Yuppie and Bitchface

Thanks to my editor, thelaughingcat, for her help.

"When dealing with people, remember you are not dealing with creatures of logic, but creatures of emotion."

- Dale Carnegie

* *

"Yes, I know there's a damn blizzard. There are windows where I am. It doesn't change the fact that I have to address the board of directors day after tomorrow."

"I know that, Shannon, but I need a flight out of here yesterday. I was supposed to be back and preparing the quarterly report now."

"Yes, I know. Howard's on it. I still need to review the numbers. Remember last year when he forgot to add the new acquisition in our forecast? I had a field day talking to the NASDAQ to let us revise our revenue estimates."

"Damnit, there has to be something that can fly in a blizzard. I don't care how much it costs to get me to Manhattan. I need to be there now."

He yelled into his receiver impotently for the next few minutes before slamming the phone down.

Theodore Astor-Dewhurst the Second ("call me by my full name at your own peril") was used to getting what he wanted. Always. Lamborghinis. Ski lodges in Zermatt. An impromptu trip to Greece for his girlfriend's birthday on his Dad's private jet.

None of them were even serious requests. If the Oxford Dictionary ever came out with a visual version, his face would appear next to

spoilt

(possibly accompanied by a picture of discoloured milk -- alternate meanings and all that).

He paced his expansive suite frantically. His view had been reduced to a white sleet. The news called it the storm of the century and Toronto was unfortunately in its path. There had to be a way out. He quickly recalled friends of his who worked on important defence contracts. The US government surely had a secret aircraft that could fly in this weather.

A few phone calls later he sighed deeply with disappointment. He discovered that he did not have clearance to hear such information. Also that it was three in the morning and he could go perform unfortunate acts on himself.

* *

"It's hopeless."

Theo had resigned himself to his fate. For now, he was a prisoner of the Ritz-Carlton Toronto. The hotel staff were exceedingly courteous and the guests understood that complaining would do little to alleviate their suffering. He had chosen the path of least resistance. A path that led him to the bar.

"So you're the guy from the East facing penthouse?"

"Guilty as charged."

"I'll have to break out the good stuff," smiled the woman behind the counter. Her English was delightfully accentuated by Quebecois French. Each syllable sounded like a note of music. She could probably sing the Yellow Pages if she wanted to. She went to the backroom and came back with a bottle of ochre coloured Hennessy cognac.

She poured the golden liquid into a small glass carefully.

"Get another glass for yourself."

"Too rich for my blood."

"I'm buying," he said with a smile. She looked at him curiously.

"If you really wanted to buy a girl a drink, you could have asked what the girl likes to drink first. I'll have a Jaeger if it's all the same."

She made herself a quick shot and put it down next to his glass.

"Does a girl have a name?"

"A girl has no name," she giggled, melodiously no less.

"All right, Arya Stark. Cheers."

Glasses clinked and Theo took a sip of the velvety liquid.

"If you're in the East Penthouse you must be someone important. They mostly go to movie stars, industrialists and heads of state. Now you look too young to be a head of state. Despite being easy on the eye, I don't see a gaggle of annoying teenage girls lining up for selfies, so you're no movie star. That leaves industrialist."

"I'll save you the trouble. Theodore Astor-Dewhurst the second at your service. Terms and conditions apply, most importantly never calling me anything more than

Theo.

"

"Quite the charmer. I don't see a ring. Is there a girlfriend in the picture?"

"Not since last month."

"Oh, you poor thing," the nameless bartender cooed, refilling his cognac. "It must be hard being rich and alone."

"Yeah, rub it in."

"Luckily for you, I had this exact same conversation with the woman in the West Penthouse. You know, the bigger one. Maybe you could turn right instead of turning left from the elevator on the top floor and knock on her door."

"Right, because she always likes drunk strangers knocking on her door."

Realising the cognac was an order of magnitude more potent than he had initially estimated, Theo staggered back to the elevator. A minute or so later, he staggered out and took what he assumed was a left. The door was slightly ajar, which didn't bother him at the time. His alcohol-addled limbs would not last 'til the bed so he collapsed on the couch and was snoring within seconds.

* *

It was morning. The kind of morning Theo wouldn't know unless someone smacked him upside the head and yelled it in his ear.

Which was precisely what happened. He rolled off the couch and landed with a soft thump on the thick carpet. He flailed helplessly for a few moments before gathering himself enough to stand up and look at the real resident of the penthouse.

"No way."

The two words hung in the air between them. The long raven black hair was neatly combed above the ivory skin. Eyes as black as coal bored into him. Her expression remained steadfastly between homicidal and genocidal rage.

"I must have taken a wrong turn at the-" he began, only to be interrupted by a voice not unlike the tenor at an all banshee a cappella group.

"Theodore Astor-Dewhurst the second, why the fuck were you passed out on my couch?"

She used the name. Nobody dared to use the name.

"Abigail Shapiro?"

He blinked twice as if trying to shake off his sleepy trance. There was no other explanation for the sight before his eyes.

"No.. no.. this has to be a mistake. My managers wouldn't have booked me into the same hotel as you."

"I made this booking months in advance," said Abby, crossing her arms and looking at Theo like she wanted to vaporise him with her gaze.

"Did you book it under your name? If you did, somebody in my travel and logistics department is getting fired when I get back to New York."

"Of course I didn't."

She continued after a brief pause.

"You didn't answer the question. Why were you passed out on my fucking couch?"

She crossed her arms and waited for an answer. Theo composed himself as best he could.

"Blame the cognac. I'm in the East Penthouse not whatever room this is."

"This is the West Penthouse, dumbass. Your room is at the other end of the corridor."

"Oh," he said, finally shaking off the last remnants of sleep. "I'll get going then. Sorry for this unfortunate introduction."

Apologetically he snuck out the doorway and back to his suite, almost feeling the lasers Abby's eyes bored into his retreating form.

* *

"Shannon, did you know who's at the same hotel I am? Abigail fucking Shapiro. That's who. We're literally at opposite ends of the same floor."

"You're breaking up, Theo. Who's in the same hotel-"

"Shannon? Shannon!"

Theo continued to impotently yell into his phone but received only broken static in response. For the foreseeable future, the only use of his phone would be cracking his own high score in Subway Surfer.

The view outside his window was completely obscured by now. The picturesque skyline of Toronto now reduced a faint silhouette in a swirling white haze.

A knocking on the door distracted Theo. He had barely turned the latch when it burst open and pushed him inside. He barely jumped backwards in time and saw Abby standing in the doorway.

"Do you have a phone I can use? I can't get hold of my people."

"It's a pleasure seeing you too."

"Seriously, I'm not in the mood. My Dad has bypass surgery today. I thought I would be back by now, but I'm not. I have no idea how he's doing. I've tried every major carrier I have and even the ones the hotel staff use. Nothing."

"Same here," shrugged Theo. "I've been trying to call my CFO all day. No luck. If I get a line through, I'll let you know."

"Thanks," she said. She ran her eyes over the rest of the suite and smirked.

"Something amusing?"

"This one is smaller than mine."

"So I've been told, Abigail."

"Abby's fine," she said. "You look different in person. Definitely taller for one."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Have a seat."

"I can't. I have to get back to my-"

"Empty room?" Theo finished. "I'll call room service and have them bring breakfast for two up to my small penthouse. How does that sound?"

Abby nodded and sat down while he made the call.

"How come you're without your assistants and security?" he asked.

"Would you believe it if I said you are the reason?"

"Come again?"

"I didn't want to tip off Dewhurst Construction that I was making a bid on the Trans Canadian rail tunnel project. So I had my people do the groundwork back in New York and came myself to submit the tender. It makes a statement of intent when the CEO herself shows up."

"Very cloak and dagger of you."

"You know, for all the slandering we've done of each other in the press," said Abby, "I think this is the first time we've actually met."

"Hold that thought," he said and went to answer a knock on the door. Room service had arrived with breakfast.

* *

Theo put down his latest shot on the counter.

"Might as well quit now, you know you're no match."

She looked at him with cold determination in her brown irises.

"Bring. It. On."

Abby downed the shot glass in front of her.

"You think you can out drink me," grinned Theo. "You're way off. When me and my business school friends went to a bar, I was the only one standing after a dozen Irish car bombs."

"You're like my Uncle Carl," Abby said sweetly. "When I was a kid, he used to entertain me with lame magic tricks. Pulling a quarter out of my ear and handkerchiefs out of his sleeves mostly. Then I learnt his most popular trick was making a pint disappear. I've got genetics on my side."

"We'll see," said Theo and turned to the ever affable bartender. "Some of that cognac for my lady friend here."

The delightful bartender complied and poured out two glasses. Abby clinked her glass to his and tilted it towards her lips.

"Would you mind terribly if I got a selfie with the two of you?" the bartender asked earnestly. "It's the first time I have seen the residents of the East and West Penthouses sharing a drink at the bar."

Abby looked at him with a questioning raised eyebrow and Theo simply shrugged in response. The bartender clapped excitedly like a teen who had just been given tickets to a Bieber concert.

The gratuitous selfie was clicked and Theo took a moment to appraise the picture of Abby Shapiro taking up half the screen. When she wasn't screaming invectives at his

male privilege

, she wasn't bad to look at.

Definitely not with her shapely eyes and aquiline features. She almost looked... cute?

"The concierge's brother in law works for the local weather channel. He said it's unlikely the weather will clear up for the next two days."

Abby mouthed a silent curse in his direction before he continued.

"I'll keep trying to get to my people. As soon as I get a half-way decent connection I'll put you in touch with your family. I know it must be insane to be trapped here wondering if your Dad made it out okay."

"You know, you're not as bad as what the press says about you, Theodore Astor-Dewhurst."

"Must you use my full name like some sort of extended profanity?"

"It's funny, isn't it?" Abby opined and the bartender unhelpfully agreed. "Where's that smart mouth now? I remember your nickname for me. Resting Bitchface. You started that tasteless meme on it."

"It was an intern in my public relations department. I had nothing to do with it. She took a snap of you at the Met gala and made a meme of it. There's no way I could have known she would share it, or that it would go viral."

"Wait, that's where I know you from," piped up the bartender. "You're Resting Bitchface."

Abby downed the remainder of her glass and turned to her with a glare that could melt a mirror.

"Thank you for that. As if it isn't hard enough being a woman and a business owner, now I also have to worry about how appealing I look when I'm bored shitless at events I don't even like going to in the first place."

"Wow, that cognac is taking its effect on you," Theo started, trying to defuse the situation, but Abby grabbed him and brought him closer.

"Who the fuck do you think you are to decide what women in business can and cannot look like?" she spat out furiously. "Do you know how much crap I have had to deal with because of that one picture?"

One of the waiters came by and separated them. Abby barely reached out and grabbed a glass full of whiskey from the bar top and splashed it on Theo's face. Gasps rang out among the other patrons and the mortified bartender as trails of alcohol dripped down his face, tenaciously clinging on to the sorry excuse for chin hair.

He took out his handkerchief and dabbed a bit on his now ruined shirt.

"You're a fucking coward who doesn't want a level playing field with anyone else."

* *

Theo was in his room getting breakfast the next day. He had disconnected the receiver to his intercom to be spared any more disturbances.

If Abby was going to feel bad for what she did, the very least he could do was not make her apology easy.

The young woman who had brought the tray stood awkwardly just out of his field of vision. She looked at him, perplexed like she was debating whether or not to tell her boss his fly was unzipped.

Theo became aware of her continued presence after a minute or so and reached into his wallet.

"No, sir," she hurriedly corrected him. "It's not that. I just wanted to tell you something. The lady from across the hall asked us to let you know she feels terrible about the incident at the bar last night."

"No, thanks."

"If I may, sir. She seems to feel really bad about what happened. If you'd give her a chance to apologize..." she trailed off.

Theo's grim expression did not change and the staff mouthed a silent apology and left. His gaze turned back to the monochromatic white outside his window.

"God, when can I get out of this hell?"

Hell obviously being defined as an expansive penthouse and room service at his beck and call.

* *

Hours of staring out the window and willing the weather to improve to no avail went by. Eventually, Theo covered himself in the comforter and tried to turn in before lunch.

That plan was rudely interrupted by knocking on his door. Not the quick double knock of the trained hotel staff, rather the repeated pounding of a mob of angry villagers.

"Come in."

There was a pause and the pounding resumed.

"Theo. It's me."

He sat upright on his bed now. Abigail fucking Shapiro. She obviously took her apology more seriously than he assumed. He dragged his half asleep form to the door and opened it to see Abby standing outside with her arms clasped together.

"What do you want now?"

"I know you don't want to see me, but we can hash that out later. I was in the lobby downstairs and I saw a family of four with their luggage talking to the concierge. They checked out just as the storm started and have been stranded at the airport for the past two days. They've checked all the hotels between here and the airport on their way here and they're all full. So is this one. The staff were downstairs trying to make room for them, but accommodating a family is tough under the circumstances."

He saw a desperate earnestness in her eyes that made him listen.

"They've got kids, Theo. Two little girls hardly older than six. I gave the hotel staff another option -- to move them into my penthouse and move my stuff to yours. That's why I'm here, to ask you if you're okay with this."

Theo let the information process in his head. A battle between two of his foremost instincts raged behind his blue eyes. Sharing a room with Abby Shapiro or being the unsympathetic dick in this situation.

"Go ahead," was all he said. Before he could sigh for dramatic effect, Abby engulfed him in a warm hug.

"Thank you," she said into his ear. "... and I am sorry for before."

* *

"That's the last of it," said Abby, generously tipping the two young men from housekeeping who helped move her stuff. "Please help the Rossums move into the West Penthouse."

She sat down on the chaise lounge and tucked her dark curls behind her ear.

"Welcome to the East Penthouse, Ms Shapiro. Apologies for the size," Theo drawled.

"It's not bad," she said, running her eyes across the tastefully decorated room. "The first apartment we lived in was half the size of this one room... and we were a family of five."

He leaned back against the pillows and stretched his arms.

"It's a great thing you're doing for that family, Abby," he begrudgingly admitted.

"It isn't really," she said, resting against the padded armrest.

"I don't think I would have thought of doing it."

"Perhaps," she smiled. "I don't blame you or think any less of you. It's just that I know what it's like to go to bed cold and hungry."

"That's..."

"My parents worked five jobs between them and it was still a struggle most months. One year, my Dad got suddenly laid off from his off the books bricklaying. Union disputes, I think. That winter, we had to make a daily choice - any two between rent, food and heat."

Theo remained silent.

"I've got a copy of your book in my office, but I haven't read it," he spoke up. "I guess I didn't want to know stories like this about what you came from."

"How about we start over?" Abby suggested. "Pretend we don't know each other and haven't fought each other in the press and made tasteless memes. I'm sure we can coexist till the storm clears."

"Oh that's nothing. You don't go to boarding school with a name like Theodore Astor-Dewhurst and not develop thick skin."

Abby laughed.

"Besides," interjected Theo. "I'm not the only one. Whose idea was taking the picture of me out with my family and putting

Yuppie

on it?"

"Would you believe it if I said I don't know?" she giggled.

* *

The evening saw a return of the bitter animosity between both parties. Mostly because Abby had the temerity to disagree with a fundamental belief that Theo held.

"There's no way you're serious. Davis is a better quarterback than Lefkowitz? Dream on, RB."

"You idiot," she hollered back. "It's because of assholes who think like you that the Jets are getting their ass handed to them."

"They are getting their ass handed to them because of the rest of the team. Lefkowitz is the only one who knows how to fucking play. If you want to change someone, get rid of Nelson and Stevenson. They're just baggage now."

Abby flashed fire in her eyes as she shook her frizzy curls out of her face.

"Oh no you didn't," she growled. "You did not insult Peter Stevenson, the greatest wide receiver of our generation."

"Was the greatest wide receiver," he corrected. "Now he looks like he's close to a stroke every time he makes a run."

"Jeffries is the single most underused asset on the team. If they could switch him in for Evers, we'd be in business."

"We?" asked Theo quizzically. "You don't own the Jets."

"... yet," she completed with a triumphant smile. "Would you believe me if I said all this is so I can one day own an NFL team?"

"I'd say you're making impressive strides in that direction."

"Thank you," she beamed. "Now I hope we can agree like civilized football fans that we need Gorski gone and a new linebacker in his position."

"No way."

Theo went on to outline in some detail his opinion on why Gorski was the single most important player on the team and any hopes they had of doing better next season rested squarely on his impressive shoulders. Abby eye rolled hard enough to see the back of her head and launched into an explanation of how he was past his prime and needed to be replaced.