There was a certain way to walk through the streets of Manhattan at night-rather, there was a certain way to walk through any street at night. Don't draw attention to yourself. Keep to yourself, make no eye contact with anyone, and if the streets are packed, walk with your head down. If you don't call attention towards yourself, then there's a stronger chance that no one will notice you.
Clove Ashton had walking through the streets at night down to an art.
Most of her life was routine. If she had a dollar for every time that she had walked down this exact sidewalk, she'd be a billionaire. Not like it mattered though, her father's stupid photography business raked in money like it was leaves on the front lawn of a suburban home in November. And ever since she could remember, she'd had her father's camera lens trained on her. Lately, it was pissing her off.
Christopher Ashton trusted his daughter enough to let her walk from the studio to the coffee shop every night at nine, where Russell, the family's trusted driver would come and pick her up at exactly ten oh-one. He was never a minute off. In that sixty one minutes spent at the coffee shop, Clove would sit at her usual chair and bury her nose in a book. Whether anyone chose to believe it or not, the daughter of one of the most in-demand photographers wasn't a fame hungry airhead. In fact, she was the exact opposite. She craved for normal. Tonight, however, her usually lenient and willing father had told her that Russell would be present at the exact time that she'd arrive at the coffee shop. She was to go home.
As she made her way down the sidewalk, pulling her jacket across her chest tighter, she couldn't help but to fume. Why on tonight of all nights, did her father want her to go directly home? What was different about tonight compared to any other night? Keeping her eyes trained on a building in the distance, she didn't dare to stop walking.
The city never slept.
It was fucking cold, and even that seemed like an understatement. Standing under an awning of some unknown building, a well-hidden Cato Wolff watched as people passed by him. He liked to lie under the radar these days. Ever since leaving his family in the Hamptons, he'd been spending hour upon hour taking in the city. It was messed up, just as fucked up as he was. And he loved it.
Rummaging in his pocket, his slightly numb fingers pulled out a lone cigarette and a Zippo lighter. Placing the cigarette between his lips, he fumbled with the lighter for a moment as he tried to light the thing. Finally he managed to get the cigarette glowing, and as he closed the lighter's cap and stuffed it back in his pocket, he took in the taste of nicotine. He leant back up against the wall again, drawing in a long breath of the smoke before removing the cigarette from his mouth. Breathing back out, the smoke billowed out in a cloud.
As the smoke floated up into the atmosphere, his eyes focused themselves on someone who, to his surprise, hadn't moved at all like the rest of the Manhattan population. Raven hair in a high ponytail, some sort of jacket wrapped fairly tight around her, legs that looked a hell of a lot like toothpicks and black boots. Typical prissy girl probably, they all looked like that. The sort of girl Cato would take home for a one night stand. Maybe he'd manage to get this one as another notch on his bedpost. "Where you been, princess?"
Clove whipped around, glaring at the half-concealed figure under the awning of the old abandoned theater. Her hand immediately flew to her side, ready to whip out her phone in the case that she was about to be violated. She was taught to never talk to strangers. Never. If this person thought that they were about to get the better of Clove, they were wrong. Clove Ashton didn't take anyone's bullshit, and she wasn't going to go down without a fight. "What's it to you?" she snarled.
Cato took the cigarette out of his mouth again, letting out another puff of smoke. "What, never heard of friendliness?"
"I've heard of it, but that doesn't mean I believe in practicing it."
Warily making her way over to the awning of the theater, she rested up against one of the outer poles. The male who'd addressed her was leaning up against the wall, a smirk painted across his face. She could see the glow of what she believed to be a cigarette, only for that thought to be confirmed thanks to the smoke she was practically choking on. It wasn't rare to be breathing in smoke in Manhattan, but this boy was practically smoking in her face. Cato chuckled, holding the cigarette out to the girl. "Care to loosen your corset then?"
Clove scowled, pushing what seemed to be a rather strong wrist away from her. "I don't smoke," she growled.
Cato raised an eyebrow, throwing the cigarette to the ground and stamping it out. "Someone's a bit of a good girl, hmm?" he noted casually, leaning back up against the wall, shoving his hands in his pockets.
This boy was clearly trying to push her buttons. Everything in her was telling her that she needed to turn away and ignore whoever the hell this was, but she was finding it hard to. No one messed with Clove Ashton. Folding her arms across her chest, she squared her shoulders. "Why should it matter to you?" Clove replied stiffly.
Cato shrugged. "It doesn't." He chuckled a bit, staring at her stern expression towards him. "What, do you not trust me?" he asked, clearly amused with her.
"Should I?"
"No."
"Then no," Clove said.
She didn't really know why she was standing here talking to this complete stranger. Russell was supposed to be at the coffee shop at exactly nine fifteen. The man who always showed up at ten-oh-one on the dot was, for once in his entire life, late. So not only was she pissed at her father for making her go home, not only was she pissed at the coffee shop for being closed when she realized that she had the chance to go inside, she was pissed at Russell for being a no show. And now, to add onto the list, she was pissed at the stranger underneath the old theater awning. "What do you want with me?" she asked.
"What do you think I want with you?"
"We'd be here for awhile if I began to list off all the things that I think you want with me," she said. Cato nodded slowly. Clove held her head a little bit higher, stiffening up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got places to go."
"No you don't," Cato stated simply, reaching out to grab a tiny wrist and pulling her back. Clove glowered at him, yanking her wrist out of his grip as he continued talking. "You were waiting for someone and they never showed up; come on now. No one stands around and does nothing here in Manhattan." This almost knocked the wind out of Clove.
How could he have known this? Maybe he was stalking her. Maybe he was out to kidnap her. The little voice of reason began to pipe up in the back of her head. Or, he could just know the streets of Manhattan really well. He's not wrong; no one stands around and waits.
Nope. He was out to kidnap her.
Cato held his hands up in innocence as her eyes narrowed at him. "I'm not here to grab your purse though." Clove, however, wasn't buying any of that. A smirk danced upon his face, looking her up and down. "You're not much of a sweet disposition are you?"
"If this is your way of calling me a cruel, heartless bitch, then thank you."
"Who replaced your Lucky Charms marshmallows with nails?"
"Who stuck a tree up your ass?"
"No one, because this is Manhattan, and the only trees here are fake," Cato retorted, fairly confident that he'd won this round. Crossing his arms, he raised an eyebrow at the petite girl in front of him. The more he looked at her, the more familiar she became. The cheekbones. Those literally haunting eyes of hers had stared at him before, he knew it, but he couldn't think of where he'd seen them before. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
Clove froze. This was the last person that she wanted to realize whose daughter she was. Shaking her head slowly, she managed to stammer out a few words. "Nope, you don't."
Cato nodded slowly, not convinced at this girl's answer. Clove however, cleared her throat, her eyes darting around. "Well, I um, I'd better just go ahead and walk home, since it's clear my driver's not showing up." With that, she turned on her heel and began to walk away.
"Will I ever see you again?" Cato called out to her.
"You'll have to find me first!" she yelled over her shoulder, not daring to turn around and look at the stranger who had done nothing but rile her up for the past few minutes. Minutes of her life wasted, that she'd never get back.
Cato watched as the girl walked off, her boots meeting the sidewalk with a clicking sort of noise. In his pocket, his phone vibrated, meaning only one thing. Marvel had either gotten lost or had to resort to annoying Cato in his state of boredom. Putting the phone to his ear, he sighed. "Marvel, what do you want?"
"Well someone's a bit irate tonight. What, could you not pick a girl up off the street and get her to come over?" Marvel said, chuckling.
"Oh I saw a girl."
"Was she interested?"
"Not really."
"Well were you interested?"
"Nah, she's not my type," Cato said, lying through his teeth.
He liked his women feisty, and this girl was nothing but.
This is a sad first attempt at an AU. But hopefully, some of you found it interesting. I'd just like to thank my sources of inspiration-The Fray, my grandma's rolls, and Isabelle Fuhrman. You should review.
If you don't, Isabelle will know.