Paperweight

Chapter 1

There are few things Santana Lopez hates more than paperwork, and considering her disdain for the general human race, that's saying something.

Santana mutters angrily to herself as she tries to sort through the sea of papers currently flooding her desk, making a mental note to yell at Quinn for leaving early for her "date". She wouldn't be surprised if Quinn was lying through her perfect white teeth and just couldn't be bothered helping.

Despite the fact they co-own Lopez-Fabray Design, and therefore should really be expected to do equal amounts of work, after their assistant Marley quit unexpectedly a few weeks ago (or was scared off by Santana, depending on who you ask) the paperwork had been piling up. Santana couldn't remember the last time both her and Quinn had left the studio before 10pm. Her phone beeps, and after locating it under her mouse mat, she sees she has a text from Quinn.

Date was a disaster, just got home. Where are you? X

Resisting the urge to throw her phone across her office, she types back angrily.

Still at the studio. There's so much fucking paperwork for the Simpson deal it's ridiculous. X

Santana manages to sign three more papers before her phone beeps again.

Forget it. We can deal with it tomorrow. Come home, I want to talk to you about something. X

That catches Santana's interest. Giving one last withering look at the mountain of paper obscuring most of her desk, she switches her computer off, picks up her coat and bag, and walks out of her office. The studio is completely empty, as it should be at 9.30 on a Sunday evening.

Locking the doors, she tugs her coat tighter around herself and starts walking to the nearest subway station. Despite it being the middle of August in New York, Santana is starting to get cold. Her head hurts from staring at a computer screen for half the day, and a seemingly never ending pile of paper for the other half. Her hand hurts from typing and scribbling her signature on thousands of bits of paper. She needs a drink. Flinging her arm out, she forgets about the 20 minute subway ride and climbs into the taxi that screeches to a halt next to her.

"Where to, Miss?" The taxi driver asks as he blatantly leers at her through the rear view mirror. Santana narrows her eyes at him and gives him the address of the apartment she shares with Quinn. Who wants to talk to her about something. She unlocks her phone and fires off a snarky text.

On my way home now. What do you want to talk about? Finally realized you're a flaming homo and want tips on how to make the beast with two backs with Berry? X

Trying desperately to get that slightly horrifying image of Rachel and Quinn going at it out of her mind, she pays the driver and shudders at the way his eyes don't leave her cleavage. Men are pigs, and she's not entirely sure why straight women even exist. Her phone buzzes in her pocket as she steps into the elevator, and unlocks her phone while pressing the button for the fifth floor.

You're disgusting. And for the millionth time there is nothing going on between Rachel and I. If anything I'd think maybe you want in her pants the amount you go on about it. Something work related. Hurry up or I'm eating your slice of cheesecake. X

Santana rolls her eyes and pushes open the door of her apartment, opening her mouth to yell at Quinn for that even more horrifying image.

"And you say I'm the disgusting one. I may be a full blown lady lover, but I wouldn't go near Berry with a ten foot pole."

Santana briefly hopes Berry isn't actually here, but dismisses that idea immediately and she hadn't heard any singing as she walked down the hall.

Santana doesn't hate Rachel, she thinks she's actually really talented and at least somewhat attractive, not that she would ever breathe that out loud without being at least five tequila shots in, Rachel just has an innate ability to get on her nerves very quickly. Walking into the living room, she flings her bag onto the floor and collapses onto her front on the sofa.