap restaurant the protagonist worked with his parents.

"Here it comes, here it comes…" his dad muttered.

"Stephen, could y—"

"Mary, sh! Best part's coming! I can feel it!"

"Are you ser—?"

"Shh!"

"Sir, your daughter is my life. She's shown me love that I never—"

"Screw your love!" And the rich man shoved the boy with the checkered apron hard, sending him crashing down into a table, breaking it in half, pizza sauce flying everywhere for some reason, pepperoni sailing through the air.

"Oooohhhh!" Stephen yelled, clapping his hands together. "The drama is just too good. Too too good. I really don't get how this show isn't rakin' in the Emmys…"

He moved back to the oven to check on the pizza. Chuck leaned in towards his mom. "He truly doesn't know why it isn't raking in Emmys?"

Mary snorted, squeezing his arm. "How was work?"

"Fine."

"Good. I know you're probably tired but can you bring these beers out to those college kids in the corner?" she asked, shoving frothy mugs of beer along the counter towards him.

"Sure." He paused as he gathered them up with the skills he'd developed being in this family for so many years. "Wait, you…carded them, right?"

She gave him a flat look. "How long have I had this business now? Of course I did. You nut."

"Okay, good good. Good, just makin' sure."

And he carried the beers out to the students, setting them down quietly.

They were too engulfed in a deep conversation about the awful drama on the TV screen to notice.

"—doesn't make any freaking sense. It doesn't happen in the real world!"

"How can you say that? Look at Harry and Meghan! Clearly they love each other! And that's a way bigger gap than rich corporate heiress and guy working at a pizza shop."

"Okay, that's the one real life exception and look at the hell they're going through. They basically got deported from England and had to hide here in California!"

"In Tyler Perry's house!"

They all murmured in agreement.

"I'm just saying, it's so unrealistic, dude. I get so tired of the trope, too. No rich heiress is ever going to fall in love with a guy who passes out pizza and beer at a shitty little restaurant, definitely not enough to give up on her luxurious life, the glitz and glamour! It's never gonna happen! It isn't real life!"

Chuck slinked off again, hanging his head. They were right. They were very right, and yet, that was what Sarah Walker wanted to do. She wanted to date—fake date—a guy who passed out pizza and beer. And she was one of the richest heiresses he knew about, at least in this hemisphere.

He sagged into the nearby booth and let himself slip down in the seat, covering his face, when he heard a buzzing from his pocket. "Leave me alooooone," he groaned quietly, pulling it out.

Only he burst up to sit straight when he saw JILL ROBERTS on his screen. He cleared his throat, tugged at his T-shirt nervously, and answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, Chuck!"

"H-Hi. Hi, Jill. What's, erm, what's up?"

"Does there need to be anything up for me to call a friend and say hi?"

He tilted his head. "Um…no."

"It's been a while."

"Oh. Yeah, I know…" He'd tried to call to see if he could get a reservation at her restaurant with Ellie a few weeks in a row and Jill hadn't answered, responded, or even texted. Ellie made that face of hers, the one that made clear she thought Jill was a fair weather friend. It bugged him when she did that. "I figured you were super busy with the restaurant being so new and all."

"Oh, so busy. We're really lucky."

"That isn't luck, Jill. Your food is amazing and you hired great folks." He smiled down at the table.

"Aw, thanks Chuck. Listen, come by soon, okay? I want you to be a taste tester."

"Oh, what guy would ever say no to that?"

She giggled. "'Kay, good. Text me when you're free."

"I, uh…will. Definitely."

But the good feeling was gone as he hung up, because he was one step away from being stalked by the president of his employer who didn't know his real identity and she seemed like she wouldn't stop until he agreed to this madcap fake dating plan. And now the girl of his dreams wanted him to taste test her food and sure, she was back with her boyfriend, but what if it didn't work out and he was there to… what? Make her realize what she'd been missing these past years?

Had that worked the first time? Pfft.

"Chuck, you idiot," he mumbled. Then he looked at his phone. "Sarah, why are you doing this to meeeee?" he whined.

He dragged himself up to his feet and morosely moved past his parents to climb the stairs, not stopping until he got to his bedroom, changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed with his PSP in hand, throwing the covers over his head and focusing on the game—literally the only thing that would distract him from his wild thoughts.

}o{

"Darlin'! You're here!"

She looked up from where she was stepping out of her heels, already shrugging her blazer off and padding across her dad's tile to where he'd leapt up from the couch. "Why the excitement? I just came to see if I could borrow your—"

"Do you know what happened on Love is Ruthless tonight?!"

"Love is whatnow?"

"Oh come on, Sarah. It's just the best drama on TV right now! They portray rich people a little unrealistically, like we all have sticks up our asses or something. But it's like crack, and I can't look away."

"Is crack something you look at?" Her dad gave her a puzzled look. "I'm just saying, crack is something you smoke, and a car wreck is something you can't look away from…"

Her dad rolled his eyes. "Listen. Mr. Ruthefeller went to the pizza shop where Danny works! And he said GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER and Danny said NO. I LOVE HER. SHE'S MY LIFE. And then Mr. Ruthefeller gave him a shove with both hands and he flew into a table." He turned back to the TV where he was clearly DVRing the show since he'd paused it when she came in. "Honestly, I don't know how the Bakers will even afford to get a new table they're so poor."

"Bakers? I thought it was a…pizza shop."

"No, Sarah!" Jack groused. "Pay attention! The Bakers are the name of the family. Danny Baker is the main guy who's in love with Selma Ruthefeller, the third daughter of the rich—"

"Okay, okay. Got it. Would you mind if I borrow your Le Creuset again? I have an idea for something and I want to try it. I bought this huge beef roast and I was thinking about trying this stew recipe I've been dreaming up in my head."

"Again? Sarah, don't you have your own Le Creuset?"

She made a whining noise. "Yes, but yours is older and there's more flavor."

Jack sighed. "Okay, fine."

He followed her through the condo to the kitchen. "Hey! Did my little girl talk to her little guy about meeting for dinner soon? Do we have a date yet?"

Shit. She winced where he couldn't see it as she knelt down to dig through his cupboard for his giant expensive pot.

"Please never call him my little guy ever again, thanks."

Her dad snickered. "Okay, I won't. I think it'd be kinda fun to—Okay, I won't I won't," he rushed out, holding up his hands defensively when she glared over her shoulder at him. "But do we have a date set?"

"I'm going to bring him soon. I haven't, um, had time to ask him. We've been busy, the two of us…so…talking has been sparse."

"Anything the matter…?"

"No, no. Schedules just haven't lined up, but I'll sort it out with him and we'll do dinner. I promise."

Why? Why did those two words have to come out? I promise. Damn it.

"Sooner rather than later, huh?"

"Yep, got it."

She wrapped up the Le Creuset safely, stuck it in a thick Ice Q Foods tote her dad provided, and she left, and because her desperation had desperation, she didn't drive to her own condo. She made a turn in the other direction and ended up in the same place she'd left a few hours earlier, putting the phone to her ear.

It rang, and rang…and rang…and it rang… She looked up at the rooms above the restaurant. She could tell lights were on inside the home. And then there was a soft click, and a tired, "Hello?"

She could hear the tap tap tapping of keys maybe in the background? Laptop keys?

"Where are you right now, Mr. Drake?"

"It's, like, eleven o'clock. I'm Mr. Party Animal out at the clubs of course," he said in a voice that let her know he was joking. "I'm at home obviously."

She ignored his tone.

"Good. I'm in front of said home right now. Come down here so I can talk to you about something."

There was silence. And then she heard a frantic rustling sound, the sound of a thump, something falling on the floor, and then a snapped curse, and he was back on the phone again. "I'm sorry, y-you're WHERE NOW? In front of my home?"

"Yes."

"W-Why?"

"I need to talk to you."

"This late? You didn't even warn me! Not even a text! I-I'm about to go to bed! I'm ready for bed. I'm-I'm in my bed. I have on pajamas!" he added so dramatically that a ball of blistering light burst to light in her chest and she had to resist the urge to giggle.

He was so silly.

She imagined there weren't that many rooms in the place, and one of those front rooms was likely his bedroom. "I see lights still on up there." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Would it better for me to come up?" She put her hand on the handle of her car door and popped it open. "I can come up if it's easier."

"No no! No no no nononononono that's fine. That's fine. G-Give me a minute. I'll-I'll be right down. Right down. Yes. Um…" There was more frantic background noise and then a "Ah! Ow! My eye!"

"Are you…okay?"

"Stay put! Stay put, I'm coming down in a sec. 'Kay? 'Kay."

Bleep.

She pulled back the phone and looked at it. He'd hung up.

Sarah glanced up at the window nearest her again and sighed, turning back to stare at the wheel of her car. It was maybe three minutes before a tall man in a huge puffy parka and one of those cute fur hats that covered your ears spilled outside. And he had slip-on sandals with socks on his feet, too. Of all things.

He staggered across the street to her car, came around the front, and dove into the passenger seat.

"Is…that hat necessary?"

"Yes."

"And the sunglasses?"

"Th-These, too. Yes. I have…weird vision at night when I'm…ready for bed. Like-Like an elf with insomnia."

"What?"

"Hm'what?"

She shook her head, deciding to just let him have the huge parka, overboard hat, and sunglasses at eleven o'clock at night.

"S-So what'd you come all the way out here again for?" he asked, clearing his throat.

"Open that glovebox, please," she said, gesturing at the glovebox in front of him.

"Th—?" He pointed at it. "Okay." He opened it, the contract practically spilling into his lap. "This thing?"

"Yes." She snagged it from his lap and held it up. "I spent all day drafting a contract for our fake relationship situation after I came up with the idea. I want you to take a look at it, lemme know if there are any provisos, anything you'd like to add or subtract—"

"The whole thing. Subtract the whole thing. I said I would think about it, Ms. Walker."

"There's also a whole dossier on me in there. Well, stuff he'll expect you to know since we're seriously dating. Favorite flower, favorite ice cream flavor, which side of the bed I sleep on—"

"What?!"

Wow, his voice went up a few octaves, there.

She pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows. "That last one was a joke. I was…making a joke."

"Your sense of humor is truly somethin' else."

She paused. "Thanks."

They looked at one another for a long moment. It almost got uncomfortable. She cleared her throat.

"When you're ready, just…sign that. It's on the last page. That's…where you sign," she breathed.

He shook his head. "No, this is nuts. This is so crazy. I'm not gonna sign a contract for a fake relationship to fool somebody's dad, Ms. Walker. Find someone else, okay? Sorry." He gently plopped the contract into her lap and got out of the car, hurrying back across the street towards his home.

Sarah didn't know what else to do because she was desperate and panicking, so she rushed out of the car after him. "Mr. Drake… Mr. Drake, wait. Please. I have no one else. You have to understand that! It's you or nobody."

"Have fun with nobody."

She grabbed his parka sleeve when he reached the outdoor eating area in front of the restaurant, turning him around. "Please, you can't back out."

"You're right," he said, moving in close again. "I can't back out…of something I was never in to begin with."

"Yes. Yes, you were," she argued, pointing at him, poking his chest. "All of this has been you…being in."

"False."

"It's true."

"I have a reason for not doing this, Ms. Walker. You have to believe me."

"Okay, fine. We're standing here and it's cold and I have nowhere else to be so tell me the reason."

"I can't," he breathed, his face pained. And then his eyes settled on something over her head, shock appeared in his features, and he grabbed her, turning her so that her back was towards the fenced outdoor eating area. He gave her a gentle push. "Hide behind the planter!" he hissed.

But her heel caught on the slightly raised brick that led into the seating area, and she tipped backwards with a surprised squeal.

"No!" he gasped.

Her life flashed before her eyes as he lunged towards her, and she wondered if there was anything to break her fall except for cold, hard brick. She'd crack her skull open. She would die.

But she felt a pair of strong arms around her midsection, and she was swung around. He would take the full impact, and even with the thick fur hat he was stupidly wearing, she feared for his skull, so she weaved her fingers together at the back of his head to take the impact as they fell in a heap.

His back landed on the brick, and she landed right on top of him. She pulled his head towards her to keep it from snapping back into the brick, and gravity brought her down.

There was no way to stop her face from smashing into his face.

Her lips from smashing into his lips.

And they stayed there for a long moment, eyes wide, mouths together.

}o{

Sarah lifted her face from his, and he watched as she moved her hand up, her fingers against her lips, shock in her face. "S-Sorry, I didn't—"

"No, it was…my fault. I saw Mrs…."

"I didn't hear anything, Mar! That's all I'm saying!"

His dad! His dad was coming out here! They'd heard the fall and—Shit!

Chuck surged up in shock, his forehead smacking into Sarah's. He covered his mouth and hers with both hands so that his dad didn't hear either of them groan in pain.

"See? Nothin'!"

He heard the door slam shut and the lock flicked tight and he winced, pressing fingers into his forehead as he moved his hand from her mouth.

"What the fuck?" she hissed, pressing her fingers into the spot where their foreheads made contact.

"I didn't want my dad seeing us do—You know!" he hissed back.

"Shiiiit, that hurt."

"I'm so sorry."

He helped her crawl up to her feet and she reached down to help him up as well. He looked to and fro, searching for Mrs. Shelby, the busybody who ran a knitting shop at the far end of the block. She had walked past.

God, were they lying there like that for that long?

His heart was racing. Probably from the close shave. That was all.

And Sarah was rubbing her own forehead. "Did you have to almost knock me out?" she asked, leading the way out of the seating area and back across the street to her car.

"That was completely accidental. I moved up in utter terror and your head was…there. That's all."

"I protected your head before when we fell, only for you to give me half of a concussion moments later. Jesus." She gave him a disgruntled look as she reached her car and opened the door. "Look, I'll take the contract for now. We can meet somewhere else and discuss it if you're so freaked out about me being caught in…your world." She gestured dismissively towards "his world".

He decided he didn't really have room to be offended by that after the pain he'd caused her just now. Literal, physical pain.

"Sure. Just, uh…text me when and where."

"Good."

"Drive safe."

"Yeah, well…" was all he got as she swung behind the wheel, revved her car, and drove off.

So he supposed he'd just kissed the president of Ice Q Foods, nearly knocked her out cold, and agreed to be her contractural boyfriend to fool the chairman of the company/her dad, all in the span of two minutes.

Great.

This was really, really great.

A/N: The hole continues to get deeper. And now they both need to ice their noggins. Thanks for reading, folks.

-SC