“It’s easy. I pick my things up, pack them, and leave.”
“But it’s across country! With a guy you barely know! Cordy, the vagabond lifestyle is not for you!”
“Not true,” Cordy said, jutting out her bottom lip in defiance, “I’ve always wanted to travel.”
“Yeah, to London and Paris. Detroit is a far cry from that,” Buffy retorted, trying to stop her friend from packing up by taking things out of the box Cordy was placing them in.
Cordy stopped and glared at her, clearly annoyed. She flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder and fixed her penetrating milk chocolate eyes on Buffy, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. This would normally send Buffy running for cover, but under the circumstances, and perhaps partly in defeat, Buffy puffed out her chest and stood tall.
Snatching the framed picture of Brandon Routh that she had on her reception desk from Buffy’s hands,she placed it back into the box, all the while keeping a fixed eye on Buffy. She then proceeded to put the items Buffy had taken out, back into the box.
Buffy slumped in her seat in defeat. “What about your apartment?”
“I found someone to sublet it.”
“How did you find someone on such short—“ Buffy jumped up, “Cordelia Chase! You knew about this for some time now haven’t you?”
Something passed over Cordelia’s face that Buffy had never seen before: Guilt.
“I’ve known for a month,” Cordy explained. “Which really isn’t all that much time at all. I had lots to do, and plans to make. I had to find a home for my car until I came back, put my stuff in storage . . . “
“And it never occurred to you to, oh, I don’t know, tell me you were going? I mean, I’m only your boss and your friend—“
“Buffy,” Cordy stopped and turned to her. “Sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do. I can’t help it. B.J. wants to go, he has to go. I love him, so I have to go with him.”
“As usual, it’s all about you, isn’t it Cordy?” Buffy said bitterly, walking away from her. “And who the hell dates someone with the initials for blow job?”
“Yes, it is. It’s all about me. Can I give you some advice Buffy?”
Buffy stopped on her way to consulting room and turned to her once friend. “What?”
“Take care of yourself. Maybe if you took the time to make yourself happy once in a while you wouldn’t feel so washed up and bitter.”
Buffy’s jaw dropped and her eyes stung with tears at Cordelia’s strong words, not to mention the harshness in her voice.
Cordelia pushed past her and pushed the swinging door to the entrance open with her hip. “I’m sorry if that was harsh, Buffy, but it’s true and you know it. If you got out once in a while, dated, and actually tried to care about your appearance and didn’t waste your time on those wounded birds you seem to pick up, you’d find this place back to the success you once had it at. If you don’t start at least trying to take care of yourself, you’re going to die an old maid.” Without further ado, she swept out the door.
Buffy rushed to the door and opening it, yelled after her. “I hope the tour bus breaks down! I hope he gets booed off the stage and he gets tired of you!”
Cordy’s tires screeched out the parking lot and Buffy watched her go. The girl didn’t deserve her tears. Not after the horrible things she'd said.
Looking down at herself in her faded jeans and two-sizes-too-big sweatshirt, Buffy realized that Cordy’s words probably stung so much because they were all true.
Spike was exhausted. After he’d agreed to take his uncles task, he’d been rushed out of Olympus. It was as if they couldn’t wait to get rid of him. It struck suspicion in Spike and made him wonder if Angel hadn’t been flapping his gums about him feeling discontent. Then came the blow that he’d be de-winged on Earth. Spike balked at that. How did they expect him to get around? Eros had merely chuckled and said there were all sorts of transportation on Earth and he’d fare just fine.
His mother had been tearful and worried, and his father had congratulated him and directed him
to “make him proud.” As if there wasn’t enough pressure on him already.
After much goodbyes and hugs, Spike had been sent on his merry way. Or, like an angel clipped of his wings, he’d hurled to Earth and landed unceremoniously in his new digs. Unscathed of course, unless you count the thud in which he’d landed on his rump. He had been cursing the delivery and rubbing his rump when he’d taken in his apartment.
He had to smile; his uncle knew what he liked. Large amounts of space, hard wood floors as rich as Eros’ front room, deep rich earth tones and overstuffed sofas and chairs, not to mention a spacious bed with silk, blood red sheets and black and red frumpy pillows stuffed with feathers. Just off his bedroom, furnished with a mahogany Amour and oak desk with gold leaf trim, was a balcony overlooking the ocean. Spike smiled as he stepped onto it and breathed in the fresh sea air. He sent a silent thank you to his uncle and decided to freshen up a bit before meeting his mission: Elizabeth Summers.
“Soul Matched” was attached to a video store. The outside was pretty simple and did not at all match the posh atmosphere that was inside. Upon entering, Spike felt as if he were entering one of those clubs he’d witnessed in Eros’ crystal balls when he was finding matches. It wasn’t dark, but wasn’t bright either. The lights hung low and were in the shape of stars. The walls weren’t all one color; they shifted from deep burgundy to deep ginger. There was a satin sofa and love seat in the corner with Japanese designs on them, the background of them being red, the designs black. A glass coffee table sat in the center with a cream colored shag rug under it. Directly off to the left, right past the love seat was a room with a small desk complete with a desk, some framed pictures, and a few plants. Across the main room was a room shrouded with pink and blue scarves and beads hanging from the door way. In the center was a long desk with a computer and against the wall was a bookcase filled to the brim.
He felt at home there, that was the first thing that hit Spike as he took in his surroundings. His eyes settled on the form that hunched over the desk, poring over
papers. It had to be Elizabeth Summers. Her long, wavy blond hair was creating a curtain on either side of her face.
Just then she looked up and Spike’s breath caught. Great Merciful Zeus she was breathtakingly, heartbreakingly gorgeous. Her amazing green eyes peered up at him curiously, and the pink in her cheeks darkened. Her nose was slightly crooked at the end
and for some reason it made his heart melt. She swept her long hair over her shoulder and proceeded to tie it back in some elastic that appeared out of nowhere.
“Hi. Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
He shook his head, finding speech had left him.
“Would you like to make one?”
He shook his head again, mesmerized. He noticed then her eyes were slightly puffy. She’d been crying? Who had made this beautiful creature cry and why?
“Then what can I help you with?” she asked, frowning slightly.
“I’d like to work here,” he stated, finally finding his
voice.
She looked taken back for a second and then recovered. She stood and Spike drank in her form completely. So petite, was she. The jeans and oversized sweatshirt did nothing but hide what was sure to be a delectable body. Spike was itching to find out, to peel away the layers and find the core of Elizabeth Summers.
“You want to work here?” she chirped, looking
confused. Her forehead crinkled in the most adorable way...
He nodded, clearing his throat.
“I haven’t even had the help wanted sign up for more than an hour.”
He hadn’t seen the sign. Thank the Gods in Olympus there’d been a sign.
She crossed her arms and studied him. “Why do you want to work here?”
“I specialize in matchmaking.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No,” he said defensively. “Why would I joke about something like that?”
“Because you’re a guy,” she said matter-of-factly.
He took offense to that for not only himself but for his uncle and father and for every other Eros helper out there. “A guy can’t want to help people find their match?”
“Are you gay?”
“I’m not bloody gay!” Spike nearly roared with frustration. “Can I have the job or not?”
“I don’t know you! How can I give you the job when I don’t even know your name?” She demanded, putting her hands on her hips.
“Spike,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Spike? Is that a nickname or the name you were given as a child?”
He pursed his lips together.
“I need your real name.”
His eyes darted to the bookcase. “William,” he told her.
“Last name?” her eyebrow raised and her foot was tapping.
He opted to use his father’s last name (and technically his) for this. “Giles.”
“William Giles. Why Spike?”
“Long story.”
She shrugged. “Whatever.”
“You’re not exactly ‘welcoming’ there, pet. Especially since I’m here to help you out.”
“I’ve had a rough morning,” she muttered, going through the papers on the desk. “I can never find anything she has in here.”
“Am I hired or not?”
“Don’t you want to know what the job consists of?”
“It’s pretty self explanatory innit?”
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not all that easy.”
“I’m a quick learner.”
“You’re not actually setting anyone up, you realize.”
“Why not?” he asked, defensive once again.
“Because that’s my job.”
“Rumor has it you’ve been sliding on the job. Seems to me a new set of eyes is what you need.”
She glared at him. “Not all about the eyes, smart ass.”
“I hit a nerve huh?” he smirked, placed his hands on the desk and leaned in toward her. Lavender. She was scented with Lavender. Reminded him of home.
“What’s your background if you know so much?” she challenged.
“Oh, cutie. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“I do worry about that.”
“Hire me and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”