Shame, Felicity thinks, before the robbery happened this week had been promisingly calm.

Sure, she was still mildly out of sorts from her little encounter at Queen Consolidated(as horrifying as that whole situation was, she can't help sniggering at her own awful joke), but things had quietened down dramatically after that. The vigilante task force had nothing to go on thanks to 'the Arrow' wiping the security footage from that night, and they hadn't seen anything to indicate the Count told anyone about Oliver's identity. Not to mention that the drug lord's very gruesome and public death seemed to have acted as a deterrent to other aspiring convicts, and crime rates had dipped sharply. They were okay, and the bad guys were scared: in her expert opinion life was ticking along pretty well.

Trying to convince Oliver of that was a whole different ball game. Even now, while she's at her desk fielding his calls and pencilling in appointments with scores of strangely similar white-haired men in suits, she can see him sitting at his, sulking and generally being very serious. His broody and taciturn levels had been around average following the Count fiasco, but the break in at the office seemed to bring things to a tipping point. Between his family still reeling from his mother's trial, the stress of having his identity threatened, and now his business being robbed...

Well, let's just say she was drawing up new, more accommodating charts for broody and taciturn.

Wrapping her fingers around her new coffee mug – the blue one Oliver bought her that absolutely does not make her feel a little giddy whenever she sees it – she considers the wisdom in getting herself another cup. Not that there's ever a reason to not be drinking coffee, but maybe she could offer Oliver one. He hadn't done much all morning, unless you counted frowning his way through terse phone calls and staring balefully through the glass walls at anyone who dared venture in.

She glances at him, and he's looking at a mountain of papers on his desk like they just insulted his mother. Coffee it is, then.

She's midway through pushing back her chair and pushing down a frankly embarrassing case of anticipatory butterflies when the elevator pings and she hears footsteps on the tile.

Diggle – she gives him a grin, an enthusiastic wave, and a "Dig!" – and a stranger. A stranger who's gazing intently at his phone with a slight smile. A cute stranger.

Dig gives her a smile and a nod, before signalling Oliver through the glass with a wave and stepping back to wait. Playing his role as the dutiful bodyguard – just like she should be playing her role as the professional Executive Assistant, she realises with a jolt.

"Welcome to Mr. Queen's office! Can I help you?" It's sickeningly chirpy, but Diggle had counselled that she shouldn't greet business associates with what's up, so here she is.

"Oh," the stranger steps forward eagerly, fumbling in his pocket to pull out an ID wallet, "I'm, uh, Barry Allen. Central Police forensic consultant." He holds up the badge with a sheepish smile, before it slips out his fingers and he has to snatch it out of the air with a quiet curse. "Sorry, I'm usually better at that. The – the badge holding, I mean."

She could swear she hears Diggle say, "Shit, there's two of them".

Brushing that off, she adjusts her glasses and opens the calender software on her PC. "Ah, I have you here – one o'clock meeting with Mr Queen. If you take a seat I'll let him know that you're here and he should be right with you." She finishes up with a dazzlingly cheery secretary smile – she's getting quite good at this whole thing – which is not entirely contrived. This Barry guy is cute, after all, and while she might not have any shortage of eye candy in her life... well, she's had to be more subtle since Russia. Which is something she does not think about if she can help it.

"Great. Thanks very much!" Okay, Barry Allen is definitely winning some bonus points here. Looks, presumed brains, and manners to boot? Not bad at all.

"Oh, and – sorry, what was your name?" He's smiling sheepishly again, and while she's usually not a fan of alliterative expressions, she could get used to this one.

"Smoak." Wait, that was only half of her name.

"Felicity Smoak." She cringes. "I didn't mean to sound like James Bond. My name is just Felicity Smoak. I don't like martinis shaken. In fact, I don't even really like martinis. Don't tell my aunt June that, though."

Great, now he's staring at her.

"She's... a big martini drinker. Actually, she's kind of just a big drinker."

He's still staring, but he's now he's smiling, so things could be worse. She clears her throat and tries again while Diggle shakes his head sadly. "Mr Queen will be right with you."

She buzzes Oliver on the intercom and lets him know about the meeting, before she ducks her head behind her computer screen and tries to smother the shame.


Half an hour later, and Oliver is ushering Barry from the office with that fake business-grin she hates. "Well, thank you for your help on this case, Mr Allen, and please thank Central PD for their assistance in the matter. I look forward to working with you."

"Absolutely, Mr Queen, but believe me Central PD are happy to help. If we're right and these cases are linked, we could get the breakthrough we need."

"Well, if you need anything, please give me a call." Oliver's handshake and smile are friendly, but a friendly dismissal. Probably anxious to get back to brooding, she assumes.

Barry shakes the proffered hand before he heads for the door, looking her way as he goes.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Smoak. Say hello to your aunt June for me," he calls with a goofy beam, and her blush is back with a vengeance.

She waits until the elevator doors close to bury her face in her hands. Okay, so maybe attractive men throw off her secretary game just a little bit.

It takes her a moment to realise that Oliver's still hovering, looking at her with that tiniest of eyebrow quirks. "Is... everything alright?" she prods.

"Hm? Yeah. Diggle – we should get going. We'll be back in an hour or so." He's moving for the door with a smile, thankfully not his fake business-grin, so she lets it drop.

"See you, Felicity," Diggle intones, but he has a tiny eyebrow quirk too. Strange.

She doesn't make the connection between Barry Allen and slightly raised eyebrows for a little while longer – until around the time they swap numbers.