Love, Perhaps

Nobody suspects a thing; the secret to this secret is plain and simple in a very complicated way. With a relationship so painfully obvious, no one in the company dares attest their insisted professionalism.

Even the obvious blinds, which always remain closed whenever the blonde assistant enters her boss' office, aren't spoken of or even thought about.

Their meetings last for longer than deemed necessary, but no one dares disturb them, because the CEO, who everyone and their mother knows is a married lesbian, is in a very important meeting with her gorgeous, blonde assistant.

Whether she was hired because of physical attraction or professional credentials is beside the point; all that really matters is what people see on the outside.

Anyone who passes the office never give it a second look or double take, because, as far as they know, there's nothing going on behind those blinds or on the other side of that door.

As far as they know.

Smoke; the smell fills the air, a horrid, thick scent of stale copper and scorched wood seem to permeate throughout the whole room.

A mixture of choking gray clouds and sinfully unpleasant swirls leave a pungent taste on her tongue.

Brittany's lungs contract as she tries not to inhale the heavy stench, but nevertheless, the bitter taste falls on her tongue and her eyes briefly water, though she holds in her asthmatic coughs.

The toxic odor, possibly melting the paint off the walls, burns her throat, and more than ever, she wishes she had her inhaler.

She's only the assistant; she shouldn't have to deal with all of this. She's definite it's not on her job résumé, which was written and signed by her boss, Santana Lopez; head of ApparatusTech Inc, the top global technology company in the world.

Brittany didn't sign up for this; she's too invested in her job, being the perfect assistant to a cranky CEO who can barely function without her cigar and coffee.

She barely has enough time to live her own life.

With hooded, red eyes, Brittany sits quietly, one leg crossed over the other, on a leather couch, awaiting instructions. Her eyes travel from shiny, black pumps all the way up to toned calves, curvy hips and gorgeous, brown hair.

With a cigar in hand, Santana stands in front of her huge window, which overlooks the city, and stares down at the busy streets. Brittany watches, her eyes never wavering, as Santana lifts the cigar to her plump lips, sucks in a breath of nicotine, and blows it out her nose like a fierce dragon.

The sight is stupidly erotic.

Santana's stressed; her posture is too straight, her lips too pursed, her eyes too dark. But those are just the obvious signs. The signs no one else sees?

The smoking cigar in between her fingers.

Most people would see it and not think twice, dismissing it as a woman who just wants to smoke. Brittany, though, knows better.

Yes, Santana's stressed indeed; whether it's because of a fight with the wife, low stocks in the market, or a recently bad business deal, Brittany doesn't know, but it won't be long before she finds out.

Santana's like a hot air balloon. When she's conflicted, her mind fills with air, she floats away into her own world, though once the fire burns out, she slowly comes back down to earth and deflates.

She deflates it all on Brittany. And Brittany always listens. Two and a half years of being a cranky CEO's assistant will do this to you; she's now attached, her boss isn't just her boss anymore, she's her whole life.

The room smells like a fire is burning nearby. Brittany strains not to start cackling as smoke drifts her way and invades her lungs.

Trying to get comfortable, she uncrosses her legs and tugs her skirt down when it rides up. "You need to stop smoking," she says, her voice thick; though she's not only saying it for herself.

Santana doesn't answer; only nods her head and hums in acknowledgement.

Brittany's eyes remain focused on her boss. "It's not good for you."

Santana shrugs a shoulder, turning away from the window and approaching her desk. "It's just one cigar."

"Three cigars," Brittany corrects her, eyebrows raised. "And it's only noon."

"Whatever..." Santana shrugs again, and Brittany holds back from saying something she really shouldn't; sometimes the brunette really frustrates her, and to keep from getting fired, Brittany has to clamp her mouth shut and breathe steadily through her nose.

"Are you even allowed to smoke in here?"

"It's my building," Santana sighs, exhausted as she plops in her big, leather chair, "I can do whatever the hell I want."

It seems Santana is still up in the air, lost in her own little world. Brittany's not suppose to care, especially when it involves personal issues, but she finds herself caring about her boss way more than she should.

"With smoking comes lung cancer, and with lung cancer comes death..." Brittany recites this mantra to the brunette so many times, it should be engraved in Santana's brain by now. "You have a wife and a child to take care of. Why risk getting sick over an expensive cigar?"

Santana doesn't answer or even look her way. Instead, she waves Brittany off, with the hand she's still holding the cigar in, ironically, and goes back to work.


Tuesday, August 7, 2012, 4:32PM.

Brittany: "ApparatusTech headquarters, this is Brittany Pier-"

Santana: "Brittany, it's Santana."

Brittany: "Oh, why aren't you calling on your regular cellphone?"

Santana: "Lost it. Look, I need a favor."

Brittany: "Shoot."

Santana: "I need you to change my afternoon luncheon with Mr. Hummel to sometime next week. Something's come up."

Brittany: "Sure, does next Wednesday work for you?"

Santana: "That's perfect." [pause] "Um, Brittany, I was wondering if-"

Brittany: "Oh, I have another call. Can I put you on hold?"

Santana: "Brittany..." [sigh] "Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold."

Brittany: "S'cuse me?"

Santana: "Um..." [pause] "Never mind. Thank you, Brittany."

Brittany: "You're welcome, Mrs. Lopez."

Santana's late for her meeting, again; Brittany's the one who reminds her, like always.

Santana's excuse; "Some idiot in the elevator pressed all the damn buttons and we literally stopped on every fucking floor. Remind me to fire that ass wipe."

"What's his name?" Brittany slowly follows after Santana, pass the front desk and toward her office.

"Don't know, but he works on the fiftieth floor." Santana stops in front of her office and enters a code into the keypad situated beside her doorframe.

"I'll look into it," Brittany promises, opening a file on her iPad.

Santana will most likely forget all about this little occurrence in less than five minutes once she's calmed down; Brittany knows this, therefore, she doesn't look into it.

"Did you just see a flash?"


Santana shakes her head behind the shadow of her menu. Her eyes are shielded by sunglasses and a cloud of smoke.

Brittany wants to see her eyes; the heaviness in them always helps her determine what mood Santana's in and how she shall proceed.

She's worked for her for two and a half years now. Brittany knows how to deal with Santana and her mood swings; sometimes, she notices, they're like clouds. Stormy clouds are the worst, and fluffy white clouds are most rare.

Brittany looks over the balcony suspiciously, only spotting nearby waiters and people enjoying their food. As her eyes wander over the patio, she finds Quinn approaching them with a smile.

Brittany smiles back, lifting her hand to wave her over. Santana still doesn't look away from her menu, though she removes the cigarette from her mouth and stabs it into the astray in the middle of the table; weaknesses can't be shown, especially to one Quinn Fabray.

Rising from her seat, Brittany embraces the other blonde. Kisses are exchanged, one peck on each cheek. Meanwhile, Santana remains in her seat, not even looking their way.

To Santana, business is business; always has been, always will.

It's Brittany's job to get close to her associates, play nice, make friends and charm her way into their secrets and business ventures.

Before these meetings, Brittany always preps Santana. As her assistant, she must relay all important information to her boss, but...when it comes to Quinn Fabray, things are different.

Santana always tries to stay impartial when it comes to the other business woman, Brittany can tell, but whenever Quinn's around, she notices a very subtle crack in her boss' shell.

In the name of business, Santana remains blasé to keep from engaging in friendships that can never last in the business world; circumstances where people will do anything, say anything, and be anything, all for the addicting smell of money.

"What's up with Miss Grumpy Gills?" Quinn whispers into Brittany's ear, knowingly glancing down at the smoking ashtray.

"I'm sitting right here, I can hear you." Under her sunglasses, Brittany bets, Santana is rolling her eyes.

Quinn takes a seat next to Brittany, reaching forward for a menu. "Good, I'm happy you're listening for once."

"You're late."

"You're one to talk. You were late for your own birth."

"I was making a grand entrance."

"Always have to be the center of attention."

Before Santana has the chance to retort, Brittany speaks up, cutting off her next set of vicious words. "You have another meeting at five, so I suggest we get a move on," Brittany advises, waving over a nearby waitress.

The poor waitress doesn't even get a chance to introduce herself before Santana, with her pursed lips and hostile presence, lifts a haughty finger and demands, "I want the shrimp lemon pepper linguini, but instead of the linguini, I want angel haired pasta with extra lemon, and not too much pepper or I'll gag."

Strangely, what bothers Brittany the most isn't Santana's monotone voice or passive aggressive attitude; it's the way she doesn't regard the waitress like a fellow human being, give her an appreciative smile or even say thank you when she's done ordering.

Quinn rolls her eyes away from Santana, the same thoughts as Brittany running through her mind.

The young waitress struggles to jot down everything before painting on a nervous smile as she looks to Brittany.

"Hi, I'll just have some water, please," she says kindly, hoping her manners are enough to make up for Santana's poor behavior. "Thank y-"

Of course, it's just like Santana to interrupt her right when she's about to thank the waitress. "You should eat something," Santana tells her, peeking over her sunglasses.

Quinn lets out an exaggerated sigh. "You're not her mother, she can do whatever she wants."

"I'm her boss," Santana announces, as if this explains everything.

"But not her dietitian."

"I'll have a Caesar salad, too, please," Brittany tells the waitress, only to get Santana and Quinn to shut up. "Thank you." This time, her words aren't cut off.

And for the first time today, Santana smiles at her.

Text message log:

Thursday, November 15, 2012, 10:12PM.

Mrs. Lopez: what time should i be at that event thing tomorrow?

Brittany: you're expected to arrive at around 5 am

Mrs. Lopez: damn, that's early -_-

Brittany: I agree. Do you need a wake up call?

Mrs. Lopez: yea, i suppose quarter to 3 will give me enough time

Brittany: i'll send the limo. It should be there by 4:30. Is that good?

Mrs. Lopez: muy perfecto. gracias, señorita

Brittany: de nada =D

Santana is on a conference call; Mr. Hummel and her are arguing about something or another, as usual.

Brittany sits on the side of her desk and takes notes. From the corner of her eye, she watches Santana, inspects her with high regard and pleasure.

Her boss' wonderful, caramel legs are crossed delightfully at her shapely thighs, clenching every now and then in frustration, both sexual and angry; only the best of combinations that turn Brittany on like a light switch.

Her dark hair is out, sprawled over her shoulders. As she speaks, her pen taps against her desk, and Brittany smirks at the sexy glasses perched on her nose.

Sighing in content, her eyes trail down tanned arms and over her boss's desk; they unwillingly find the framed pictures of her family.

Her smile falls.

"You okay, Brittany?"

Her attention snaps back to Santana. Her phone call is over. For how long? She doesn't know.

Pinching her lips, Brittany nods. "I'm fine."

She really isn't fine, at all. The smile on her face says she is, but the twisting knot in her gut tells her she's lying.

Santana narrows her eyes; they travel around her desk before connecting with the pictures of her wife, Candace, and Zane, their four year old son.

Santana sighs, looking out the huge window behind her desk. The tension is unbearable. Brittany can't take the way Santana stares away from her, ashamed, so she stands.

"I was thinking," Santana begins, just as Brittany takes her first step toward the door, "How about tonight, just you and me, get a room at-"

Her phone rings.

"Fuck," Santana curses and answers the phone, "What do you want now, Hummel? Hello?"

After the third hello? she hangs up.

Brittany arches a brow, curious. "Who was that?"

Santana shrugs; careless and laid back, but her dark eyes tell a different story. "Some fucking prank caller," she mumbles, resting her hand on Brittany's thigh and squeezing reassuringly.

Her phone rings again.

Santana huffs and answers the call. "Listen here, you fucking-" she pauses, her eyebrows slowly rising. "Oh...hey, Candie."

Santana's hand involuntarily removes itself from Brittany's thigh, sliding down her leg and onto the mahogany desktop. Brittany feels naked without the pressure of her boss' hand and shivers.

"Yeah, I'll be home for dinner." Santana nods, rolling her eyes feverishly. "I told you this morning, the nanny's picking him up from school today..."

Santana's voice trails off as Brittany leaves the room, closing the door extra soft behind her.


Friday, January 18, 2013, 12:33AM.

Santana: "Hello?"

Brittany: "I think I'm being followed."

Santana: [pause] "Britt, is that you?"


Santana: [alarmed] "Brittany?"

Brittany: "I'm sorry, did I wake you? Never mind, I'm probably just being paranoid."

Santana: "Brittany, slow down. What's going on?"

Brittany: [shaky sigh] "When I went to close my shades, I saw someone across the street, just standing there and looking at my house."

Santana: "Do you want me to send someone over?"

Brittany: "No, no, that's okay. It's probably nothing."

Santana: [pause] "Or..."

Brittany: "Or what?"

Santana: "Or I can come you won't be alone."

Brittany: [swallows] "Oh, um...okay."

Santana: "Okay?"

Brittany: " can come over."

Another harsh migraine throbs in the front of her head, causing her to lean forward in her big, leather chair, elbows flat against her desk. Santana holds her head in her hands, a deep crease in her brow as she tries to concentrate on her breathing.

Her temples feel like they're about to explode; the pain is horrendous, so she clenches her jaw to relieve the frustration.

The only thing that can help is alcohol.

Out comes the flask a second later; left draw, second one from the top, and if the blonde assistant could bet on her boss' timing, she'd be a millionaire by now.

Brittany grits her teeth from behind the Mac resting on her lap. Her blue eyes darken as she watches Santana gulp down the alcohol in her most favored shiny, golden flask.

And it's only midday.

Brittany usually threatens Santana to stop drinking by informing her of meetings later on in the day, but ironically, all of her appointments have been cancelled and/or rescheduled, so she has nothing to bluff on.

Softly, she closes her laptop and sets it aside, her eyes remaining on Santana as she continues to gulp down the last drops of alcohol.

With a deep breath, Brittany stands to her full height, approaching the stressed brunette with long, sexy strides.

Santana doesn't look her way or even acknowledge her presence until firm but gentle hands rest on her shoulders.

When her first reaction is to stiffen, Brittany smiles, leans down to her ear and whispers, "Relax..." Her voice is silky smooth but hushed and sexy at the same time; just the way Santana likes it. "Ssh, let me take care of you."

A low moan vibrates through Santana's throat as her body melts right into Brittany's hands, and Brittany closes her eyes when she feels Santana sigh in relief through her fingers.

Pale thumbs dig into her shoulder blades, eliciting another throaty moan; it's music to Brittany's ears.

Through her fingers, she can feel the stress pouring out of her boss' body as she works the tension out of her muscles with slow, meaningful massages.

Twice a year, every year, ApparatusTech Incorporated hosts a fundraising event in the spacious lobby of ATI headquarters, the ninety seven story skyscraper.

Fun fact; there are nine other buildings exactly like this one in nine major cities all over the world.

With a fruity cocktail in hand, Brittany leans an elbow on the bar and sips from her drink as her eyes travel curiously around the room.

She sees beautiful women in gowns draped around tall, handsome men in black suits with classy bow ties, but no matter how intriguing the sight, they're not exactly who she's searching for.

Out of the corner of her eye, she finally spots Santana and her wife sipping on glasses of champagne across the room as they entertain benefactors, wealthy business partners, patrons, advocates, donors, sponsors, etc.

Her employer's attire is an exciting combination of sexy and elegant; her dress just above her knees, a pitch black, halter top ensemble. Dark locks curl down her bare shoulders and around her neck.

Through the throng of people pretending to enjoy the party, brown eyes lock with blue and make eye contact for the first time tonight; the brunette gives her a flirty wink over the rim of her glass.

Brittany knows what this means, and as she smirks back at her boss, she tries her hardest to ignore the woman hanging off her arm with a glisteningly white smile.

Candace, her wife, looks just a flawless beside her. Short brown hair, tanned skin, red lips, burgundy gown.

She looks nice.

Sucking up her confidence, she pastes on a smile and approaches her boss once she finishes making small talk with the head of Division Enterprises, and greets them both with innocent blue eyes and a smile whiter than a supernova.

A quick peck on the cheek for both women; nothing too suspicious or scandalous. She's nothing but professional; they speak about the stock market, the re-election of President Obama, even their son, Zane. Apparently, the kid is some boy genius; picking up the violin and perfecting the art before he can even tie his shoes.

During the whole conversation, Santana doesn't take her eyes off Brittany once, checking her out right in front of her wife.

It doesn't make her uncomfortable at all. Surprisingly, it makes her feel superior; that Santana would look at her, appreciate her, when she has a gorgeous wife who she can watch, touch, feel whenever she wants.

Though she has to admit, it feels weird, almost disturbing, to have such a normal, yet personal conversation with her boss' wife while knowing logistics and business meetings aren't the only thing they get up to in Santana's office.

Thankfully, right when the conversation meets a dead end, Mike - her everlasting savior and events planner - cuts in, requesting Brittany's help with some last minute arrangements on the guest list.

She excuses herself, making sure to shake Candace's hand with a kind smile before walking off with Mike.

The dilemma, while a bit frustrating, is mostly just irritating to deal with. This sort of problem occurs at almost every gala the company hosts; one person on the guest list refuses to sit next to another person on the guest list, thus throwing everything out of proportion.

When one seat gets moved, another must be moved, then another and another and another. By the time the issue is all straightened out, Brittany is so pissed, she considers tracking down the root of her issue, a little, stocky man who reminds her of Danny Devito, and giving him a piece of her mind.

Why should it matter where it is he sits when poor children in third world countries have nothing to even sleep on, forget about sitting at a table to enjoy a delicious meal; to hell who you're sitting next to.

Brittany spots the short millionaire standing by the fountain, stuffing his mouth with sinful amounts of caviar; she would grimace at the sight if it weren't for the vibration in her purse.

She opens the text; meet me in my office in 7 mins

It's always seven minutes.

Tucking her phone away, she scans the area for her boss and spots her near the stage, and as if summoned by her gaze alone, dark eyes find hers, stop and stare.

It's rare, so, so very rare, especially in public, but Brittany swears she sees a twitch at the corner of delectable, plump lips, trying its hardest not to give into temptation and smirk her trademark smirk.

She forces herself to look away; she only has five minutes. After turning around and walking toward the elevators, Brittany flutters her eyes shut for a brief second and lets out a steady sigh. She can't give Santana the satisfaction of seeing her weak; walls must remain if what is between them shall remain.

Brittany always arrives first. She enters the code and lets herself in. The room is empty, like she expected. Dark too.

Brittany ruffles up her hair, checks her makeup, and smacks her lips before perching herself on her boss' desk.

Then she waits.

And waits.

She sucks in a shaky breath when the sound of heels clicking against the floor echo throughout, and only five seconds later, Brittany watches, enraptured, with adoring eyes, as Santana slowly enters her office, three minutes after her.

Always three minutes.

She doesn't look Brittany's way yet, and Brittany is used to this. The blonde finds Santana's resistance charming in a way, and maybe just a little bit impish.

Holding a bottle of champagne in her right hand, Santana enters a code with her left, then the blinds to the office slowly close.

The room gets even darker, if it's possible, minus the gleam of the moon shining through the giant window.

Santana turns around and makes eye contact, finally.

Brittany gulps.

"Where's Candace?" Her words are small and insecure; the very thing she doesn't want Santana to see in her.

Santana raises a brow, her eyes dark with arousal. "Not here," she whispers, her raspy voice lower than usual.

Brittany's eyelids become hooded as Santana approaches with slow, deliberate steps. She's a lion after the gazelle. Brittany's the target, and for once, she doesn't mind getting hunted.

After setting down the bottle of champagne, Santana's hands wrap around her waist, slipping in between her dress and against her smooth back. Brittany sighs against the feeling; her boss always knows just how to turn her on.

Santana settles in between Brittany's legs and nuzzles her nose into her neck, plump lips latching on to vanilla skin and softly placing open-mouthed kisses to her pulse point.

"I'm not wearing any panties..." Santana breathes against her skin, pulling the strap of Brittany's dress down her shoulder, trailing kisses up her arm and back to her neck, worshipping her body in the way only Santana can.

Brittany tilts her head back, releasing a strangled moan; her breathing quickly increases, and Santana takes advantage of this opportunity by running her fingers up Brittany's legs, under her skintight dress, and grabbing the hem of her thong, slowly pulling it down.

"Just touch me already..." Brittany's quickly falling apart; she doesn't think it's possible to get anymore worked up.

"Be patient, baby," Santana whispers into her ear, her breathing so heavy, Brittany can feel every exhale against her skin. "It will all be worth it."

"I need you..." Brittany whines, practically begging now; her eyes roll back, and if she's not careful, they may get stuck up there once she finally comes.

"You're so wet for me, Brittany," Santana breathes, her fingers tickling over the blonde's soaking underwear, softly cupping the dampness while moaning into her mouth. "Do you want me to touch you here?"

"Oh, God..." Brittany murmurs, tangling her fingers into silky, brown hair. "I want your fingers in my pussy so I can ride them all night long."

Santana's fingers feel so good against her; Brittany can't stand it anymore and crashes their lips together, tilting her head to the side at a better angle to hurriedly deepen the kiss and swallow Santana's tongue.

Brittany doesn't think she can take anymore foreplay, not until a teasing finger dips in between her folds. "Santana..." she whimpers, her breathing ragged, her muscles relaxing as she leaves hot, wet kisses against tanned skin.

She clenches her fist around curly, dark locks and bites hard on a bare, caramel shoulder as Santana begins to thrust into her, two fingers, gloriously filling her up.

Rotating her hips, she searches for as much friction as possible. Her breath is caught in her throat and she can no longer talk, but Santana doesn't seem to mind as she adds another finger, coating it in the blonde's delicious fluids as she matches the rhythm of Brittany's hips.

Slipping off the side of the mahogany wood, Brittany wraps her legs around Santana's waist and holds on tight so she doesn't fall.

"Couch..." Santana pants against her mouth, seemingly reading Brittany's mind, and not a second later, she's being lifted from off the desk and carried across the room.

Astounded is an understatement when it comes to Santana's strength. It's truly amazing to see such a petite person pick someone up with her height, and if she wasn't wet before, she's definitely soaking Santana's three fingers now.

They stay connected the whole way, and once her head rests against a soft cushion, Santana's body crawls on top of her, and the blonde doesn't let a second go by before reattaching their lips.

The rhythm they set before continues without missing a beat; hips grind into hips, tongues wrestle tongues, clothes get torn off, and before she even knows what's happening, Santana is out of her dress and Brittany's hand is between her thighs.

"More, more..." Santana whimpers against her lips; they're breathing the same air, Brittany has never felt so hot in her entire life. She can't get enough of this feeling; it starts in her chest, seeps down into her gut and ends in the place where she needs release most.

And a second later, she gets it.

Santana holds on tight as Brittany finally gives in and falls apart. Kisses trail down her neck as her whole body convulses and her breathing stops, though her hips don't quit their rocking, neither does Santana's, and before she can release a breath, Santana's coming and screaming and shaking on top of her, continuing to ride her fingers like it's the only thing she'll ever need in life.

Text message log:

Thursday, April 25, 2013, 10:12PM.

Mrs. Lopez: ur so fucking sexy in this pic

Brittany: if you like that, you'll love the one of me touching myself

Mrs. Lopez: i think you should send that now ;)

Brittany: why? what are you going to do with it?

Mrs. Lopez: im gonna look at you while doing naughty things to myself

Brittany: that's sooo should definitely make a video of that

Mrs. Lopez: *gasp* that's porn, missy

Brittany: i'm willing to break a few rules in exchange for a massive orgasm

Mrs. Lopez: i like the way you think ;)

Brittany: and i like the way you fuck my body

Mrs. Lopez: ur making me so wet right now

Brittany: i can take care of that for you ;)

It's raining.

All their meetings were cancelled.

They're stuck in traffic.

And Santana's cranky; Brittany just thanks God she's not smoking, because all hell would break loose if so.

She doesn't know how much more she can take; this has possibly been one of the most frustrating days of Brittany's life. Not even limo sex can make her feel better, though it seems Santana is way too annoyed to give into that right now.

Her boss is huddled into her own little corner of the limo as they make their way back to headquarters. Her attention has been stolen away by her Blackberry, thumbs moving at the speed of light as she sends out text after text, email after email.

Brittany can only hope she's not sexting her wife. Her boss has every right to, of course; Brittany knows this, but she had no idea the truth of it would hurt so much, but then again, she had no idea how fast she would fall for her boss when this all began.

Santana sighs heavily, bored. "I feel as if I were a piece in a game of chess," she begins, seemingly talking to herself, "when my opponent says of it; that piece cannot be moved."

Brittany stares at her for a moment. "What?"

Santana sighs through her nose, clarifying, "This traffic is going to be the death of me."

Brittany can only roll her eyes in response, gazing back out the window to keep from glaring at the short-tempered brunette.

The sound of a window sliding down catches her attention, and once again, Brittany rolls her eyes and wonders if she'll ever understand her boss, because it's fucking raining outside, why the hell is she opening the window?

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Lopez?" A gruff voice questions from the front of the car.

Then, she realizes, it was the limo drivers' window that slid down, so this time, she rolls her eyes at herself.

"Pass headquarters and stop by Division Enterprises," Santana instructs before sliding the window back up.

Brittany furrows her eyebrows. "Why are we going there?"

"We're picking up Quinn."


Santana licks her lips, scooting forward in her seat to grab a glass of bubbly, sipping on it sparingly. "She has some information for me."

Whenever Santana's vague like this, it can only mean one thing; Brittany's not going to like whatever she's up to.

"Information?" Brittany questions, more than worried to find out what this is all about.

Santana stares out the window, her dark eyes focused on the wet streets and rainy sky. "It doesn't concern you."

"You're my problem, remember? What concerns you," Brittany begins, mouth set into a frown, "Concerns me as well."

"So..." Santana, who only ever seems to see the bad in things, decides to focus on the beginning of her assistant's rant rather than the end. "I'm your problem?"

Her eyes are dark and squinted, but her posture is slumped back into her seat. Strangely, her voice doesn't sound as terrifying as usual; instead, she sounds almost a little bit guilty.

The limo comes to a halt and the door is being tugged open beside Brittany before she can even open her mouth to reply.

"I hate the rain," Quinn mutters under her breath in lieu of greeting as she ducks into the car.

Scooting over to make room, Brittany takes a breath and plasters on a fake smile.

"You're wet," Santana comments, a smirk settling on her face as she forgets their earlier conversation.

Quinn arches an eyebrow, shaking out her wet umbrella in Santana's direction. "What do you expect? It's raining outside."

"My limo," Santana begins in explanation, "You're wetting it."

"Okay..." Quinn rolls her eyes, momentarily glancing at Brittany with an amused expression. "We all get it. I'm wet and you're immature. Now, let's get this impromptu meeting over with so I can go home."

Brittany stays silent as she listens to their usual greeting, pulling out her iPad to check Santana's schedule for tomorrow and the rest of the week.

"A man in a trench coat was asking about you in the lobby of my building," Quinn tells Santana, pouring herself a glass of raspberry vodka.

"Damn reporters," Santana murmurs, resting her head back against the hard window.

Quinn shakes her head, sipping her drink before adding, "He wasn't a reporter. I don't know who he was."

Santana waves this information off; it's not unusual, not at all, for someone to come to her for an autograph, picture or maybe even a job. She's the famous, sexy owner of one of the most successful technology empires in the world; honestly, who wouldn't want to meet her?

"Did you tell him anything?"

"Of course not."

"Then don't worry about it," Santana shrugs her shoulders as she traces the rim of her glass.

"Don't worry about it?" Brittany asks, exasperated, reentering the conversation.

Santana almost spills her drink at the disruption, basically forgetting Brittany's still occupying the same limousine as them. She narrows her eyes on her blonde assistant. "Huh?'

"Someone's stalking you and all you can say is, don't worry about it?"

"If I tracked down every creep who was stalking me," Santana starts, tilting her head to the side, "I'd be wasting a shitload of time."

"Well..." Brittany swallows, looking out the window next to her. "Kill me for being concerned."

"Because I'm your problem, right?"

Her answer is a second too late. "San-"

With a raise of her hand, she cuts off Brittany's next words and nods to herself. "Right."


Friday, June 21, 2013, 9:07PM.

Brittany: "Hello, Mrs. Lopez."

Santana: "Hello, Brittany. Are you doing anything tonight?"

Brittany: [pause] "If I was before, I'm not anymore, am I?"

Santana: [laugh] "So, the regular place? Room 107B?"

Brittany: "Only if you order some champagne."

Santana: "Done."

Brittany: [hums] "And I want you to arrive first."

Santana: "Aren't we demanding. I like it..."

Brittany: "Good, because I'm not done. When I get there, I want you on the bed and naked." [pause] "...with the lights on."

Santana: [swallows] "Done."

Santana is acting moodier than usual, and that's saying something considering her usual attitude.

Brittany notices immediately.

She's usually always greeted with a complaint about her boss' unbearable morning; whether it's about the paparazzi annoying her while taking Zane to school, or her nagging wife, it's usually something.

But today, there's nothing.

Santana stays in her office all day; Brittany watches her door as she works, wondering what's happening on the other side of that door.

Just then, she gets a message in the chat box on her laptop.

harsh_conditions6: i think she knows

ignite32: who knows what?

harsh_conditions6: Candace. i think she knows i'm cheating

Brittany scrunches up her nose in confusion; it takes a moment to sink in, but when it does...

ignite32: how? what happened?

harsh_conditions6: I don't know, but she's suspicious

ignite32: what do we do?

harsh_conditions6: nothing yet, i doubt she'll catch on

ignite32: are you okay?

harsh_conditions6: i'd be better if you were in here with me

ignite32: are you sure it's safe?

harsh_conditions6: i'm positive. come right in. the doors open ;)

Before entering Santana's office, Brittany always makes it a habit to secure the area; business suits stroll around the level and pay her no mind, so she stands and leisurely makes her way to Santana's office.

When she enters, Santana is on the phone, like usual, but the discussion is nowhere near heated.

This can only mean one thing.

"No, I didn't forget," Santana sighs, annoyed, her fingers tapping on her desk impatiently, "I told you I'd be there. Why would I miss Zane's first concert?"

Brittany hovers near the door, unsure if she should leave or not. Her boss just invited her in, but listening in on her domestic conversations has always made her feel uneasy in a vomiting kind of way.

Brittany feels like she's trespassing, because technically, she is...

Phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, Santana looks up from the laptop on her desk and notices Brittany's presence for the first time.

Gnawing on a pencil between her teeth, Santana winks at the blonde before turning her attention back to her laptop.

That wink, that quick flutter of long, thick eyelashes just gave her permission to stay, so with a deep breath, she makes her way over to the leather couch; it's practically her leather couch now if you consider how many times she's sat on it, how many times she's screamed on it, and came on it with the help of long, slender fingers.

"Yeah, love you too." Her boss' words rush out of her like water pouring out of a broken dam. It's said without any emotion or sincerity; this fact makes the assistant even more uncomfortable than usual.

"Sorry about that," Santana apologizes, standing up from her chair, the wrinkles in her pencil skirt immediately stretching out as her legs carry her toward Brittany.

"Don't be." Her response feels heavy with emotion, the exact opposite of the features on her face; what is one suppose to say when their lover apologizes for taking a call from her wife?

Santana bites her bottom lip, eyes dark with mischief, her hands hiding something behind her back.

With an arched brow, the blonde looks her up and down, unable to hide her leering; she must be one of the luckiest girls in the world to have such an attractive boss.

Carefully sitting on the armrest of her couch, Santana smiles coyly and uncovers a small, black gift basket. "This is for you," she says, handing it to the blonde.

Brittany stiffens; this must be a trick. This thing between them, this sexual affair, it's just casual, just physical, just an attractive blonde assisting her boss in positions her wife can no longer fill, pun intended.

"For me?" she asks, eyebrows dipping in confusion.

"Yeah," Santana nods, cautiously lowering the gift basket onto Brittany's lap. When Brittany doesn't make a move, just stares blankly at the gift, Santana nudges her shoulder and whispers, "Go on, open it."

She figures she doesn't really have much of a choice; technically, this is her boss and she's giving her instruction. But even if she did have a choice, she'd still choose to open the gift anyway.

Cautiously, Brittany opens the bag and peeks inside before pulling out a box of perfume; Chanel no. 5, to be more precise.

A smile doesn't spread across her cheeks as blue eyes stare at the box of perfume, because she knows who wears this same exact scent; she's smelled it on her countless times and has probably even licked it off her skin before.

"This is your perfume," Brittany states in a monotone, staring at the present with a nauseous grimace.

Santana remains silent as she slides off the armrest of the couch and scoots closer to her. "Listen," she begins hesitantly, her voice hushed, "I don't know how my wife found out, but if we want this-" she waves a finger between the both of them "-to continue, then we need to be more careful."

"So..." Brittany drawls out, her lips pursed in concentration as she tries to control her emotions; which she's technically not even allowed to have in the first place. "You want me to wear your perfume?"

Santana blinks, her eyelids heavy. "I think Candace picked up on your scent," she explains, brown eyes staring at Brittany's profile. "If you wear my perfume, I won't get subjected to your odor. Now this way, when I go home, she won't suspect a thing."

Santana scoots even closer, smiling proudly to herself as her fingers rest on Brittany's arm and travel down to her hand.

A wave of nausea settles low in Brittany's stomach, and before she can stop herself, she's peeling her boss' hand off of hers and placing it in the other woman's lap. Her ears are blazing hot; she doesn't think she's ever been this livid with her boss.

"Britt?" Her raspy voice is thick with confusion; possibly the most vulnerable and scared the blonde has ever heard her sound.

Brittany doesn't answer; instead, she stands up from the couch, rubs the wrinkles out of her shirt, and walks toward the door without another word.

Her eyes don't even travel Santana's way as she exits, because she is honestly afraid of the bewildered look she'll receive in return.

Brittany's not stupid; she knows when she's being politely insulted, and this time, she's not going to take it.

Brittany didn't sign up for this; she's absolutely sure it's not on her job résumé, written by none other than Santana Lopez, attractive entrepreneur, business mogul, and as far as everyone in this building knows, loving and caring wife.

But Brittany Pierce? She knows better. And Santana Lopez? Yeah, she's a lot of things, but on the top of that list should definitely be dirty, rotten cheater.


Monday, August 5, 2013, 2:55AM.

Brittany: "Hello?"

Santana: [swallows] "...Hi."

Brittany: [sigh] "I'm hanging up."

Santana: "Britt, wait...I'm sorry."

Brittany: [laughs] "You're not really sorry. You're only apologizing so you can continue to sleep with me."

Santana: "You know that's not true."

Brittany: "I do?"

Santana: [whispers] "You do..."

Brittany: "Then what is true?"

Santana: "I-I..."

Brittany: [huffs] "I gotta go-"

Santana: "I care about you." [pause] "More than I should, and it scares the hell outta me."


Santana: "Britt?"

Brittany: [sigh] "...I'm scared, too."

Santana: "Then let's be scared together?"

Her head jerks forward and her eyes pop open once again in alarm when she realizes she was beginning to nod off.

Dreams filled with dark colors painted on tall walls haunted her in her sleep last night. A single spotlight had shun in the middle of the spacious room and landed right on her.

From the ceiling dropped a heavy, wooden podium in front of her, coming this close to smashing her into the ground.

Flashes of light blinded her vision, and all she could hear was multiple voices yelling at her, telling her to speak, to tell the truth, to basically rat out her lover and expose her to the world, thus ruining the very promising future of ApparatusTech Inc as well as her boss' clean reputation, if you exclude her wild college years, of course.

Her to-do list seems to go on forever this morning; maybe it's her current drowsy state that makes her believe her list appears so super long, or maybe the list is just super long in general.

Picking up the office phone, she casually plugs in her headset and prepares to make a call when she hears another voice on the line; two voices if you listen for longer than fifteen seconds, which Brittany is regretfully guilty of, especially after she hears, as clear as day, Candace's silky smooth voice whisper, "I love it when you rub between my thighs and lick my breasts with your hot, wet tongue."

Usually, whenever Santana's line crosses with hers, she hangs up and waits until the call is over, but this isn't any normal phone call, not at all.

"I want to feel all three of your fingers deep inside me right now. I wish you were here with me, baby," Santana breathes through the line, her voice rough in a way that makes Brittany's throat dry.

The painful throb of her heart tells her she can't do this anymore, so with a deep breath, she hangs up, wiping away the tears that gathered in her eyes.

Not even five minutes after she hangs up does she get a message in her chat box.

harsh_conditions6: come to my office?

Brittany huffs and clicks out of the page; she's made up her mind, deciding this isn't going to be her life anymore.

Her laptop dings and the chat box window pops back up.

harsh_conditions6: ?

It seems Santana isn't going to let her go so easily; in earlier years, when this affair first began, Brittany would have been flattered by the attention, but it's not earlier years, so she exits out of the window once again.

If there's one word Brittany could use to describe Santana's patience...non-existent.

Instead of another message in her chat box, Santana graces Brittany with her presence by casually exiting her office and approaching Brittany with a tight-lipped smile.

Brittany sighs and stares at her desk, appearing to act busy; the last thing they need is to create a scene.

"Brittany," Santana says with a forced smile; she knows other people are watching from a distance. "Can I see you in my office, please?"

Her ears perk up at the sound of her boss' politeness. Santana never says the word please unless she's laying under Brittany's warm body, begging to be touched.

Licking her lips, Brittany slowly raises her head and nods silently; her voice is caught in her throat. Santana knows she heard her conversation; the guilt is written all over her face.

"Of course, Mrs. Lopez," she breathes through gritted teeth, angrily clenching her jaw as she stands and stiffly follows Santana to her office. They both ignore the suspicious sets of eyes staring after them.

Santana pauses at the door, ushering Brittany in before her, and Brittany holds her head up high as she walks passed, determined to stay true to herself.

The door closes behind her and everything's silent, excluding the sound of Santana's heels; they click clack, click clack, click clack pass Brittany and toward her mahogany desk.

Brittany swallows as she watches her boss' easy, careless stride; how she always manages to stay so calm is a mystery to the blonde assistant.

Her self-control in times of adversity truly astounds her sometimes. This trait, Brittany used to admire, now she just pities her practiced nonchalance.

"You heard."

Again, Brittany is surprised by the nonchalance. "You say it as if I caught you eating a high-calorie granola bar."

Santana leans against her desk, arms loosely crossed. "She was feeling horny, what was I suppose to do?" She laughs humorlessly, narrowing her eyes on Brittany.

That bitter laugh floats to her ears and leaves a stabbing pain right in her chest; Brittany knows she's being mocked, though she never thought Santana would stoop so low.

Tears flood bright, blue eyes; she redirects them to the wall and blinks rapidly, desperately pushing the tears away.

It doesn't work.

A smooth thumb rests on her rosy cheeks and wipes away the wetness before she even has a chance to get away from Santana's touch.

"I'm sorry," Santana whispers, sincerity and concern laced in her voice. "There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and have recovered hope."

Having no idea what her boss just said, Brittany grabs Santana's wrist and pulls away. When Santana reaches out again, the assistant takes a step back, ignoring the knot in her stomach as she whispers, "I can't do this anymore." The words are out of her mouth before she can take them back, but she keeps going before she forever loses her confidence. "I quit."

Santana stares at her; Brittany's never seen her look so taken aback before in her life. A small part of her finds it amusing her boss never considered her quitting as a logical solution for all the pain Santana's caused her.


Brittany's halfway to the door when she hears it. Refusing to turn around, she raises an eyebrow. "No?"

"You can't quit, Brittany," Santana murmurs, releasing a heavy sigh. "You can't leave me."

The blonde has to focus her eyes on the doorknob in order to concentrate on what she's hearing; something like desperation and fear laces Santana's voice. This conclusion takes away some of the anger boiling in her chest.

Fighting the urge to give in, Brittany swallows the lump in her throat and reaches for the doorknob.

"Please, Brittany..."

"Stop," Brittany seethes, clenching her eyes in frustration. "Stop controlling me. Stop manipulating me. Just stop!"

Two little people sit on her shoulders. One is a conniving devil: Evil Santana. The other is a beautiful angel: Loving Santana.

Ultimately, Brittany doesn't know if it's worth putting up with Evil Santana most of the time in order to have Loving Santana every now and then. She doesn't know if she can tolerate the brunette's many personalities anymore, when truthfully, she's only still there for one of them.

Decision made, she makes a swift move for the door, but a hand on her wrist stops her and turns her around.

"Don't leave me," Santana pleads, eyes blurring from all the tears building in her big brown eyes.

"You've left me no other choice," Brittany whispers harshly, pulling out of Santana's tight grasp. "I can't do this anymore. I can't deal with all the guilt, the regret, the stress. You're married, Santana. I'm not gonna be your little whore. I just can't do this anymore."

The tears finally fall. "You're the only one who makes all of this worth it!" Santana cries, throwing her hands up in exasperation, gesturing to the entire office. "I'm so sorry for everything I ever put you through. Please stay, Britt. You can't leave-"

"And why not?"

"Because this company will crash and burn if you leave, I think I'm in love with you, and you're the only one who puts up with my bullshit," Santana rambles all in one breath, tears continuing to stream down her cheeks.

Brittany pauses; her heart skips a beat, all the blood drains from her face, the tips of her fingers tingle. "What?" They're the only words she can manage after hearing what Santana's just spoken.

Santana opens her mouth; no words come out, just a shaky sigh. She bows her head, glances to the side nervously before finally nodding.

"Not think," she whispers, taking a steady step forward. "Know. I know I'm in love with you."

Sitting in the window seat of her private jet, Santana remains silent and watches the news on the flatscreen as the plane takes off.

Thousands of miles in the sky, Brittany closes her eyes and rests her head back, preparing to take a nap until they arrive in California for their three day business trip.

Just as she's drifting off, she hears a noise and cracks an eye open; Santana is calling her name from the other side of the plane with a sneaky grin. "Why are you sitting all the way over there?" Santana asks, and with a flirty wink, she pats the seat next to her, bouncing her eyebrows up and down playfully.

A matching grin stretches across pink lips. "Maybe I like this side better..." she says coyly, shrugging a shoulder.

Jutting out her lower lip, Santana flutters her eyelashes and whispers, "Sit next to me, please?"

"You know I like looking out at the clouds," she teases, deciding not to give in so easily, because it's now a known fact Santana's in love with her.

Santana nods, cocking her head to the side. "The windowseat is all yours." It's also known fact Santana likes looking out at the clouds too. "This side of the plane has a much better view anyway. And the clouds are way puffier over here."

Brittany's never seen her boss like this before; so full of life and...happy.

She's learned a few things over the course of the last three days; one, Santana can't live without her, two, she's always been the one in control before she even knew it, and three, Santana's in love with her.

The famous, sexy entrepreneur of ApparatusTech Inc is in love with her.


Brittany didn't say it back of course; she won't let Santana get the upper hand again, allowing her boss the opportunity to hurt her and control all of her emotions.

As selfish as it may seem, she has to look out for herself and protect her heart from what Santana put her through before. She must keep her guard up to prevent any reenactments of the last two years.

Sure, she decided to stay, but that's only because she couldn't dare leave the other woman so heartbroken, lost, and alone after confessing something so true and heartfelt.

Nodding in acquiesce, Brittany rises from her seat with a small smirk. Brown eyes stay glued to her body the whole time, but there's something different in her gaze Brittany's never seen before; it's not arousal or appreciation.

It's love.

Their hands naturally intertwine once she plops down next to her boss. Santana squeezes her fingers, shifting closer in her seat, as close as she can possibly get with the armrest in between them.

"Have I told you recently that I love you?" Santana sighs wistfully, resting her head on Brittany's shoulder.

The hairs on the back of Brittany's neck stand up, and when she turns her head, dark eyes are already watching her carefully, awaiting an answer.

"Almost every hour," Brittany whispers, looking back and forth between Santana's dark, brown eyes.

Exhaling through her nose, she leans in slowly, making sure to look Santana in the eyes before closing the gap between them and kissing plump lips softly.

It feels like the first time they've ever kissed. It's gentle and reassuring; Brittany never wants it to end, and the hand wrapping around her neck, pulling her in deeper, seems to want the same.


Wednesday, December 11, 2013, 11:43PM.

Brittany: "Tell me something about yourself..."

Santana: [hums] "Something about me?"

Brittany: [laugh] "Yeah..."

Santana: "Well, what do you wanna know?"

Brittany: "Anything."

Santana: "Hmm, let me think..."


Brittany: "San, it's been like ten seconds."

Santana: [sighs] "It's kind of embarrassing."

Brittany: "I won't judge. Pinky promise."

Santana: [laugh] "You can't do pinky promises over the phone."

Brittany: [huff] "Santana."

Santana: "Okay, okay, well..." [pause] "Sometimes, when I don't know what to say, I recite poetry, like, on mistake."

Brittany: [laugh] "That is so-"

Santana: "Lame."

Brittany: "-adorable."

Santana: "Really?"

Brittany: "Really..." [pause] "Is that what all those random things you say sometimes are? Poetry?"

Santana: [laugh] "Yeah, I sorta minored in poetry in college."

Brittany: "I think that's beautiful."

Santana: "Well, I think you're beautiful."

The white sheets only cover her lower body; torso and breasts on full display. Santana, with her elbow propped up on the mattress, looks down at Brittany with soft eyes and takes full advantage of the view, leisurely running the tip of her pointer finger through the valley of Brittany's breasts and all the way down to her belly button.

"You have the smoothest skin," Santana whispers, brushing Brittany's bangs out of her face before placing a kiss there.

Brittany smiles shyly. "Who would've thought you could be such a sap," she teases, wrapping her arms around Santana's neck and pulling her down for a real kiss.

"Only for you..." Santana whispers sleepily, her nose gently nuzzling the side of Brittany's face. "I am so in love with you, it's fucking insane."

Brittany giggles; she loves the sound of those words coming out of Santana's mouth. She'll even let the cursing slide because she knows Santana only says the F word when she's truly passionate about something.

"I know," Brittany whispers, refusing to repeat the same words for a very good reason.

Of all the different versions of Santana, Brittany thinks she likes this one the best; the laid back, relaxed, kind hearted Santana Lopez.

It's a known fact she can be a bitch, as mean as a serpent if she really wants to, but Brittany can see her soft side; it's not easy to see, but it's there on occasion, like tonight for example, and if you concentrate and look really, really close, it's actually kind of hard to miss.

Brittany's chest heaves up and down, up and down; she wonders if Santana can feel her heart beating through the flesh of her skin. Santana hovers next to her side, half on top of her, and appreciates her body in the most intimate way possible.

Blue eyes follow tanned fingers as they draw slow circles around her abdomen. She breathes in the scent of Santana's hair, which is flowing down her bare shoulders, all across the pillow, engulfing Brittany in the smell of lilacs and cocoa butter.

Santana shifts closer, her naked body molding smoothly into pale hips. "Do you ever get the feeling someone's watching you?"

Brittany looks up from her stomach, blue eyes gazing adoringly at the brunette. "Like you're doing right now?"

Santana chuckles, stuffing her face between Brittany's neck bashfully; her giggles vibrate through pale skin, making her whole body shudder in remembrance of what they just did together.

"It's not my fault you're so damn sexy," the brunette mumbles into her shoulder, lightly pecking the smooth skin with playful nips.

An expensive suite, in a five star hotel, twenty miles out of the city, is the only time Brittany ever gets the opportunity to see this side of Santana.

Other times, sadder times, she's closed off, exhausted from running such a huge corporation, stressed out by the amount of work piled on her desk day to day.

Brittany turns her head and places a lingering kiss on Santana's cheekbone, inhaling gratefully through her nose as she wraps her arms tighter around her lover and brings Santana closer into her warm embrace. "What do you mean?"

"Hm?" Santana sounds drowsy, minutes away from falling asleep.

"Your earlier question..." Brittany reminds her, pressing her lips against Santana's temple; she loves the feeling of her boss' skin and can never get enough of her sweet taste.

Santana mumbles something unintelligible against her shoulder before whispering a soft, "Never mind," and fluttering her eyelashes tiredly.

With one more sweet kiss to her forehead, Brittany watches lovingly as Santana falls asleep in her arms before covering their bodies with a thin, white sheet and falling asleep herself.

Santana holds Brittany's hand and rubs her smooth knuckles under the table. The assistant sighs in content; other than her boss' marriage, things couldn't be any better between them.

Biting her lower lip, she tries her hardest not to turn her head and stare at her boss like she's the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to her, which she is, of course, but when they're out in public like this, at a fancy restaurant with Quinn Fabray of all people, she has to hold back and be on her best behavior.

"Since our companies are merging, Mr. Hummel wants to schedule a showcase in Tokyo this summer," Quinn informs them, patting the corner of her lips with a napkin.

Santana clears her throat, snapping out of her thoughts; Brittany tries to hide her smirk, because she knows the brunette's thoughts were more than likely focused on her.

"Why Tokyo when our sales in Europe are so much higher?" Santana questions, clenching her jaw as Brittany's hand rests on her inner thigh and trails upward.

Quinn eyes the brunette curiously before taking a sip of water. "Exactly," she says, setting her glass back down. "Why advertise to a country who already knows our product? We need to branch out to other people now that the company's growing."

Brittany smiles as Santana's legs clench around her fingers, entrapping them between her thighs.

"Santana?" Quinn raises an eyebrow, looking back and forth between the two women knowingly. "Santana, are you even listening?"

"Of course I'm listening," Santana huffs indignantly, ignoring the tickling fingers playing around in her tight skirt. "And I wholeheartedly agree. Australia it is."

In small areas, Brittany used to get claustrophobic; she liked big, open spaces like theaters and dance studios.

Now, the only time she's able to handle confined areas is when she's with Santana.

The red numbers count up as the big, metal box they occupy gets higher, higher, and higher.





The higher, higher, and higher they go, Brittany's hold on Santana's hand gets tighter, tighter and tighter.

She's also afraid of heights.





In the elevator, Santana used to take this time to seduce Brittany, pin her up against the wall and have her wicked way with her, but now, these elevator rides consist of handholding, pecks on the lips, and declarations of love.




Their floor is coming up, so before the door opens and they have to go back into work mode, Santana turns her head, places her hands on Brittany's hips, and gives the blonde a bashful smile.

"Can I kiss you?" Santana asks shyly, brushing a strand of golden hair behind Brittany's ear.

Brittany swoons; she never thought she'd see the day Santana Lopez, executive bombshell, drop dead gorgeous entrepreneur, and business mogul, would ask for permission to kiss her.


All she can do is nod, because her voice is caught in her throat as Santana stares at her with a pink blush and leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. The blonde breathes in through her nose, parting her mouth to invite Santana's tongue in, sucking on her bottom lip passionately before separating.

Santana smiles at her, eyes bright and shiny as she smooths out her shirt and takes a steady step back, and Brittany gives her hand one more squeezing before letting go, quickly fixing her hair right as the doors slide open.



Sunday, April 13, 2014, 3:44AM.

Brittany: "Hello?"

Santana: [panicked] "Where are you?"

Brittany: "Um, who is this?"

Santana: "It's Santana. Where are you?"

Brittany: "Home..." [pause] "Why? What's wrong?"

Santana: "Whatever you do, do not leave your house."

Brittany: "But-"

Santana: "You know I love you, right?"

Brittany: "Of course."

Santana: [sighs] "Then promise me."

Brittany: [alarmed] "San, you're scaring me. What's going on?"

Santana: "Promise me, Brittany."

Brittany: "Okay, I promise. Now tell me what's-"

[Dial tone]

She rubs her eyes with the heel of her palms. "This can't be happening..." she mumbles under her breath. "This can't be happening."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"What?" Brittany knits her eyebrows together, sniffling away her tears.

Quinn sits down at the kitchen table. "The man in the trench coat," she begins hesitantly, reaching out to hold Brittany's hand, "He was a private investigator. Candace must have hired him to do some snooping, and he obviously found what he was looking for."

"We're not-" Brittany quickly shakes her head, so accustomed to denying any assumptions of a relationship between herself and her boss.

"Britt," Quinn sighs, patting the top of her hand. "I know. Everyone knows now. Hell, I'm pretty sure everyone knew before this story was even released." She smiles sadly before adding, "If only you could've seen the way she looked at you when you weren't watching. Then you would've known, too."

Brittany blinks slowly, still lost in a daze before taking a sip of her coffee. "Have you talked to Santana?"

Quinn shakes her head. "She's too busy trying to clean up this mess," she says, taking a sip of her own coffee. "I doubt that's even possible, though. Not with the amount of reporters camping out on your front lawn."

Brittany clenches her jaw; she can't believe this is happening to them. It feels like some kind of nightmare or cruel joke. Things were just starting to come together...and now this.

As soon as she got off the phone with Santana and turned on the news, all the blood rushed out of her body and she seriously came this close to fainting.

The headline read;


Unknown caller...

Wednesday, April 16, 2014, 7:11PM.

Brittany: "San?"

Santana: "Can't talk long. I only called to make sure you were okay."

Brittany: "Don't worry about me. How are you?"

Santana: [sigh] "I Everyone's looking at me like I'm some horny bitch. Even my own staff."

Brittany: "I wish I could be there with you. To hold your hand."

Santana: "I miss you so much, but the last thing I want is for you to be in the spotlight as well." [pause] "Is Quinn taking care of you?"

Brittany: "Yeah, she's been trying to keep me away from the news."

Santana: "Good. Most of the stuff on there are lies anyways." [huffs] "When those damn reporters get a story, they fucking run with it."


Brittany: "Be careful at the press conference. You don't have to answer anything they ask you."

Santana: "I know. And I won't." [shaky sigh] "You be careful too, Britt. And don't leave the house."

Brittany: [airy laugh] "I won't, babe."

Santana: [pause] "Babe?"

Brittany: "Mhm..."

Santana: [laugh] "I think I like the sound of that."

Quinn holds her hand as they sit on the couch and watch Santana's press conference. Brittany wanted to be there, but Santana warned her to stay home, instructing Quinn to make sure she's okay.

Brittany doesn't know how to feel as she watches Santana stand behind the podium. Camera lights flash and microphones get stuffed in her face; through all of this, her boss' expression remains unaffected.

In Santana's speech, she apologizes to all the people who looked up to her, all the people who trusted her, and to her wife as well.

The only thing she doesn't apologize for...what she found with Brittany.

At the end of the press conference, the headline at the bottom of the screen reads;


In a small coffeehouse, three blocks away from her home, Brittany wraps her fingers around her coffee mug and nervously takes a sip.

She's facing the door for a reason, and when the front door opens, she's glad she picked this seat.

Santana stands in the doorway, her mouth set into a frown until she sees Brittany watching her, though her expression doesn't change much when pink lips send her a sad smile. The brunette actually looks even more defeated as she makes her way to Brittany's table.

No makeup, baggy sweatpants, dark sunglasses, New York Yankees baseball cap, plain white T; it's the most casual and dressed down she's ever seen Santana, excluding the times her boss was completely naked. To Brittany, though, she looks just a beautiful as always, maybe even more so.

"There is no greater sorrow," Santana begins in a whisper as she takes a seat across from Brittany, "Than to recall happiness in times of misery."

"Don't be sorry," Brittany pleads, reaching across the table for Santana's hand. "This isn't your fault."

Santana, who's always been so calm during times of adversity, finally falls apart. Blue eyes watch sadly as tears run down Santana's cheeks from under her dark sunglasses.

Brittany reaches forward and slowly pulls off Santana's shades; she's greeted with teary, red eyes. "Oh, San..."

Taking a chance, because what else do they have to lose, Brittany leans forward and captures Santana's bottom lip in between hers, quickly deepening the kiss, swiping her tongue along Santana's mouth and pulling away before the brunette can even kiss back.

A bitter taste settles on Brittany's tongue once she sits back down. "I thought you stopped smoking."

"I started again."

Brittany frowns. "Santana..."


The blonde raises an eyebrow. "It's not healthy, babe."

Santana's always had a soft spot for that term of endearment. "I promise to quit once this all dies down, okay?"

Brittany nods, squeezing Santana's hand in hers. "I missed you," she tells her, dropping the previous subject.

Santana allows a small smile to grace her cheeks. "I missed you more," she whispers, gently interlacing their fingers and stroking Brittany's thumb soothingly.

"We owe Quinn for setting this up."

Santana shrugs, her lips pursed, posture straight; she's tense, Brittany can tell. "Well, it can't be money," she murmurs under her breath, ashamed. "Once Candace's lawyers are finished with me, I won't have a fucking dime. I knew I should've made that gold digging bitch sign a prenup. She never loved me, just my money."

Brittany tilts her head. "Is this really about the money?"

Santana opens her mouth to respond; no words come out, so she settles for shaking her head. "It's about the betrayal."

"If I'm not mistaken," Brittany begins gently, circling the rim of her mug. "You betrayed her first."

"Touché," the brunette quips, dark eyes never leaving blue; her gaze isn't challenging in the slightest, mostly just acceptance.

Brittany smiles sadly, her blue eyes twinkling with unshed tears. "How's Zane?"

They rarely speak about Santana's son; Brittany's never even met the boy genius before, though she wonders how he's dealing with all of this. She can't help but feel guilty for causing the boy any of the pain he may be dealing with.

Santana stares back at her, exhaustion in her eyes. "Oblivious," she whispers, shrugging a shoulder. "He's been staying with me, because technically, he's my son. Candace never wanted to have him anyway."

She never exactly knew who Zane's biological mother was; in all the pictures she's seen, he's resembled them both. Though it's shocking to her, for some reason, to think of Santana being pregnant.

Through all the years of working for Santana, these last couple of months have been the most enlightening. She never expected to fall for her boss when she first landed this job; all that was on her mind was a better salary, but now she could care less about the money now that she has Santana.

"So..." Brittany starts, absentmindedly playing with each of Santana's fingers. "What now?"

Sighing heavily, Santana licks her lips and regretfully whispers, "Parting is such sweet sorrow."

"Shakespeare," Brittany says, recognizing the famous quote.

Santana nods, a lopsided smile stretching across the left side of her cheek.

Brittany reaches forward to caress those same cheeks in the palm of her hand. "Who said we were parting?"

"Brittany," Santana sighs, bowing her head to stare at the table. "The media is after the both of us. They have so much evidence; phone calls, text messages, pictures, videos. It'll be months before this whole thing dies down."

"Then I'll wait," Brittany blurts out, without a second thought.

"I've made you wait long enough already."

Her heavy heart thumps back to life. "I'll wait for you forever, Santana."

"And why's that?" Santana questions disbelievingly, brown eyes squinted in wonder.

"Because you'll crash and burn without me, I think I'm in love with you, and I'm the only one who puts up with your bullshit," Brittany whispers, placing a soft kiss on the back of Santana's hand. "That's why."

Santana smirks, arching an amused eyebrow. "Think?"

"Know," Brittany corrects herself, interlacing their fingers tightly. "I know I'm in love with you."

The End.

"Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold." -Zelda Fitzgerald

"I feel as if I were a piece in a game of chess when my opponent says of it; that piece cannot be moved." -Søren Kierkegaard

"There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and have recovered hope." -George Eliot

"There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery." -Dante Alighieri

"Parting is such sweet sorrow." -William Shakespeare