❛ 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 . . . ❜
019. GORGEOUS! by taylor swift
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NEW YORK
A moment of complete and utter honesty:
Dating Mark Sloan is the best decision Beth Montgomery has ever made.
She has never, not once in her life, never ever, been happier.
...
(Yeah, Right.)
It was a preloaded line on the tip of her tongue, just like all the others. They came prewritten, like the script of a television show that was fed line-by-line to a cast over a table-read. Beth was particularly good at deadpanning it with a glass of Prosecco in her hand:
We both work in surgery.
Yes, we're both very busy.
Of course, we're happy!
Yes, we've been dating for a while now!
We met through my sister, Addison Montgomery-Shepherd–– maybe you've heard of her?
Yes, we're both so very happy.
Did I mention Mark's research proposal?
Yes, we're fully committed to each other!
Did I mention I'll be looking for surgical placements in the fall?
No, no, no long term plans quite yet––
Have I mentioned how very happy we are?
She told it to anyone who would listen; which, admittedly, was half of Manhattan. Heads turned, eyes leapt and attentions lingered on the woman who had dared to let his arm slide around her waist and stay there.
(Nice and tight like a noose.)
Mark had a firm grasp; it was the sort that Beth knew could pull a suture tight, seal the skin and fight off a brutal scar. It was the type that could stop tragedy in its path, alongside all of those other cliches that made her roll her eyes–– but the type, too, that could swing and tap against her hip bone, as if to remind her how fragile her sanity really was.
With him in place, Beth cleared a gala room with her arm wrapped around his, hair pinned carefully and smile pre-polished. It seemed that Mark appearing at any social event, no matter how big or small, was the reason for a scandal. Eyes followed him from the door to the floor and she had to ignore the blatant whispers that came with them.
All Mark could offer, at her enquiring glance, was a strained smile.
"Jesus Christ," Beth mumbled between them, "Did you have to fuck all of them?"
He didn't respond.
Manhattan's biome of glitter and decanters closed around them, buzzing at the edges as, just for a few hours a night, it was suggested that Mark was a good man. A good family man, the sort that could date a Montgomery (A Montgomery! Sibling to Addison! Trusted with the younger sister!) and answered the question to prove it.
After all, Beth was good at lying.
She was good at acting and at dragging money out of the rich.
She'd been raised into it. Working Addison's fundraisers and convincing donations to niche foundations whose names sounded so very made-up, meant that she was more than able to navigate her way around the floor. She hadn't lied to Mark as they'd sat in that town car for the first time; she knew how to hold her own.
And, with Mark actually on board, it went well.
We're both surgeons.
Yes, we're both so very busy.
Of course, we're really happy!
Yes, we've been dating for what feels like a lifetime!
We met through my sister.
Yes, we're both so very happy.
Maybe we should talk a bit more about Mark's research proposal?
Yes, we're only seeing each other! It's exclusive!
Did I mention I'll be looking for job?
No, no, no plans for children yet––
We're seriously really fucking happy.
(She felt like grabbing each gullible socialite and shaking them by the shoulders, maintaining a long, painful eye contact with them until she knew they couldn't look away. She wanted to drill it in deep with conviction, with something other than the painful disposition of a woman who didn't feel like she fit in a room this big.)
('WITNESS ME,' She'd exclaim, and maybe she'd even make the walls shake, 'THIS IS LOVE. THIS IS TRUE. LET ME LEAVE YOU MY BUSINESS CARD.')
"At brunch, Ginny couldn't stop talking about how good the two of you look together..."
It was a conversation that Beth was only half listening to. Her head lolled on her shoulder, a champagne glass balanced in her hand and her shoes briefly flirted with the idea of scuffing the couch of an upper-class tailor.
She'd been here for a while, watching as her sister ran her fingers along a suit that probably cost double of whatever pay check Beth could manage from working weekends at Archer's clinic.
"She did?" Beth asked, audibly disinterested.
"She did," Addison confirmed, her head bouncing very lightly as she studied the fabric of the jacket. Beside her, a shop attendant offered a matching pocket square. "She said that you and Mark are 'the best match since the Kennedy's'––"
Oh?
"She did?" Beth repeated, this time more sceptical and brow furrowed.
"She did," was the redheads response and then she scoffed to herself, "But honestly, and don't repeat this to anyone–– Ginny's always been the type to have a vodka at 9am and it really shows––"
To that, Beth laughed.
It mystified her, really, how quickly word was able to spread. At the first event, she'd been the foolish girl, the one that people had pitied and given long, sad looks to and consolidate pats on the shoulder as if she'd just lost a family member.
Then, in the span of hours, she'd become an enigma–– people had stared at her, eyebrows raised as Mark, with Beth biting down tightly on her tongue, took her hand.
Oh yes, Mark had said with nothing but a wide, righteous smile, We're very happy together.
Happy, my ass, was all Beth had been able to think.
"Maybe I'm just that good at matchmaking," Addison commented almost off-handedly as Beth shook the image of the evening out of her mind. "Maybe even when I'm not even trying––"
"Addie," Beth began, her nose wrinkling, "It's Mark."
"God, don't remind me," She said, grimacing in a way that felt very distinctively genetic, "But if I keep talking about how good you look together, maybe I'll forget that the world thinks a Montgomery, for even a second, would want anything to do with a man like Mark Sloan––"
"Like what? Devilishly handsome?"
Beth snorted, shaking her head very slightly as the man of the hour made an appearance, appearing from the end of the room.
He cleared the hardwood flooring in long, sweeping steps, a second shop attendant shadowing his every move as he adjusted his cuffs. A look of displeasure pinched in between Addison's eyebrows and Beth's lip twitched.
Mark, unfortunately, was the reason they were there. Apparently, despite being the dark horse of every social calendar, Addison had deemed all of his suits completely outdated.
Beth had been there to witness it: the way Mark's brow had furrowed as Addison rooted through his closet and tossed shirts and jackets aside, scowling over the tags and lining of silk ties.
It'd been a ten minute affair, short and sweet, and that had brought them there: watching Mark try on suit after suit, dressed by the same woman that had dictated most of Beth's life.
"We only said your name twice," Beth said, her eyes trailing down the latest find, "I thought we had to say it three times to summon you––?"
It was a classic black with a matching dress shirt and she hated to say that he looked good. Of course, that was the problem with Mark, he always looked good, and Oh didn't he know it.
"That's funny," Mark responded with nothing but a breathtaking smile, "I think I'd be able to pull off the pinstripes, maybe that'll be my next look."
Once again, it burned Beth inside to acknowledge that maybe watching Mark try on twenty suits wasn't the worst thing in the world. She would've never admitted it but, she could admire a pretty view when it was given to her, and Mark Sloan in slacks was like no other.
He seemed to completely transform under a tie, move slicker, add a little sway to his walk, and she'd taken to biting her cheek and smiling into her champagne glass, only too aware of how many women that had fallen under the spell of those hips.
Even then, he turned in the gaze of the mirror, his eyes fixed, diligently, on his reflection. (Beth, still with her slightly strained smile, knew he'd probably marry it if he could've. Every-time he caught his own eye, she was surprised he didn't kiss himself.) I
n the background, Addison stared with concentration, eyes slightly narrowed as if deciding on Mark's wardrobe required deep soul searching.
"No," The redhead said after a few moments of Mark having sexual tension with his own reflection. In the back, Beth let out an exasperated breath. "No, it's all wrong––"
The smug smile dropped off of Mark's face like a stone.
"I look good––"
"You look like a manwhore," Addison interjected, and she shook a hand as if to shoo him, "Next."
Beth covered her laugh with a cough.
She wondered if Mark could feel it.
(Feel what? Oh, just the pressure of Addison Montgomery's hands tearing into your skin with calculated precision and destroying everything you held dear.)
Beth had been through this too, she'd withstood watching Addison go through her closet and, with a horrified gasp, realise that her sister wasn't prepared for something as prestigious as a room full of judgemental assholes. She wasn't exactly sure how Addison's mind was able to equate that to an emergency surgery of fabric and lining stitching, but both her and Mark had become her sister's latest patients––
Or victims, really the words were interchangeable.
"What are we on?" Beth asked, peering down into the bottom of her champagne glass, it was while Mark paraded around in yet another suit, just as he had been for what felt like hours."Like the... the sixth suit? Add, does he really need all of those?"
"We've agreed on a three event time schedule," the resident socialite said, without missing a beat. That made the brunette medical student blink at her, completely lost on what she meant. "I've arranged for you to go to three more events. A gallery opening for Mendelz, a brunch and, if things go well, the surgical conference up in Albany––"
Beth just stared at her.
"What?"
"Of course we need more suits for the events––"
The world stilled for a moment as Beth struggled to process what had just been said.
"You arranged?"
"Of course I did," Addison didn't even shrug.
"Albany?"
"The Tri-State Area surgical board conference, yes."
It was nice to know, really, that she had a say in any of this.
Beth just stared at her, lost for words. A very rare and painful event.
Her life was now structured.
Three events, three bartered moments in Beth's life that Addison had agreed on. Not her, Addison. Beth hadn't realised that a pressured, frenzied agreement over a phone line and then a bundle of flowers on a doorstep had sold her whole life away.
Well, at least for three days.
She also hadn't realised that there was a contract here, hidden in between the way that Mark and Addison interacted. As she sat on the couch between them, watching as Addison instructed shop workers to cater to their every need, she figured that she was no different –– she was just like them, pointed into place, shepherded into position, told to smile and told to wave.
Beth's grasp tightened on her champagne glass.
God, she was a cheap hooker, wasn't she?
Oh fuck, she was Julia Roberts.
She was totally Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.
She was rented for the night, dressed and wooed with familial praise, paid in validation and whatever optimism she had that this would benefit her career––
"Look alive, Montgomery."
Mark's eye caught hers as Addison disappeared out of view, talking animatedly about crevates and whatever fashion language Beth couldn't quite follow.
She blinked and glanced up at him, watching as he adjusted his lapel. The suit was navy, the tie was red and Beth wondered if he knew that Addison had picked out a dress that matched, exactly, that colour.
She gave him a bottomless smile.
"Oh, I don't think that'd change anything," was her response. Ever so chaste and bloodless, a quip chipped through aching gums. "Even if I was dead, Addison would be dressing my corpse, Weekend at Bernies––"
"You can say 'No', you know that, right?"
She'd expected their usual back-and-forth, the exchanges that she'd gotten used to: her and Mark toe-to-toe with whatever backhanded comedy they could managed.
What greeted her, however, was his second glance, catching the way her eyebrows raised as she leant back in her chair.
She hadn't expected that.
He almost sounded... was that?
"Don't look so surprised," Mark chuckled almost breathlessly. His tie was loose around his neck. She watched as he grappled with the ends of it, attempting to fix his collar and tie it. "A guy like me knows the importance of consent better than anyone––"
He had been serious. He really had. For just a moment, Mark Sloan had been serious.
"You really think saying 'No' would make a difference?"
Despite her eagerness to just move past it, Beth stayed there for a second. She stayed in the moment of seriousness, of just a second of reality. These days, everything was about taking it on the chin but, for just a few fleeting breaths, Beth allowed herself to sigh.
There was a silent 'No', there.
Would saying 'No' change anything?
The man in the mirror shrugged.
"It's worth a try."
"It's Addison."
It didn't escape her that she said Addison's name in the exact way she'd said his, just ten minutes earlier.
It was Addison. That was the problem. She loved her sister, but it was Addison.
It was the woman who was incapable of letting anyone breathe on their own terms, it was the sister that had inherited a lot more than just their mother's looks–– Beth's facial expression strained as she watched his scrunch.
She watched the rare phenomenon of Mark attempting to look on the brighter side of things (for some reason that she really didn't understand) and watched it burn out like a dying star.
"Yeah," Mark almost mumbled to himself, a dent appearing in between his eyebrows as he struggled to fix his tie. He was remarkably unattractive as he did it, his face squishing as he attempted to look down at his own chest. "I haven't got a fix to that––"
"No shit."
"But, still, if you don't want to do it, you shouldn't have to."
Beth just stared at him, at the grown man who seemed as incapable at tying his own tie as he did with critical thinking.
She didn't understand why he was saying these things. Did he not realise that she was his only chance at this point? That she was, quite literally, the only woman on this island that would put up with his shit–– and it was all, entirely, against her will?
"Is this an ego thing?" Beth asked, that thought echoing around the inside of her skull, "Is this like a... a way to reclaim your ego because I don't want to date you––?"
"There's a lot of people that would kill for this opportunity," Mark hummed lightly and she scoffed, rolling her eyes. It was a line she'd heard a thousand times before, "I'm just saying, if you're not going to enjoy yourself––"
"Manwhore," Beth tutted.
"Pushover," He clipped back, just as fast.
She smiled to herself, shaking her head.
But, then that smile faded and she reminded of the life she was leading. Did she want to fake-date Mark and be the centre of some social scandal? No.
In all honesty, every time they were somewhere, all Beth could think about was her bed. All she could think about was the warm, honest and tender touch of Calum's arms around hers, pulling her in and holding her tight–– and then she'd be woken up by Mark's arm around her waist, like a morning alarm.
She didn't have a choice. Addison really didn't give her a choice.
Mark seemed to notice the way her smile subsided as he, too, paused.
His gaze was heavy in the mirror, but Beth didn't realise it until he cleared his throat. She was too busy finishing her glass of champagne, all too aware of how much of it she'd been drinking lately. It seemed as though the social season and alcohol went hand in hand, and Beth didn't herself leaving either of them alone for a hot minute.
As she placed her empty glass on the sideboard, Mark seemed to want to say something, but he didn't.
(He did want to say something, he really did.)
(The words got caught up at the back of his throat, as if he'd finally managed to fix his tie. Nice and tight like an unbreakable noose around his throat.)
There was a moment there.
A moment in which Beth looked up and met his gaze. It occurred to her, within those few seconds, how blue his eyes were. Such a startling blue. Not like the sky, but of the ocean in the Arctic. Dangerous and chilling, but, just a little, so very tempting to dive right into––
Oh, fuck that.
For a moment, she was frozen beneath them, mouth swamped with champagne and skin ice to the touch–– then she swallowed, averting her eyes as quickly as someone would rip off a band aid.
With a sigh, Beth got to her feet, finding the sight of him struggling with his tie pretty depressing. She pressed her clammy palms against her jeans and stood in front of him, the surgeon's eyebrows raising as she shooed his hands away from the stretch of silk.
The proximity was jarring, but Beth found that the bubbles had gone just enough to her head.
She held her breath as she tied a perfect bow.
"When did you get into the business of life advice anyway?" Beth asked dryly, trying to move onwards from the slip in time, "You seem to always full of carpe diem mantras–– Live a little and every other crappy piece of greeting card bullshit enthusiasm––"
Mark shrugged, she felt him shift underneath her fingertips.
"I'm in the business of making people happy," was all he said, "I don't like unhappy people. They're boring––"
"Ah," Beth said, "You don't like me, remember?" She shrugged, "Look at me I'm miserable. That explains it."
And he looked at her.
His eyes burned straight through her, despite how determined she was to study his tie and not let her gaze even slightly stray. With her cologne heavy in her nostrils (What Kind of Motherfucker Wears Cologne to a Fitting?) Beth heaved a sigh.
"You're right, I don't," was his response, and she felt his breath fan her forehead as she pulled the bow a little tighter. All she could smell was his cologne. "But... if you keep wearing these kind of shirts, Montgomery... I'm sure I'll like you just fine."
Jesus.
"Oh, fuck you," Beth chuckled, "Life lessons aside, I still really don't like you––"
"Oh, I know," Mark replied smoothly, "I'm pretty into it, actually––"
Jesus Christ.
She felt him wince under her as she tightened the a little too...
His breathing hitched, body shifting as he found it just a little too hard to breathe.
Bastard.
Beth gave him a very friendly slap on the shoulder, grinning widely with venom in her eyes as she stepped backwards.
Mark's hands, immediately, flew to his throat, blinking at her as if he was shocked that his behaviour actually had consequences. He nodded quickly.
"Yeah, okay," He chipped out, a little breathless, "Message received."
Good, was all Beth could think. Good.
She spent the rest of Mark's tailors appointment thinking about her end game, thinking of what exactly she was getting out of by going along with this.
Her career was everything, she'd known that for most of her life. Her surgical career was everything. She'd do everything and anything, but not anyone.
Beth knew she wanted to get through this on her own merit, and by her own merit, she would exceed people's expectations. She wasn't stupid, she knew that Mark's reputation wasn't the best thing to work under, but Beth knew she could supercede it.
Mark would get his funding, she'd get her contacts and they'd go through a mutually agreed breakup in a few weeks time. This would benefit her. She would benefit from this. It would all blow over and be a distant memory that would come up, with a chuckle over wine and a cheeseboard.
Don't you remember the time Beth and Mark fake dated?
How stupid was that?
And they looked good together–– Imagine!
What a joke that was!
"This is all wrong," Addison said once again, half an hour later, her hands clutched to her mouth in almost horror. The younger Montgomery took faint delight from seeing Mark scoff in offence, his ego bruised. "No, it is... it's all wrong––"
In the background, Beth leant over towards the shop attendant, holding out her glass, "Can I get a refill? Thanks so much. Thank you."
"Addison, I don't know what you're really expecting from me," was Mark's indignant response. He waved a hand at the mirror. "Look at me, I look like a God––"
"No," She breathed back, "No... There's something wrong and I can't... I don't know what it is––"
"There's nothing wrong. Really, look at me, Addie–– I'm an Adonis––"
"It doesn't work... none of these work––"
"Any man would kill to look like this––"
"Mark, it's just not––"
"Montgomery?"
Beth's head raised, eyebrows raising as she realised that Mark had turned to look at her pointedly. He was noticeably annoyed and it hadn't occurred to her, until that second, that it was the first time she'd seen deeply bothered by something.
He was slightly breathless, slightly too unruffled–– she blinked.
God, and he still didn't even remember her name.
"Tell her," He said, and she wasn't sure whether it was a beg or not. Beth's head tilted to the side, "Tell your sister how good I look. Tell the truth."
Slowly, Beth took that opportunity to look him from head to toe.
It was a classic suit, nothing too promiscuous or bold, and, as Mark tended to always be, he looked good. She met the sigh that fell through his lips and the insistent shake of his head. He was so sure he looked good, He was so sure he could have not a single fault––
"The suit looks amazing," Beth responded so smoothly, making Mark smirk. He looked over at Addison as if to say 'SEE?', but Beth wasn't finished. She shrugged. "I don't think the suit's the problem... If you ask me... I think it's just the person wearing it."
His smirk dropped off of his face like a stone.
Yeah, my name's not Montgomery, you ass.
She almost felt Mark's scoff in her bones.
"You're right," Addison said, dramatically as if the whole appointment had been given a terminal diagnosis. "I wouldn't have this problem with Derek––"
Beth looked over at Mark, make a apologetic face as if she really did care about pride.
"Yeah, sorry... She wouldn't have this problem with Derek––"
"Nice," Mark said dryly, "Real nice... Real mature––"
"I think you've just got this look about you," Beth drawled with a smile, "Just like this... this strained look on your face––"
"It's called a smoulder––"
"It looks like constipation––"
"Says a lot about your boyfriend if you don't know what raw sex appeal looks like––"
"You're the one that asked Montgomery to tell the truth."
"Yeah, the truth not a damn character assasination."
Beth just winked back at him.
If she was going to be here, she might as well have fun with it.
Joking was so much easier than resigning to the fact that she was stuck with this man and his arrogance for another three days (Or four, she guessed. How long did it fucking take to get to Albany?) She felt like Addison rambling on and on about gossip–– the more she focused on this, the less she could focus on that.
Then Addison got an idea.
It seemed to strike her like lightning.
They watched it hit, buzzing its way through her body as if a electric storm had taken the room. Immediately, Beth felt her chest tighten, knowing that, whatever it was, it probably wasn't good. For her, anyway.
"Oh my god," She almost gasped, pointing a finger directly over at her sister "Why didn't I think of that before––"
Something in Beth's chest (probably her heart) sank.
"What?" Mark asked, visibly bewildered.
"Oh, fuck," Beth mumbled to herself and nearly drained a whole glass of champagne as it was returned to her.
For the record, Beth wasn't a fan of Addison's ideas. She wasn't a big enthusiast about lightning-strike-moments, never one to get excited at the prospect of Addison having a eureka. She didn't want to know what the light bulb was that now hung over her sister's head. She didn't want to know what misery it would cost her––
It always cost Beth. Never anyone else. Always Beth.
She'd begun to get the memo that Addison's love language was making her life painfully difficult.
This, of course, was no different:
"Calum," Addison said, her eyes wide.
Beth's eyes widened too, but out of alarm at the mention of her boyfriend. She wasn't sure where Addison was going with this, but she knew for sure that it wasn't anything good.
"Addie––"
Beth's low warning was washed away by the clap of Addison's hands.
"Calum," She repeated, "Your boyfriend, he has that suit––"
Fuck.
"Addison––"
Fuck.
"––the one from Dior... really nice, really clean––"
Fuck.
She knew the one she meant.
It was really nice, really clean, and spoke for itself. It was the sort of suit a respectable man wore, one that Calum had bought with one of his first big paychecks–– it was the suit of a lawyer that meant business. It had sentimental value for a Black kid who had spent most of his life being told he'd never make it into a big firm with the big cases. That suit meant a lot to Calum and she couldn't imagine it on anyone else, let alone Mark––
Beth wasn't sure whether Mark Sloan quite fit that aesthetic.
"That's from a couple of seasons ago," Beth began, her forehead creasing warily. "I don't think they even make it anymore––"
"Ask him if Mark can borrow it."
Beth blinked at her sister.
She blinked once and then twice, but, no matter how many times the image of Addison disappeared, when it returned she was still looking at her like that–– with big, round hopeful eyes and her face fixed into a convincing smile.
Mark, meanwhile, just stared between the two of them, clearly lost at what was happening.
An incredulous laugh fell past Beth's lips and she looked at her sister as if she was joking.
"You want me to ask my boyfriend if my fake boyfriend can borrow his favourite suit?"
Beth just needed that out there in the universe, just needed someone to hear how stupid that sounded–– asking Calum? Her Calum? If Mark Sloan could wear his suit alongside his girlfriend? What did Addison need next? His kidney?
It was needless to say that Beth wasn't quite sure that Calum would be fine with Mark ripping his whole life for financial gain.
(Addison, however, wasn't joking at all.)
"Why not?" Addison, however, didn't seem to follow the same train of thought. "They're probably the same measurements. They're both muscular, both fairly tall––"
"I thought we just established that the suit isn't the problem," Beth interjected, a slightly miffed smile on her face. She laughed as if it was a joke (Please, please be a joke. Not a funny one, but her sister's dry attempt at humour all the same.) "It's Mark, remember. Dior isn't going to fix that––"
"Fine, then ask Calum to give him some coaching too," was Addison's nonchalant response. She even shrugged, "Make this a team effort. Calum's perfect for the social season and he'll probably have a lot of good advice. Just because you've refused to bring him to any of my brunches doesn't mean he's not a valuable asset––"
In the back, Mark snorted and provided his five cents: "I do not need some stuffy lawyer giving me advice––"
"He's not an asset, Addie," Beth shook her head, ignoring him completely. "He's not involved with any of this––"
"Ask him, Elizabeth."
Sometimes, Beth didn't understand how this worked; she knew that people were supposed to listen to each other, hear each other out, but talking to her sister was like screaming at a brick wall.
She knew that no matter how many things she said or how deeply she believed in them, her sister wouldn't hear it. Addison made her mind and when it was, it was set in stone.
Ask him, Elizabeth, wasn't a question. It wasn't a request, it was an order.
Addison was a general and Beth had been conscripted into her service since birth. Addison was a tyrant and Beth was teetering around underneath her, all too fond of her head being attached to her neck to go against direct order––
It wasn't until years later that Beth would realise it wasn't a normal sisterly relationship at all.
(Of course, it'd taken the end of all things for her to really figure that one out.)
For now, she ran it all through her mind as she sat on the chair, alone in the room as the appointment finished up. She ran a hand through her hair, sighing deeply as she tried to figure out how to break the news to Calum.
By the time she was alone on the curb outside, looking left and then right down a busy Manhattan avenue, she'd figured a very rough draft:
Hey babe, you know that suit? The one that you bought so your Mom could be proud of her only son at your first court trial? Yeah! That one. Well Addison wants it and I have to give it to her because if I don't, I'll be a disgrace to my family and I think the world might explode––
"You're not thinking about walking out into oncoming traffic, are you?"
Beth couldn't stop the sight that fell through her lips as she heard the voice that she couldn't seem to escape. She'd just said goodbye to her sister as she was swept away in a town car, but she wasn't abandoned completely: the source of a majority of her misery came and stood on the curb beside her.
"What do you think I should go for?" Beth drawled, eyes not leaving the slowly passing traffic. "A bus?"
Mark pulled a face, feigning deep thought, "That or a eight-wheeler semi-truck."
Absently, Beth nodded, "I'll see what I can do––"
"Great, keep me updated."
Then there was a pause.
Beth took in a deep breath of the Garment District air, wondering idly if, one day, the pollution would kill her. She figured there was something poetic about that–– a city killing her slowly as she attempted her best shot at living. Maybe this city would kill her, or maybe it was just her sister; either way, Beth had the feeling at least one of those would wipe her out.
"Have you asked your boyfriend about the suit yet?"
Mark's question made her sigh. She closed her eyes, tempted to massage her forehead.
"It's been twenty minutes," was all that Beth could manage, "I'm not exactly in a rush––"
"What's so special about this guy anyway?"
That made her look over at him.
It was such a question to ask: What made someone special?
He said it with a partial scoff too, the sort that made Beth wonder whether he even knew how pretty fucking rude it was to ask. She wondered if he knew how much she liked Calum, how she was pretty sure she was in love with the poor guy and how she was also pretty sure that if she asked him to loan his kidney for her, he probably would.
But, Beth didn't feel quite inclined to share that to a man like Mark––
So, instead, she just shrugged.
"He's a good man," Beth said, "He's sensible... he's smart... he's got a good professional reputation despite everything that stands against him... he's kind and he's caring... and he doesn't have to be convinced to respect me. He just does it."
And then she met Mark's eye.
"Oh," She added, as if it was an afterthought, "And he actually knows my name."
A very brief smirk flickered across his face.
"He sounds boring."
"He sounds like the sort of guy that wouldn't have to fake it for people to like him."
Something flickered in Mark's eyes, but his smirk didn't falter.
Beth crossed her arms over her chest, looking away.
"I'll ask him about the suit," She said, and the statement was low and reluctant. She made no effort to hide her annoyance. The Montgomery heaved another breath, "Sure, why not just... I'm sure it'll be fine––"
"Don't worry about the whole advice thing," Mark insisted almost flippantly, "I'll be better off without it––"
"You do realise you actually need money, right?"
That was the truth of the situation. As well as they'd done on one evening, Mark still didn't have any donors.
Beth was pretty sure people were only caught off-guard, not convinced. It would take a lot more than just her to sway them. They'd done a good job, but not a great job. They hadn't gotten money and they definitely hadn't made their lives any easier.
Mark, for a lack of a better term, still needed all the fucking miracles he could get.
He seemed to internalise that for a moment, standing on the sidewalk with one hand buried in his pocket. For that same moment, Beth wished she could hear what was happening in his big, fat dumb head. She wished that she could crack it open and fish around inside, find the delirium that settled alongside his ego and beat the shit out of it with her bare hands.
But, she wasn't exactly going to do that.
At least, not in broad daylight.
Instead, she just watched him.
She watched him chew on the inside of his cheek and then, as sure always, crack a long, cool smile.
"Ease up, Montgomery––"
"Who?"
Beth deadpanned it, jaw taught as she tilted her head to the side.
She didn't back down from his gaze, nor did she even shy away from the fact she was being a bitch about it. She didn't look away once, not even as his grin turned slightly crooked.
It was that smirk again, amusement as it danced through his eyes and the breathy chuckle that seemed to wrap itself around his tongue. He was the one who turned away, shaking his head lightly as he laughed. And then, he corrected himself:
"Ease up, Beth––"
She hummed lightly, as if to ask how hard that was.
"––you keep going on about this and my funding, I'm going to think you actually like me."
To that, Beth almost laughed.
"Sure," She mused, a sharp distaste on her tongue and smile wide, "Whatever helps you sleep at night––"
"Well, I'm don't doubt you'd be very good at helping me sleep at––"
"Okay, I'm leaving now."
"C'mon, let me give you a ride home––"
"Goodbye, Sloan."
It was her turn to shake her head, turning to walk down the street towards the nearest subway station.
She didn't look back towards him, too caught up in the unsteadiness in her bones. She made it halfway before he called out after her, pausing her in her tracks.
"I meant it, y'know," Mark called across the busy traffic, "If you want an out with all of this, you've got one."
With her back turned on him, Beth's face contorted.
"If you don't want to do this, don't," He continued, and she was caught off-guard, once again, by his tone. Despite the noise of the street, she could hear it. It didn't sound like him at all. "I'm not in the business of making anyone do something they'll regret. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."
He didn't want her to be uncomfortable?
He had a funny way of showing it.
It was then, in that moment, that Beth got the feeling he was truly harmless. He was the sort of dumb charismatic man that didn't understand the cost or the effect of his actions. Flirting was like breathing, fucking was like eating and everything in between was just collateral.
Beth heaved a deep breath.
For fucks sake.
As much as he wasn't in the business of making people uncomfortable, she wasn't in the business of autonomy. She was just trying to make the most out of this and leave this, at the end, with her dignity intact and her boyfriend madly in love with her.
In the tradition of a true socialite, she turned and gave him a wide, stellar smile. Despite everything that told Beth this would get out of hand, she was not either of these things: the type to disappoint or the type to quit.
She would see through to the end, no matter how fucked up this got in the process.
"I'll see you at the Mendlez Gallery Opening," Beth called to him, "8pm sharp."
The grin that he gave her in return almost shone in the sunlight.
"8pm sharp," He confirmed, and then he almost faltered. With his car keys in his hand and a glimmering shine in his eye, Mark got the last word between them: "You know... she wasn't wrong..."
"What?"
Beth's brow contorted slightly as she practically yelled it down the street towards him, straining to hear him between the cars and the passing people. Mark just laughed to himself and raised his voice, the sound ringing between blurred, nameless faces and the westerly Manhattan breeze.
His wicked grin would be imprinted on the inside of her eyelids.
"We really are one hell of a couple together."
──────
AUTHOR'S NOTE ! . . .
brain bad but bark good. bark so good.
sorry to calum but,, can they kiss.
next chapter: in seattle, beth deals with the fallout from both mark and george; lexie spirals over her relationship,, derek rings some wedding bells and beth finds out who lexie's mystery man is.
(oops)
WORD COUNT ! . . . 6050
REWRITTEN ON 30TH OF MAY 2022