A/N: Angry Jeff Hardy. Melts my mind and makes me cry, all at the same time. Don't know how WWE Creative actually works – meaning, like conference rooms and shit like that – so bear with me. After all, I don't work for them… Yet. :)
Rosalie Keller sat quietly at her desk, listening to the rain hit the high windows she had in her office. She was staring at a blank screen, trying to come up with some story-lines for the upcoming months of Smackdown!. She wasn't having a very good time with it, and she was supposed to be in a meeting in a hour, ready to discuss and analyze what everyone wrote down.
The knock at her door drew her glassy eyes away from the iMac in front of her, the person who'd done it stepping in before she had a chance to tell him she was too busy.
"We need to talk," Jeff said curtly, shutting the door with his back. He stepped forward, dressed in wrestling gear. "Do you have a minute?"
Rosalie brought her eyes back to her blinking cursor, typing a few lines before answering him. "Barely," she said, bored. "But I guess I could spare it. What's on your mind?"
He sat down in the chair across from her desk, leaning back, getting comfortable. He laced his hands on his stomach, bringing his foot up to rest on his other knee. "What the hell are you doin' out there?"
She looked up, taking off her glasses to twirl them around by one stem. "What do you mean? I don't do anything out there. I'm behind the scenes."
"You know what I mean."
"Do I?" She turned back to the computer screen, clicking a few more thoughts onto the writing program. "If that's all you needed, I have a job to do."
"Damn it, Rosie, what the hell are you doin' to me?" Jeff stood up and braced himself against the desk, fists clenched around the wood. He bent down, eyes seething, teeth bare. "Why are you punishin' me like this?"
"I'm not punishing you."
"The hell you're not!" He swiped his hand at the cup of pens and pencils next to him, breaking the ceramic and sending the utensils flying. "Stop takin' this out on me. It's not my fault."
"What's not your fault?"
"What happened between you and Matt!"
"What happened between Matt and me?" She stood up and headed around her desk, snagging some of the pens from the floor in front of him. He straightened and kept his fists curled as he waited for her to get up.
"Goddamn it, Rosie." He grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet. "Stop doin' this to me. I deserve the title – give it to me."
"You don't deserve shit. Let go of me."
"Rosie, you need to understand somethin'." He pulled her closer, arm bent at a funny angle, and looked her straight in the eyes. "You can't hold me accountable for what my brother did to you. I'm sorry you got hurt, but you can't keep me from somethin' that's rightfully mine."
"You're not getting it," she hissed, meeting his gaze. "You'll never get it. Edge is coming back soon – the title's going to him."
"And in the mean time?"
"You'll be doing what you do best." She struggled against him, grunting slightly when he tightened his hold on her arm. "Losing."
"You can't do this!"
"It's my job. I decide whether or not you get the title. And guess what – you're not getting it."
"You can't do that!"
"Believe me, Jeff, you'll be fired for drug use long before I even consider giving you another chance."
His eyes ablaze, he stared at her, breathing heavily, waiting for his temper to decline before he could actually speak. "I'm so angry right now, I could hit you."
"Go right ahead, Jeff." She tried to jerk her arm away again. "You won't even have to worry about the third strike involving drugs, then."
He pursed his lips. "I could get you fired for doin' this to me."
"What proof do you have? That I fucked your brother a couple of times?" She pulled back one more time. "Let me go, Jeff. Or I'll have you thrown out."
"Give me the title."
She narrowed her eyes. "Go to hell."
Jeff shrugged. "Fine." And then he launched himself at her, capturing her lips with his fervently, her back hitting the desk with harsh impact.
Rosalie struggled, punching at his chest, but she slowly fell into it, letting her arms dangle over his strong ones, tasting a different type of Hardy for the first time ever.
Jeff finally pulled back, eyes heavy and barely open, and he licked his mouth, tasting the sweetness of her lip gloss. "Do I have the title?" he asked quietly, his voice roughened.
Rosalie swallowed hard, ignoring the way her lower half was pressed against his, trapped between the desk and him. "Get out."
He raised one funky eyebrow, his hands running along the sides of her waistband. "Give me the title, and I'll give you what you want."
Her blood boiling, Rosalie kicked Jeff in the shin, but he just buckled slightly, unscathed. "Let go of me and get out!"
"I'm better than Matt, especially when it comes to stuff like this."
Jeff shrugged, looking away. "Relationships and stuff."
"I don't want a relationship. I don't want anything from you."
"Am I gettin' under your skin?"
He grinned, leaning in to run his lips against the underside of her jaw. "I want the title. Give me the title, Rosie."
"Stop calling me that," she said weakly.
"Give me the title."
"Get out of my office, Jeff."
He sighed and kept moving, his mouth trailing down to the collar of her shirt. "I've said it before – I'm better than Matt."
"That's not saying much."
He scoffed against her skin, sending chills down her spine.
"Hardy," she said quietly, waiting for him to meet her gaze. "You need to leave."
He stepped back, hands glued to her hips. "Do we have an agreement?"
"No. I'm making you a heel."
He furrowed his brow. "What?"
"You heard me."
He started laughing quietly, bubbling up to something louder. "The fans won't go for that. I'm the favorite, Jeff Hardy. You can't make me a heel."
"Maybe you need some enemies." She pushed at him, and he stumbled, falling into the chair he was once in. "Now get out."
She headed back around her desk, falling into the swivel chair tiredly. Jeff was up and by the door already, hand behind his back, poised on the handle. She looked up when he still hadn't left. "Hardy, get out."
"Do I have the title?"
"Because you're a terrible wrestler, a terrible performer, and your charisma sucks. Why the hell do they even call you the Charismatic Enigma?"
His eyes barely slits, he jerked open the door. "You're a bitch."
"Get out, Jeff." She watched him step out, about to close the door. "Oh, and by the way..."
He looked back, disinterestedly.
"Triple H is going to kick your ass tonight."
He snorted angrily. "Why am I always the one who gets beat up?"
She shrugged, eyes glued to the computer screen. "It's the only thing you're good at."
A/N: Angry Jeff really... Oh, it was so handsome. But I can't decide if I like it yet. I probably do. This was meaningless, by the way. Just... something to write. :) Review.