The Inevitable Fanfiction

Chapter 5
Paula is physically and mentally drained when she gets home, after auditions are over with. She slumbers for long hours, catching up on her sleep that the uncomfortable hotel beds deprived her of. She is more than relieved to spend time with her puppies and friends, at home, and away from screeching contestants. And Simon, of course.
How did her thoughts manage to keep drifting back to Simon again and again? She doesn’t understand it. He should be of no importance to her, someone she works with and someone she dislikes. Well, that’s not fair – she doesn’t even know him, she has realised lately. The little that she does know however does not make him seem like the greatest person to be around. Sighing, she tells herself to think of something else. She looks around her office, hoping to find some distraction. Her large shelves, lined with books catches her eye after a long time.
Paula grabs a few books from her wide selection, ponders over them for a few minutes, before deciding on Jane Eyre. It is a good book, one she has read many times, and one she hopes will take her mind off of life for a little bit.

***
When Hollywood Round begins, everyone is reminded of life once more, the newest aspect to their life – listening to young Americans sing their heart out and often, the judges’ ears out. Simon pulls up in the car park of the studio just seconds after Paula, who is getting out of her Mercedes. He isn’t sure if it was the few weeks that he hasn’t seen her, or simply because she looks good, but to him she is positively glowing. She gives him a small smile which he returns before pecking her cheek.
“Hello, sweetheart. Had a good break?” He asks, kindly.
“Yeah, thanks. You?”
“No. I missed listening to those kids singing.” His face shows no sign of humour, and Paula almost wonders if he is serious. He isn’t exactly normal anyway, so what’s one more quirk? She stares at him for a moment, dumbstruck and he begins to laugh. “Oh God, you’re gullible, Paw-la!” he roars.
“Shut up,” She says, embarrassed. She’s not proud of the fact she is naive.
He laughs some more as he places a hand on her back, guiding her to the building.
The day starts off acceptably, with everyone reasonably relaxed after their break. No one is at someone else’s throats, and the contestants aren’t nearly as bad as when they were in the auditions. By lunch, Simon has managed to keep his good mood and Paula likes him better when he is nice. They all leave the building in groups, looking for food at nearby restaurants and pointedly avoiding the slightly stale food provided at the buffet backstage. When Simon comes back, alone, with a sandwich and muffin he has the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, laughing between mouthfuls of food.
“You know it, baby,” he chuckles, swallowing. There is a slight pause before he continues. “Oh okay – Yeah, I just want to remind you not to call me again when I’m at Idol. I’ll disown you – What do you mean I can’t disown you because we aren’t related? Rubbish... Yes, yes, I love you too. Bye sweetheart.”
He flips the phone off with a smile gracing his lips, his eyes dancing around the room. At the round table where they all eat at backstage, he spots Paula sipping her Starbucks, watching him. She immediately flickers her gaze to something behind him, trying to be subtle.
When they start up again, Paula is subdued and almost bitter, thinks Simon. She speaks with a strained jaw, as if she wishes to be anywhere else but here, barely looking at her co-workers. To Simon, she is being annoying and a total diva – having mood swings for no apparent reason. As for Paula, she is upset with Simon for reasons she isn’t sure of. Did he lie about being single? He certainly doesn’t speak like a single man when he is on the phone. And if he did lie, what reasons would he have? What reason did she have to care? Everyone fibs sometimes, she rationalises, though her mind still cannot accept what need there would be.
Her frustration leads to a sharp temper and she ends up arguing with Simon over miniscule, insignificant things throughout the evening. Randy has told her to lighten up several times while Simon is simply irritated with what he considers to be arrogant behaviour. By the end of the day, he is tired and grumpy.
They walk out to the car park together, and when he attempts to rest a hand on her shoulder, Paula tenses and shies away from his touch. Sighing, he raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, I give up. What did I do this time?”
Paula just shakes her head. “Paula... At least tell me what I did,” He rubs between his eyebrows, just above his nose, where it throbs painfully.
“Just– why did you lie?” She asks quietly, nearly hoping he hadn’t heard her. Unfortunately, he did.
“Lie? What are you talking about?”
“About your... About Jackie? Why didn’t you just say you were together?” If there is one thing she hates, it is being lied to.
They now stand in front of their cars, facing each other. Simon’s brows knit together for a moment before he nods once, as if he understands.
“Darling,” He starts, setting his hands to lie on her forearms. “Jackie and I were together, but that was years ago. She is married now and I am most definitely single. We’re the best of friends.” He isn’t sure why he feels the need to tell her all this, or her need to be upset even if he had fibbed, but the story spills out of his lips as if he were explaining to an insecure girlfriend. This thought makes him smirk.
“Were you jealous, Paw-la?” He drawls her name, raising an eyebrow mischievously.
“What?” She exclaims, her pitch so high, Simon half expects the windows to shatter. “Don’t be ridiculous, Simon.”
“Oh come on. You can admit it. Do you like me, darling?”
“Nooo Simon, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t like you. And I don’t like being lied too,” she explains, flustered.
“You of all people should know how honest I am,” he grins.
She hates the smirk on his face, the pompous way he looks down at her. Doesn’t he realise he isn’t her type at all? That she isn’t attracted to snarky, high-waist-pants wearing British men? She rolls her eyes.
“Bye, Simon,” Paula mutters, fiddling with her car key.
“Bye, sweetheart,” he practically sings, stepping closer to her. She looks up to meet him dead in the eye as he touches her chin softly. His eyes glitter as he tilts her face towards him and leans down slowly. He is testing her, to see if she will resist, or perhaps himself, and how irresistible he may or may not be. She seems frightened almost, but doesn’t move an inch, so he allows himself the pleasure of tasting her lips. It is a quick kiss, more than friendly but less than intimate. At least, it wouldn’t have been intimate if he removed his fingers from her face. Paula’s eyes widen as they run over her jaw, her cheek, caressing her. When he emits a low chuckle, her breath catches and she hopes to God he cannot hear the pounding of her heart against her ribs.
“Delicious,” he mouths.
She takes a step back, letting his hand fall back to his side before escaping to her Mercedes. When she pulls out of the building, Simon is nowhere to be seen, which she is thankful for. At a traffic light, she takes deep breaths to collect herself and attempts to pale the flush out of her face. ‘Oh God.’ Doesn’t he realise he isn’t her type at all? That she isn’t attracted to snarky, high-waist-pants wearing British men?
***
Simon enters the hall cheerful as ever, in the same manner as he has the past two days. His and Paula’s sport had risen to new levels and he is enjoying every second of it. She has been awkward and downright mad at him for every little thing that happens. She will fight for a contestant to the nail if he disagrees with her opinion, and finds ways to insult him that don’t make any sense. At first it was amusing, silly even to watch her torture herself, but by Day 3, even he is sick of the whole fighting thing. She is embarrassed and doesn’t want to show it. But he can’t help himself – he wants her to rise to the occasion, and in the end, it backfires on them both.
“Paula just shut up, would you?” He asks, as desperate as he is angry.
“Me? You want me to shut up?” Her hands throw themselves in the air, explosive.
“No, the bloody elephant behind you who just happens to share your name. Yes, you Paula, shut up and don’t be a diva for once.”
“I am not the diva here Simon,” she spits.
“Oh please.” He rolls his eyes obnoxiously.
She stands up. “I think we’re done,” says Paula softly.
Simon Fuller looks furious, while Nigel and Ken nod understandingly. It is true that all their work has been done, and the contestants have been rounded down, but Fuller grumbles anyway, unappreciative of them cutting corners at the schedule. Paula gathers her purse and walks out without even a word to Randy. She is fired up and ready to break something. Simon leaves to his own dressing room and hopes she will have left by the time he returns to the hall. He waits for a few minutes, and when the corridor outside seems to be relatively quiet, he peers out.
She is there, just closing the door to her dressing room down the passage. Her fingers riffle in her purse, rummaging for something. At last she pulls out her phone, and presses a few buttons, probably reading her text messages, Simon figures. He watches her from afar, engrossed. It is nice to look at her without her knowledge. He can at least attempt to see what is under the mask that is Paula Abdul now. If he were to know her better, he would realise that in spite of how calm she looked, the slight hunch in her shoulders and twitch in her lip are sure signs she is either angry or in pain. Perhaps a combination. However, he doesn’t even take notice until her fingers reach to press the tender nerves of her neck. She rubs the shoulder blade and the nape of her neck, tilting her head the other way in a considerate amount of hurt.
Paula, still oblivious to Simon’s curious eye, realises that she has forgotten her jacket. “Shit.” She curses, and begins walking back to the hall. Simon begins to follow her, trying to catch up.
“Paula –” Simon calls, startling her. She hadn’t noticed him there. “Are you alright?” he asks, as if he was actually concerned. Paula sneers privately and continues walking to her destination.
“Fine.” Her answer is short and brusque. Instantaneously her hand leaves her neck to fall back to her side, fingers coiled. “Not that you’d care.”
They enter the hall, where most of the staff and some of the contestants are still hanging around, clearing up and preparing to leave soon. Everyone turns to them, as their conversation gets louder and louder. The pair don’t even realise their audience, the tension so thick between them, it could be sliced with a knife.
“God –” He rolls his eyes. “It was just a kiss.” Paula’s mouth structures itself into a thin line. “That is why you’re peeved isn’t it? Because I kissed you?” Even the slightest noise that the crowd had been producing comes to a halt now.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, attempting to turn away.
“Oh come off it, why don’t you?” He cries, accent thick in vexation. He grabs her arm so she can’t walk off on him yet again. It doesn’t hurt, but she yanks away from his hold. “Why don’t you just admit you want me?” He tries. His objective is to get her to respond, to fight back. Is this his form of defence? His puny attempt of disguising his fixation of her? Of course not,he pushes the thought aside.
Gasps are released from all over the room, forcing them to notice their wide range of observers.
“Want you?” She hisses, softly this time. Paula raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. And his goal is achieved.
“You heard me,” He replies defiantly, boisterous as ever. He doesn’t give two wits what people think of him. She hates it. She hates how he doesn’t care. She hates how majestic he looks, how royal; looking down at her seriously, with his arms crossed in front of him. Royal, Paula scoffs. Royal pain in the ass, maybe.
“Where do you get off, Simon? Seriously,” she protests, but feels weaker as he begins to close the gap of two feet that separate them. She swallows. “You’re the most egotistical, self-centred, arrogant asshole!”
“And this is exactly why we should sleep together,” He boasts.
“It’s just too damn bad because I could never want a conceited asshole like you.”
“Good, then I don’t have to worry about your royal highness panting after me.”What a contradiction. Paula’s mouth opens, agape as she throws her hands in the air, utterly frustrated with the man. Not even his inappropriate closeness, now of barely a few inches, can minimize her rage.
“I give up!” She states. She turns around, pointedly ignoring their spectators, grabs her jacket off the table and heads for the exit. Simon stands smugly behind her, watching her hips sway enticingly back and forth.
And so the games begin.