Pour Me a Drink

Chapter One: Isabella's P.O.V.

AN: So, yeah, you're probably wondering what the hell is she thinking? She just posted a new story two days ago and here's another new one today, she's got WAY too much on her plate. And you're right, I do have a lot going on story wise, but my lookout on things is if I don't get it out there now, it may never get out there. Also, I want to warn you that Isabella has a mouth on her and is totally different from anyone I've ever written. So enough stalling. Here's Pour Me a Drink:

Damn, I hate the rain. Hate the shit with a passion. Maybe it's because I'm originally from Seattle where it rains all the fucking time. Or maybe it's because of the smell. I've never found the smell after rain very appealing. But, now that I think of it, I think the reason I hate the rain is because of the time that my asshole of a boyfriend kicked me out of his apartment in the rain, leaving me with nowhere to go with just the clothes on my back; which, by the way, consisted of a pair of stilettos, jeans and a white halter top.

Yeah, white, not the best color to be stuck in the rain in. So, what the hell was I supposed to do? I had nowhere to go, had no job and no money. Everything I had was in that apartment. Not that any of it was really mine anyway. Jerry had paid for all of it and, to tell you the truth, that's one of the reasons I stayed around so long.

So, I was a gold digger, what 'cha gonna do about it? I'm Italian, I'm sure somewhere in my blood line there's a few mafia men. You wanna hound me about how I use people? Go right ahead, I'm sure I can find someone to come and hunt your ass down.

Anyway, a little off subject, back to the story.

As I stood in the rain, contemplating my next move, I sighed and turned to look at the cars in the apartment complex's parking lot and spotted the dark blue Kia Spectra and smiled. I walked over to the car and peered inside. Just what I expected, the door was unlocked and in the cup holder was a wad of twenty dollar bills.

"Dumb son of a bitch," I said as I retrieved the bills and began to make my way to the bus stop. I caught a ride to the mall where I managed to buy a new outfit, change and buy a hot meal. I had just sat down with my cheeseburger when I heard my name being screeched across the food court.


I turned to see my best friend from high school, Stephanie McMahon, running toward me.

"Oh my God, Stephi!" I said, wrapping my arms around her. "How the hell have you been?'

"I've been great, but you…You look amazing!"

"You're kidding, right?" I asked, running my hands through my wet hair. "I'm a mess. But look at you! Miss business woman in her pin-striped suit. What the fuck do you do for a living?"

"I see your language is still the same," she laughed. "My fiancé is a co-owner in a group of nightclubs across the U.S. and I help manage the one here in St. Louis."

"Damn girl. Who do you have wrapped around your little finger?"

Stephanie gave me a small smirk before replying. "Randy Orton."

I know my mouth had to have dropped down to the floor. "You mean multi-millionaire, GQ cover boy, got my own personal tailor from Armani, best thing since Johnny Depp, Randy Orton?" I questioned just to make sure that I had gotten the name right.

"Yeah, that's him and he's all mine," she smiled, waving the emerald cut, probably three karat diamond engagement ring in my face.

"Holy shit, Steph. How'd you luck into this one?"

"Daddy just happened to be the one to give the loan to Randy for the club here and the rest is history."

I nod my head. I should've known that Stephanie's dad and major bank owner, Vince McMahon had something to do with this relationship.

"So, enough about me, what about you? Who do you have wrapped around your little finger?" she asked me.

"Well, I did have Jerry but the asshole kicked me out, in the rain," I replied, sourly.

"Oh, you poor thing. Where are you going to stay?"

"I haven't figured that out yet. I guess at a hotel."

"No," Stephanie said, sternly shaking her head. "You're staying with me. Randy's out in D.C. with his business partner Dave Batista, so that's not a problem. Plus, it'll give me and you time to catch up. I think it's a great idea."

"Okay, fine," I told her as she squealed and jumped up and down. "Just promise me that you aren't going to be doing that shit all night."

"You'd think that going to a Catholic school that you would have a little bit cleaner mouth."

"I think the fact of me being Italian cancels that out, babe."

After I finished my cheeseburger, we walked out of the mall and into her silver Bentley Continental GT. When we arrived at her "house", my mouth dropped again. Being a gold digger has its advantages and one of them is staying in properties as big as small towns, but this one that Steph and Orton lived in was nothing short of a palace on property the size of a county.

"You're shitting me, right?" I looked over to her as she smiled. We walk in and are greeted by a butler named Charles.

"Charles, will you show Isabella up to her room?" Steph asked before making her way down a separate hallway. "I have a couple of phone calls to make and I'll be right up."

I turn to Charles and smile. "I bet you get paid a pretty penny, don't you?" I asked him as he led me up a winding staircase.

"I can't complain, Miss Isabella," he said and stopped in front of a door. "If you need anything just call pound 113 on the phone on the bedside table."

I walked into the room and looked around in amazement. This one bedroom was the size of Jerry's whole apartment. "Look who's living the high life now, mother fucker," I murmured to myself before falling back on the king size bed. I wondered around my new room for awhile, checking out my own personal bathroom and walk-in closet before heading back downstairs to find Steph.

I made my way down the hallway she had gone down a while before but stopped upon hearing voices.

"So, Randy, I think I might've found someone to replace Monica," I heard Steph say.

"I didn't realize we were having interviews yet," said Randy from the speaker phone and damn did that man have the voice of pure sex. No wonder he was on the cover of GQ.

"I wasn't holding interviews, baby. You know I wouldn't do anything like that without you, but I was at the mall today and I ran into an old friend of mine in a rough spot and I think that she would be perfect as our premier bartender."

"What's her name?"

"Isabella Miani. She's a beauty, Randy. She's a little rough around the edges but I think that she'll bring a lot of business in once the word gets around about her. I think you'll like her, too."

"I'll check her out when I get back in a couple of days. If she's as good as you say she is there shouldn't be any problems. I just need someone in that will make me as much money as Monica did."

"Honey, she'll make you that much and more," Steph reassured him.

I had no doubt about that. I would be Mr. Orton's star bartender.