Oreos||BWWM

Chapter 1

March 22, 2014

Reagan is off to the side♥

"Reagan get down here, you're going to be late," her best friend, Alana, yelled from the kitchen.

She grabbed her phone, racing downstairs, and jumped down the last three. Alana looked at her choice of attire, then slowly smiled in approval.

"Don't you think it's a bit too casual?" Reagan asked, unsure of the outfit. She had spent hours the night before picking it out; High-waisted blue jeans, a tucked in white shirt, a long blue cardigan, and some white flats to go with. Her wild natural curls, hard to tame, laid on her back.

Alana brought her hand up to her chin, stroking her invisible beard. "Spin around," she twirled her finger in the air. Reagan complied, doing just that. "Well, it is just a job interview, as far as you don't wear sweatpants, there's no such thing as too casual".

Reagan nodded, kissing her cheek, "wish me luck, 'Lana," she exclaimed on her way to the front door.

"Good l-" before Alana could finish the sentence, Reagan was already long gone.

_________________✍

The law firm looked so sophisticated, yet modern with a little bit of a home-y feeling to it. It felt nice, comfortable almost. But, that didn't stop the nervous sweat that kept beading down her face, nor the shaking of her palms.

The waiting area look mundane, spiritless, uninteresting. Never did she expect so much people to want the job of a secretary. The place looked so crammed there wasn't so much as breathing room.

As much as she wanted to pay no attention to it, she couldn't help but notice how many women there were. Most of them in mini skirts and a two-size-too-small blouse unbuttoned at the top. Others were worse.

Isn't this a law firm?

They looked like they were dressing up for that club on 64th street. With caked on make-up, some looked like they belonged to the circus. While others looked like they were mugged by an orange crayon, looking like they were one of Willy Wonka's lost Oompa Loompa's.

Most decent looking person in this room was, well, her.

Reagan couldn't help but feel inferior to the ladies in there. As much as she hated to admit this, they all looked like they stepped right out of some cover of Vogue or People magazine.

In Reagan's eyes, their porcelain, tanned, and cream pigments were superior to her average smooth caramel-milk chocolate skin.

"Reagan Summers," a kind looking old lady spoke.

She perked her head up at the mention of her name, for some reason unknown to her, she received glares from the 'models'.

Reagan furrowed up her brows. Is there something on my face? she thought.

Shrugging it off, she followed the kind old lady, eventually being stopped by a grand door. She blew out a breath, here goes nothing.

_________________✍

Nathaniel ran his hands through his big thick locks, irritated at the worst spent three hours of his life. Every woman that walked through that door has either tried to kiss him, or succeeded to do so. He made a mental note to himself to go for a check-up after this; better check for any STD's.

A light knock was made on his door, answering with a quick "come in," just to get this over with already. The door slowly opened, first thing he saw was modest clothing. That was a thumbs up in his book, considering the heap of concubines he had the pleasure of meeting this morning. {AN: Martin/Mulan.}

He shivered at the memory.

His eyes raked up her amazingly curved body, lingering in the chest area, stopping to feast his eyes to who he could only describe as an angel. Nathaniel's mouth was slightly ajar while Reagan seemed to be in the same state.

Damn, can he rock a suit, was her only thought.

Nathaniel's apparent muscles flexed when he stood up, walking briskly up to the fine lady. Her caramel-milk chocolate skin, oh, how he wanted to lick all ove-

A throat cleared. And, it was then that he snapped back from his fantasy-land.

That's what it was, a fantasy. Nothing more could come from this.

The 'angel' smiled sweetly, showing her pearly whites. She extended her hand, "my name is Reagan Summers," she greeted. Oh, what a beautiful name for an exquisite woman.

Nathaniel took her small slender hands in his big ones, unable to stop himself from realizing how perfectly they fit together.

He smiled, "you've got the job".

□■□■□

Nathaniel is 25 years old, he owns the law firm (obviously)

Reagan is 23, and Alana is 24.