A/N: A while back, someone on AO3 left me a comment on "Summer Games" about a "Pretty Woman" AU. I have bee resisting temptation forever, but this stupid thing burst into my head and demanded to be written. It's about halfway done. Enjoy

New Tricks
I. Prologue

Tuesday night. Late.

Roman Reigns slouched exhausted behind the wheel of his beloved Mercedes, eyes gritty and dry, tie tugged loose around his neck, and his head vaguely aching.

Probably hadn't had enough water to drink today, he figured.

In between flying out here, the tour of the company his father wanted to purchase, several long and mind-numbing conference calls, and a boring dinner meeting with his lawyer Seth and the company's owner and the owner's grandson, it was probably no wonder.

The company in question was an electronics manufacturer, one specialized in making high-quality, high-end computer and scientific equipment.

Dying, though, because high-quality came with a price tag consumers weren't willing to pay - not when components could be manufactured for a fraction of the cost elsewhere in the world, and shipped over for relatively cheap assembly.

Roman's old man was looking to buy the company and sell off all its patents to the highest bidder.

Seemed pretty reasonable, as far as Roman could tell: after looking through The Cesaro Group's financial statements and seeing the beating their revenue had taken over the past few years, it didn't look like there was much left to do but sell off the company and squeeze what they could out of its remaining assets.

Willard Cesaro - the elder Cesaro, and the man who'd started the company some fifty years ago - wasn't keen to sell the company. It was his dream, he'd told Roman and Seth over dinner, that his grandson Antonio would take over the company and run it until his grandchildren were old enough to take it over.

Antonio, a suave and smart guy around Roman and Seth's age, seemed less sentimental than his grandfather, but was just as passionate about keeping the company afloat. He'd mentioned several ideas the company had come up with to cut costs and to move a more sustainable direction, provided Roman's father invested in them.

Roman had only listened with half an ear, knowing full well that his old man wasn't interested in salvage.

It was about buying and selling.

Profiting off of dismantling other people's hard work.

Seth had trailed Roman out to the car after dinner. He was about Roman's height, a pit-bull of a guy, ruthless and smart and good-looking in an all-black suit. They'd tried dating once, way back in college, but Seth was too demanding, and Roman was too busy to be around enough.

Roman only realized it was over when Seth introduced Roman to his new girlfriend.

The hard feelings he expected to have never materialized, and their friendship went on without a hitch.

These days, Seth was sporting a dyed-blond streak in about a quarter of his hair (which, like his goatee was dark brown). He said he liked the way that streak made people underestimate him. They took him for some kind of emo punk, and that was usually the time he made their lives miserable.

He was good at that.

"I don't think even a big cash injection would save that company," Seth had remarked.

Roman had leaned against his Mercedes' smooth, dark hide, thinking. "I'm not even gonna bother bringing it up to my old man. He'd say no before I got two words out."

"How we gonna play this?"

"Let them think we're onboard with helping them stay afloat," Roman had shrugged. "Once my dad owns the company, he can just tell them our people crunched all the numbers again, and the company can't afford to keep operating. That's what's going to happen anyway."

Seth had smiled. "Perfect. So, uh, Antonio was kinda hot, huh?"

Roman had rolled his eyes. "Don't."

"Why not?"

"You're engaged."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Seth had asked, and he'd sound honestly bewildered. "Doesn't count if it's not in the same area code."

"I dare you to say that to Nikki's's face," Roman had said, shaking his head. "You'll be picking your teeth out of your crap for a month."

His own track record with relationships was pretty terrible, but he'd never cheated on anyone.

Seth, meanwhile, didn't look even remotely embarrassed. Never did. "She doesn't need to know."

"And I don't need you screwing this up because you can't keep your dick in your pants." Boss Roman was not screwing around. "Besides which, I'm pretty sure Antonio is straight. I think I read somewhere he has a girlfriend."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," Seth had pointed out. "I have one, but I still fuck dudes. But fine. Whatever. I'll go to a club and find somebody. I haven't been out in forever. Speaking of needing to get laid," he added pointedly, "when's Cody flying out? Will he be here for that gallery thing you've got tomorrow night?"

Roman's boyfriend. "I still need to make arrangements, but probably."

He hadn't even asked yet, honestly, but he was sure Cody would be fine with that.

And now, as he drove back to his hotel, he toggled his phone's voice command and told it to dial Cody.

He'd been dating Cody Rhodes, a successful financial advisor in New York, for about eight months. Wasn't a lot of flash and fireworks, but it was breezy and pretty low-key. Things between them were stable, low-maintenance. Not amazing , but decent.

Cody picked up after the second ring. "Hi, Roman."

A little cooler than usual. Roman frowned as he negotiated the car around a slow-moving semi. "Hey, babe. How are you tonight? Whatcha up to?"

"I'm fine - just getting home," Cody replied, and that coolness, Roman realized, probably fatigue. "Late night at the office. Where are you?"

"California," Roman said. "Looking at a company for my dad. And I'm wondering if you'd mind flying out here for the week. On the jet, of course. I've got a few events I'm going to while I'm here, and I thought it'd be nice to have you here."

He had time to drive probably a full mile along the Interstate before Cody answered, "Are you kidding me, Roman? I can't just drop everything and fly out somewhere!" Anger drove up the volume of his voice to the point it boomed through the car's speakers. "I have appointments all week. If you'd told me about this last month, I might have been able to make arrangements, but right now, no. Not happening."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, babe," Roman said, shifting into the left lane and cruising on by a couple more trucks. "It was kind of a last-minute deal."

" Well obviously you knew before right now." Cody sounded pissed.

"Yeah," Roman admitted around a wince. "I knew last week."

"When you were off fucking around in Colorado " Cody's sigh hissed like a snake. "Which you didn't bother to tell me about until you were there, either."

"You were busy," Roman pointed out mildly.

"That doesn't mean you wait to call me until you've been in Denver for two days! Jesus Christ, at least send me a text or something!" Cody paused for a beat, and then: "I can't do this anymore, Roman. You're never around when I need you to be. You blew off my charity drive last weekend. You blew off flying down to see my parents. You take off for trips without telling me. I'm starting to think you are screwing around on me. "

Roman took a breath, made himself loosen his death-grip on the wheel. "I'm not."

"The point is, Roman, we're done. I'm done. You're too busy working and I'm tired of waiting around for you to stop being such a thoughtless asshole."

"Thoughtless?"

In what had to be a case of the universe laughing its ass off at him, the call cut off right there. It just ended with a quiet click. He felt like he'd walked right into a brick wall, all his momentum stopped at once. His stomach knotted and clenched.

On the seat beside him, his phone flashed a picture of an empty battery and the little white picture of plug-in.

Didn't that just figure?

This kept happening.

He hadn't meant to be thoughtless; in between meetings with his old man, Seth, and a couple clients this past week, he just hadn't really had time to give Cody a second thought. Which probably wasn't a good thing, but Cody always seemed so understanding about it in the past.

But Cody was hardly the first to accuse him of putting work ahead of everything.

It was the way he'd always been.

Still, it sucked. It always sucked that it came back to this. He couldn't seem to hang onto anyone long enough for it get serious. For the same reasons: he was gone too much, he wasn't never there for what whoever he was with wanted to do (mostly because of work), he focused on his work too much.

Sighing, he left the interstate on what he thought was the exit that would take him to his hotel.

Really wasn't paying a lot of attention to where he was driving, as preoccupied with this setback as he was, so it took him a good five minutes of turning on a bunch of roads to realize he didn't actually recognize where in the hell he was. It didn't look like downtown.

Instead of all brightly-lit new buildings, the street he drove down had a bunch of slouching old brick ones lining both sides. Some had boards over their windows. Not many street lights, so heavy darkness sort of clung and hovered all over everything. Even the signs on a few of the buildings didn't do much to beat back the night. Seemed dirty, too, trash scattered in the gutters and here and there.

It wasn't entire devoid of life: he passed what looked like a dingy club or something where a handful of stringy people stood outside smoking. A couple others were walking fast down the sidewalk, their heads down and their shoulders tucked. And every now and again, he passed by buildings where guys were just kind of idling around on their own.

This seemed like the kind of place he needed to leave in a hurry.

There didn't appear to be any street signs or anything around to indicate where he needed to go to get back onto the Interstate, either. With his phone dead, and his car's GPS a confusing mess of prompts he'd never been able to figure out, it looked like he wasn't gonna have much choice but to pull over and ask somebody where the hell he was.

He spotted a mangy-looking dude leaning against a street light and headed that way. Guy was wearing ripped jeans along with a hoodie under a scuffed leather jacket. Unkempt sandy hair down in his eyes. Lean. One of half a dozen other guys along this block, all of whom just seemed to be hanging around and all of whom turned to watch as Roman pulled up to the curb.

The guy detached himself from the pole and ambled over to the car, easy as anything. It was hard to guess his age. When Roman rolled down the passenger window, the guy leaned down on the door, a couple of sharp blue eyes homing in on Roman's face.

"'S up," he said, low and gravelly. "Lookin' for some fun tonight?"

"Fun," Roman repeated stupidly, hands slipping to the bottom of the wheel.

The guy shifted. "Yeah, you know." Impatient. "A little suck 'n fuck before you head back to your mansion?"

Still confused, Roman blinked. Suck 'n…?

...oh.

All at once the light went on: the guy was a prostitute, and he thought Roman was a customer.

Embarrassment warmed the back of his neck. "No, no, no," he said quickly. "No, I was hoping to get some directions. I'm a little lost. You probably don't know how to get back to the Kingsford Hotel, though, huh?"

It was a stupid way of wording the question, condescending and insulting, and he regretted it the second it came out of his mouth. The dude leaning against his passenger door glared at him, scowling. Rightfully so. "Yeah, why would a piece of street ass know anything about fancy fucking hotels, right? Fuck off outta here, asshole."

He shoved away from the car and stomped back toward the light post, leaving a sheepish Roman alone to lean over the steering wheel and rub his eyes.

The hits just kept on coming.

Tonight sucked.

What he needed to do was figure out where he was, get back to his hotel, and get drunk - fast.

But Seth's words from earlier chose to bubble to the surface: Speaking of needing to get laid…

He could use that, too.

It'd been weeks since he and Cody had been together long enough to have sex.

Prostitute could be a problem, though, but...

But.

Screw it.

He nudged the car forward a little so he was closer to the street light and the sullen dude, stopped, and leaned over the console so he could talk out the passenger window. "Hey, man, sorry about that. I'm having a bad night. I didn't mean to come off like an asshole. What would a night cost me?"

Blunt fingers shoved unruly hair off a pale forehead. The guy eyed Roman narrowly, calculating. Wary. Probably "Five hundred bucks for the whole night. Plus a ride or a cab back here tomorrow."

"And for that I get…?"

"No kissing on the mouth," the guy said. He hadn't moved any closer to the car. "Otherwise it's whatever you want as many times as you got the stamina for."

There was a directness about the way he answers that Roman liked; as often as he dealt with slick-talking lawyers and full-of-themselves corporate types, it was nice to have somebody just come straight and tell him what was what. Didn't know if he was being played or not - he'd never done anything like this before - but five hundred bucks for him like change in somebody else's couch.

He tugged his wallet out of his suit jacket's pocket and freed two one hundred dollar bills and a fifty. "I still need directions, too."

The guy approached the car. "Part of the price already. So we doin' this?"

"We're doing this," Roman said, unlocking the passenger door. "Get in."

"Money?" The guy pulled open the door, but didn't climb in. "That's first."

"Here." Roman passed over the two-fifty. "What's your name?"

"Dean," the guy said, stuffing the bills into a backpack Roman hadn't even noticed him grab. "You?"

"I'm Roman."

Dean folded his lanky bod into the passenger seat, set his bag by his feet, and buckled up.

I just picked up a prostitute, Roman thought, pulling away from the curb.

What a day.

Seth would probably laugh his ass off.

"You're gonna wanna take a left at the next stoplight," Dean said as soon as Roman pulled away from the curb. "Go straight until you see the on-ramp for the Interstate. Get back on. You're two exits past where you need to be. You want the Lightbridge exit."

"I can get it from there," Roman said. "I just didn't know if I'd gone too far or not far enough. Wasn't paying attention. And my phone's dead, so no GPS."

Dean didn't answer beyond a noncommittal grunt.

Roman kept his attention on the road, easing the car into the left lane. "You from here?"

"Nope."

"Me neither, obviously." Roman cleared his throat, shifted, found himself wondering exactly how did one small talk a prostitute? Were you supposed to talk about sex positions? Sex toys? Preferred brands of lube and condoms?

His passenger wasn't exactly giving off the friendliest of vibes, either. Dean sat staring out the window, fingers drumming an absent rhythm on his thighs. Looked like he was lost in his head somewhere, and Roman decided to leave him to it.

He turned the radio on instead, letting a couple of sports talk radio hosts fill the up silent spaces.

It was a pretty easy drive back to Kingsford Hotel once Roman found his way back onto the interstate, and traffic was light enough at this time of night that it didn't take long at all.

Set back in its own plaza with a large fountain out front, the Kingsford Hotel oozed luxury, but in a much more low-key and, in Roman's opinion, tasteful way than some of the better-known hotels in the city. Unlike a lot of people he knew - like Seth - Roman wasn't someone who felt the need to flaunt that fact that he could afford to spend thousands a night on hotel suites. He didn't name-drop hotels as a way to big himself up.

Of course, he didn't need to: his name was not exactly unknown in the business world.

As he made the turn into the hotel's drive, Roman glanced over at Dean. "Have you ever been in here?"

"No," Dean said, eyes on the building ahead of them. Not much expression on his face, so Roman had no idea what he was thinking. "Driven by here a few times, is all."

"It's pretty nice," Roman said, easing his Mercedes right on up to the valet area. "Thanks for the directions, by the way. Sorry again if I was rude."

Dean gave him an odd look. "Everybody has bad days, man. Don't worry about it. I didn't mean to bite your head off."

"It's all right."

Roman guided his car to a stop right at the valet stand, where Enzo, an intense little dude with wild hair stood waiting.

He bounced over to the driver's side door as soon as Roman stopped the car, a ball of energy in a blue uniform. He had some kind of intricate pattern shaved into his hair on the sides - almost looked like cheetah spots. The back, which was up in a mess of a ponytail, was bright blond. And he'd grown a full beard since the last time Roman had seen him.

"Mr. Reigns!" he said as soon as Roman had climbed out of the driver's seat. "How ya doin'? Long time no see!"

"Good, man," Roman said. He slipped Enzo some cash. "And you? How have you been?"

"Upright and breathing air. No complaints at all." His eyebrows went up suddenly, and his attention shifted to a point over Roman's shoulder. "I see you have company. Evening, uh, sir."

Roman glanced over his shoulder in time to catch Dean frowning off at the hotel behind them.

"He's an old friend of mine, Enzo," he said. "Anyway, I want the car fueled and washed before tomorrow morning. I have a meeting at nine, so I'll be leaving here around eight-fifteen."

"Yessir, yessir," Enzo said quickly. "Eight-fifteen. We'll get it done. Have a good night."

"Thank you," Roman said, stepping around the front of the car. He glanced over at Dean. "Ready?"

Dean's hand tightened around his backpack's strap. He flicked his hair out of his eyes. "Uh-huh."

The Kingsford lobby was large, open area with shiny white marble flooring. The reception desk stood near the entrance. Opposite that, near a bank of huge windows that offered a great view of the bay, was a seating area full of leather chairs.

The thing that made it pop was the flower arrangements: unique vases full of whatever was seasonal all over the place, bright splashes of color that livened everything up. Roman had no idea what any of the flowers actually were, but it felt like a nice touch.

Tonight, for some reason, both of the hotel's managers were behind the front desk with Becky, the fiery redhead who usually watched the desk in the evenings.

Tyler Breeze and Fandango had been managing this hotel for the last two years. A couple of pretty boy model-types, Roman had at first dismissed them as clueless Zoolander wannabees. He was wrong, though. Fandango actually had a decent head for business, while Tyler had a good handle on keeping the hotel running smoothly. The pair of them personally arranged all the flowers, too.

Both of them happened to be looking Roman's way when he led Dean by the desk, and both wore identical expressions of disapproval. Becky just seemed curious.

"Mr. Reigns, I think a homeless person followed you in," Tyler said. "Do I need to call security?"

Dean tensed even more. His hands all but strangled his backpack's worn straps.

Roman gave Tyler a cool look. "Dean is my guest , Tyler. He's an old friend of mine. Don't be rude."

Tyler's pouty mouth tightened. "My mistake. We're used to our guests having a certain standard of dress. I'm sure you can understand."

Fandango nudged Tyler's shoulder. "We're sorry, Mr. Reigns. Your suite is ready and waiting. If you need anything tonight, Becky will take care of you."

"Thank you," Roman said curtly. "Good night. Let's head up, Dean."

He waited until he had Dean alone in the private elevator that led to the suit to look over. "Sorry about that."

Dean, slouched against the wall beside him, shook his head. "'S fne."

It really wasn't, but Roman didn't argue. He leaned against his own wall and took a proper look at the guy he'd picked up:

Kind of rough around the edges, was Roman's first thought. Decent-looking in kind of a rugged way. A couple days' worth of stubble prickled his cheeks and chin. The yellowing remains of a bruise lay under one eye, along with a mostly-healed cut on his cheek. The sandy brown hair at the back of his neck curled in every direction; looked like it hadn't met a comb in a while.

The jeans and black shirt were worn, but clean. Same with the leather jacket. Boots were dirty.

When they'd stepped into the elevator, Roman noticed they were about the same height. Dean was on the lean side, though. Not exactly skinny, but Roman had an easy thirty pounds on him.

Narrowed blue eyes studied Roman right back, but Roman once again couldn't make heads or tails of what was Dean was thinking.

He had a hell of a poker face.

If he was angry about Tyler's comments downstairs or the one earlier, it didn't show.

Roman's usual suite took up half of the hotel's top floor.

The main door opened into huge sitting area, complete with a bar, and a big flat-screen TV. It was all done up in tans and off-whites, with dark wood tables and tan furniture set around the room. There was even a dining table with enough space for, easily, fifteen guests. It sat right next to floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an even better view of the bay and the city than the lobby windows did.

It had three bedrooms attached to it, plus a huge bathroom and its own private deck off the master bedroom.

Every now and against, he hosted dinners up here to justify the cost of it to himself.

He paused near the bar to Dean make his way into the sitting area and take everything in.

Roman found it disconcerting how much trouble he was having getting a read on what Dean was thinking. Being able to read people came pretty naturally to Roman. His father taught him at a young age how useful it was to not only listen to people, but watch them. It was useful in negotiations to be able to tell just by seeing how someone tensed up that a deal was about to go bad.

Dean didn't seem as tense as he'd been downstairs, and didn't seem particularly nervous.

He made his way over to the big windows and stood in front of them for a bit.

Roman joined him, the pair of them looking out at the the city at night, and the way the lights reflected on the water. It reminded Roman of camping on the beach with his cousins when he was a kid. The stars didn't quite look like this when they shined down on the ocean, but it was close.

"I like watching the sunrise from here," Roman said. "It's a nice view."

Dean glanced over. "There's a bluff just north of here that's got a pretty good view, too. That's where I go sometimes after I'm done working at night."

Working . "Do you mind if I ask how long you've been in this particular line of work?"

"A few months," Dean said. He pulled his backpack off his shoulders and set it on the floor in front of his feet. "What do you do?"

"I'm an investor," Roman said. "My father owns the company, but I'm the one who actually does the work. I find all the companies and properties to invest in. Make the deals."

"So you guys are kinda like Berkshire-Hathaway, then, or…?"

"Right," Roman said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. "We tend to sell off more than he does, but yeah, we're basically doing the same thing."

"Mm." Dean cleared his throat. "Speaking of business, you ready to get down to it, or…?"

"Business," Roman mused. "Is that what you call it?"

"Exchanging money for a service," Dean shrugged. "Sounds like the definition of business to me."

"Guess it does to me, too," Roman admitted. He gave Dean a long once-over look, head to toe, again noting the old clothes and the bruising, the fidgeting, but also the lean body and that rugged, good-looking face.

Those eyes.

Beat the hell out being here alone tonight, dwelling about work or the trainwreck that had been his relationship with Cody.

His fingers wandered out on their own to graze the prickly scruff on Dean's cheek, just below the shiner. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I am."

A/N: Aaaaand here we go.