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Make Her Own Way


Summary: Well, as previously threatened, here’s my Buffy is Spike’s mistress fiction. It won’t be near as long as my other fic of moment, Buffy’s Revenge, promise. Buffy is the mistress of William ‘Spike’ Giles, one of the most powerful men in Sunnydale, California. She’s been his woman for almost three years, but now at 24, she has begun to question her status in her present life and in her future. Buffy wants to make her own way in the world now, but the problem is that Spike doesn’t want her that ‘independent’ from him. Will she have to run away from Sunnydale and Spike to achieve her goal of independence?

Chapter 1: ‘His Mistress’

Buffy Summers drove her red Corvette into the apartment complex parking structure. She jumped out of the sleek car and threw the keys to Tito, the valet attendent. “Take care of her,” she winked at the teenager as she sashayed into the waiting elevator. Punching the up button, the one that would take her to her penthouse apartment, she refelcted on that days events. It had gone well, the interview with Xander. Of course, it would, since Xander ‘was’ her ex-boss and a good buddy to her lover, William. Although she hadn’t really worked in almost three years, ever since William, or Spike as he was known to the world, had ‘rescued’ her from the drudgery of everyday toil of being a cocktail waitress and a starving college student. Still, though, she longed to go back to work, at least for a few nights a week; the ones where Spike didn’t come around to ‘their’ place. On those three or four nights a week, her lover spent his time at his own place, working all hours of the night, concentrating on becoming even more rich and powerful then he already was.

When Spike blew into her life like a tornado and swept her off her feet, he made it clear that she was not to sweat another day’s toil again. He took care of everything; her apartment, a penthouse with a view of the Pacific Ocean and the bright red Corvette she loved so much. Heck, he even bought her all of the clothes now hanging in her expansive walk-in closets. All in all, Buffy should have been quite content with her lifestyle, but unfortunately, she was not. Deep down inside, Buffy longed for the old-fashioned stability of a home and family. Like her mom and dad had, with her little sister Dawn down in LA. She longed for respectibility and yes, even marriage, on her terms, of course. And more then anything? She wanted to make her own way again; even if that meant not being with Spike, or Will as only she was allowed to call him.

The really bizarre thing was, Will would marry her in a heartbeat, she knew that. He had asked her over a year ago to be his wife, but she had mumbled some excuse about not being ready at the time. Sad to say, she would probably never be ready to marry William Giles, or, to be exact, she would not marry his ‘alter ego’ Spike. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Will, she did and he loved her, maybe even as much as he loved money and power. The problem was, that William was connected with the wrong sort of business people; his strongest business ties being to his own family.

The shady and elusive Gile’s clan. Rupert Giles, William’s father was a prim and conservative English business man, home based in London. At least on the surface; underneath, Rupert Giles was as ruthless as any American mobster, without a doubt. He had taught his only son, William, well in the practices of the cut throat ‘money laundering’ business. In fact, in the three years that had passed since Rupert sent William out to Sunnydale to expand the family’s business? William had surpassed his own father in fame and fortune, in the States that is; a source of great pride to the ‘old man and even Will’s mother, Jenny.’

Buffy walked into her penthouse and glanced around, her own sense of pride welled up inside her. She ‘had’ come a long way from the naïve, hard working twenty-one-year old she had once been. Her apartment, or actually, ‘Will’s and hers’ apartment, the one ‘he’ paid for, was an interior decorator’s dream. Everything in it however, she had chosen. All of the furniture; down to the oriental place mats on the dining room table, they had been her ideas. The off white paint on the walls, except where she’d opted for red with pink and black trim; she’d picked it. The whole apartment reflected an Asian motiff, perfectly, just like she had envisioned. It was Will, however, who paid for it all, right down to the over-priced oriental satin throws on the couch.

Of course, when William had met her, she was rather unsophisticated, yes, but she was a Liberal Arts student at Sunnydale University. Like her own mother, she had an eye for the arts, mostly paintings and scultures. She was working her way through school as a hostess at ‘The Chateau’ three nights a week and at the ‘Bronze’ on weekends as a ‘drink jockey.’ It was the ‘Chateau’ where Will supposedly first laid eyes on her; a Thursday, she remembered it clearly.



He was entertaining some fellow business associates, five of them in all, and had brought them to the restaurant to talk shop. Buffy was in charge of their table and as naïve as she was, she could smell real money a mile away. As she directed the waitress and tried valiantly to calm Xander Harris’s (her boss at The Chateau) frazzled nerves. Buffy couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Giles, the bleached blonde, handsome host of the table, #1, was watching her intently. In fact, she noted, he never took his eyes off of her all night. When their supper was finished, this Mr. Giles seemed to hesitate, almost reluctant to leave, or so it seemed to Buffy.

After the Gile’s party had left, and only after Mr. William Giles himself had spoken to Xander in his private office for a good twenty minutes or more; the waitress who had serviced the table near ran breathlessly up to Buffy. “Look,” she crowed proudly, “a sixty dollar tip I got, Buffy, look!” Buffy smiled warmly, Amy the waitress really needed the money; she was a very young mother, not much more then nineteen and her equally young husband was a law student at SDU. “That’s great, Amy,” Buffy patted her arm, “you’re such a great waitress, you should be proud of yourself.” Amy grinned mischieviously at Buffy, “well,” she whispered saucily, “I might be a great waitress, but you must be an even greater hostess!"” Buffy gave her a puzzled look, “huh?” she asked, confused. Amy held out two crisp one hundred dollar bills and a piece of paper.

The caligraphy handwriting on the paper was almost artistic, so of course it caught Buffy’s eye immediately. It read: “Buffy; to an exquisite work of art, from a simple man who can at least ‘see’ a great, rare beauty such as youself.” It was signed, William Giles. The two one-hundred dollar bills were for her. A rather big, “Wow!” was all she could muster at the moment. Buffy was still rather stunned by the more then generous tip when she heard Xander clear his throat and wave her into his office. “Oh, oh,” she said to herself, “this cannot be of the good.”




Spike drove his black BMW down the 101 Freeway, right through the heart of Sunnydale, California. His ever present cigarette hung from his mouth as he listened to Johnny Rotten sing some crap about ‘Her Majesty’ the Queen and all of the other Royal hypocrits. “God,” he sighed, happily, “life ‘is’ so bloody good!” He had just finished a major business deal; no, he had in fact, just crushed a major business rival, completely. His blood just pumped strongly through his body, right along with Sid’s guitar riff in the song. At that very moment, he felt so powerful that he was sure he could beat the ‘Hell’ out of Satan in a fair fight. However, he noted, happily, he was on his way to his Buffy; his woman, his love. They hadn’t been together in days, he’d been working so hard lately, holed up at night in his lonely bachelor apartment. He had missed her desperately and couldn’t wait to get to ‘their’ place, fall into their bed and lose himself in her small but strong arms. Buffy was more then his mistress, she was his lover, his muse; bloody hell, she was his redeemer.

His cell phone rang beside him on the car seat, “I have got to change that bleedin’ tune,” he reminded himself as ‘God Save the Queen’ sang out, shrilly. He turned down the radio and answered the cell, “Giles,” he said abruptly. “Hello, son,” came his Dad’s refined British accent from the other end of the line. “Hi, Da,” he responded warmly. For as much as Rupert Giles, his dad could be a real cold hearted bastard, Spike loved both him and his mother dearly. Spike didn’t bother to pull over to the side of the highway, as law dictated when a driver was on a cell, he never paid much attention to rules and laws; this was no exception. “How’s mum?” he asked, lighting another cigarette with a free hand. “She’s fine son,” his dad answered quickly. “But tell me, William,” Spike could just hear his dad creeping up on him like a cat, even over the phone, “how’s our dear Buffy?” the old man asked innocently.

“Gorgeous, as always,” Spike answered, truthfully. “She’s finally put a couple of pounds on, Da, so tell mum she can stop worrying about how thin Buffy is, okay?” A momentary silence, then, “William, your mum and I, well we’re concerned. When are you two children going to ‘get married?’ I’m fine with the status quo, of course, but your mum is worried that she’ll never be a grandmum.” The younger Giles had to chuckle, ‘mum is worried, my arse,’ he snorted to himself. His Da was insane about Buffy, thought she was the best thing since fish and chips. If anyone couldn’t wait to be a grandparent it was Rupert Giles and only Buffy Summers would do for his only son, William. Which, was just fine by Spike, he agreed with his folks. Buffy was the one, had been the only one from the first time he’d seen her at that swanky restaurant three-years ago. “Dad,” he began, patiently, “I’d marry Buffy tomorrow, you know that, but she wants to wait a while longer. She’s only twenty-four, remember?” Rupert Giles sighed, audibly on the other end of the line, “your mum was twenty-four when she had you, William. Bloody hell, she was twenty-two when she had your sister, Drusilla.” Now, there was a fact that Spike could not argue with.

“Dad,” Spike sighed in resignation, “I can’t force Buffy to marry me, especially when she’s not ready. Wish I could, but I can’t.” Rupert’s chuckled heartily, “well then do what I did, son,” he offered, “compromise her. She’ll have to marry you.” Spike didn’t want to have to remind his father that he had already pretty much compromised Buffy, for three years now. At least in the traditonal sense of the word ‘compromise.’ In this day and age, living together off and on, like him and Buffy did, didn’t stipulate ‘compromising’ very much. “Oh for God’s sake, William,” his father growled in total exasperation, “get the girl pregnant and force her into marriage. What the bloody hell do you think I had to do with your mum, finally?” Spike had to laugh, leave it his Da to orchestrate his own matrimony, even with a cautious bride to be. “Okay, Dad,” he agreed, “I’ll give it my best shot.”





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