Authors note:

Hello! I know that I've been terrible with updating my two currently ongoing fics, but I needed to delve down a different path in order to eventually find inspiration to continue writing those. So here I am! I've been non-stop writing this fic for the past month so updates should be frequent.

Please enjoy and if you have a spare moment tell me your thoughts!

The call came at seven fifty two yesterday evening. It was alarming at first, since you hadn't gotten around to changing your deafening ringtone that you were able to Shazaam while heavily intoxicated at that gay club last month.

You were petrified. This was going to be your first interview in Los Angeles since you moved out here two months ago. It had been draining, to say the least. Attempting to find a steady job in one of the busiest cities in the world did indeed emit side effects upon you i.e lack of sleep, ambition and the occasional hook up at as many clubs you could make it to - but never anything more than a hook up. Ever.

You had managed to build up exceptional self control over the years. No guy or girl had ever seen the inside of your apartment in Lima, nor your current property in LA. You never entirely favoured sex over a romantic date anyway. You actually preferred something reliable and platonic with an individual if you got to choose. No one has ever presented themselves to you in that way though, regardless of how social and bubbly you were in High School.

That was the main reason you felt this interview had come your way. In your resume you decided to add some faux previous experience - some words utilised you had never heard of in your life. You believed they particularly enjoyed your emphasis on how much you adore your collection of type writers and maintaining their pristine condition. It was bizarre to you as you typed that up and that is why a bottle of wine was added to the grand occasion of job hunting.

The receptionist, a tall red head with cleavage wider than the sea that biblical figure parted, led you towards an elevator - a fucking glamorous one. You became exceedingly shy after moving to LA; when you weren't under the influence of alcohol, so you barely spoke a word to this woman. If only the bottle you had while typing your resume appeared in your bag right now you could take a quick swig.

The woman pressed a number and the highlighted floor seemed forever away. Thankfully the wall beside you was a mirror and your hands stretched over your plaid skirt in order to somehow relieve your anxiety. You heard a snicker behind you, but ignored it to maintain utter professionalism. You decide to fit in by unbuttoning an extra button on your white shirt, half covered by your blazer from Chanel. It was a gift two years ago from your parents in order to somehow inspire you to finally become an adult and get a career.

You certainly showed them now - look at the company you're with.

A ding went off and the elevator was illuminated by a violet light. You frowned out of view of the receptionist, before following her towards a large room and a second receptionist caught your eye. She was dressed similarly to the red head, but had brown hair, long and wavy over her shoulders.

You looked to your left and found three other women situated on whiskey coloured chairs, all carrying a glass of what looked like the purest water from Iceland. The red head approached you close and handed you your own water. You smiled in thanks, before joining what seemed to be the other potential candidates.

It had been fifteen minutes since you first sat with these women - one who presumably appeared more calculating than the others. They mirrored the current receptionists aesthetically, while you stuck out like a sore thumb about to be ripped from the bone. Your skirt draped over your knees in an unattractive, elderly woman way. The women beside you wore skirts that barely past their backsides. It was tempting to anyone, but you believed that appearance could surely not be the reason these women would be hired.

They had to possess some skill besides holding the world record for longest time it took someone to get ready in the morning.

You watched as the woman beside you is called into the office with the reflective red doors adorning the front. It would not be long until your name would be called into the room, belonging to the woman that could potentially change your life and guide you into finding your dream career out here in Los Angeles.

It didn't take long at all. Seven minutes to be exact. You smirked to yourself as the woman came out appearing completely deflated. "Seven minutes in hell," you muttered under your breath.

"Brittany Pierce," the receptionist that you led you up to this floor, to this point in your life, called out. "Miss Lopez is ready for you."

The sweat collected under your arms as you stood and the feel of it caused you to cringe. How long had you been sweating for without realising? There was no time to even think about the possibility of failing the interview, because you knew that there could be only one outcome if you wanted your future secured.

You remembered what your mother always told you when you were young, about to start something new. Shoulders back, stand as though your spine is being pulled from either end like a tug of war, and never reveal your desires verbally - it makes you sound desperate. Always portray your determination through your eyes. Don't reveal the specifics about yourself, always make a person think they have completely drained you to the point of completely figuring you out.

You had to make this woman believe that you were vulnerable but entirely sincere when it came to her happiness above anyone else's. You were aware how important this woman was, how she could potentially be the person to kickstart your new career, your new life.

The doors opened, there was no turning back, but there was plenty of room to move forward; literally. Her office expanded about thirty metres ahead of you. A desk rested directly in front of huge floor to ceiling windows and to its right there were four brown leather chairs with a coffee table in the centre.

You gazed to your right and that's when your throat completely dried up, speech practically impossible from that point on. You had to impress her though and as dramatic as it sounded, you knew that this was your moment to shine.

She stood to the right of her desk, back facing you, just staring outside the window overlooking the city. Her looks had the potential cause some serious damage and you so far you had only seen her from behind. You hadn't even realised the doors had already been closed behind you and it was just you and her in this extravagant office. You plastered on a smile, walked forward and almost immediately she turned and stared at you somewhat quizzically, but the intensity caused you to believe she was also a little curious, intrigued even.

Her eyes studied your face for a while, before they travelled down your body and you immediately felt self conscious. You bet if you had worn some type of skimpy outfit like the receptionists she would be smiling, but her expression remained the same mystery to you. A woman of her notability should be getting directly to the point, however she had not stopped admiring your figure, for some odd reason. You didn't look your best, not even close to the way you presented yourself to look in the club. But she was not interviewing you at a club, that would be completely unprofessional. As would her staring at you for a total of three minutes.

Finally her eyes met yours again and she spoke - firm and direct.

"How tall are you?"

You attempted not to falter upon your first words, no matter how irrelevant the question was. "Five foot eight inches."

"Noted." Her speech was clear. She walked, well, to you it was more of a saunter, over to her desk and instead of taking a seat on the large chair behind it, she sat on the edge of the desk and stared at you encouragingly. "Take a seat."

You were quick, placing your bag beside the chair as you sat a mere few inches from her. It was daunting to say the least, but you thought that if you matched her gaze, she would see the fire in your eyes.

"See how you're looking up at me." You nodded. "That's how all staff look at me, regardless of their height. I want you to rid your mind of whatever idealistic company you thought this was as I'm going to explain, over the course of your probation what is encouraged of you. You should also destroy any other commitments you have as you will spend most of your time at my command."

It took you almost a minute to absorb the speech. She was so fluid, engaging and effortless. And she had just hired you. No desire to discuss the resume you tirelessly spent writing, editing, deconstructing to perfection. No desire to even introduce herself or ask you to do the same. There were no requirements to display, besides existing, you supposed. What could it have been that made her so positive you were the person for the job?

It dawned upon you how much her reputation would be at stake if you failed her. But you couldn't possibly do that with the amount of time you would be around her.

You lived for her now.