Someone told her.
Maybe it was Isabel. She may have changed up her typical routine of brushing off Felicity before bursting through his glass door uninvited. Instead maybe she stopped to throw a snide comment or scathing remark upon the inappropriate length of his partner's skirt. Isabel never helps a situation. Meanwhile said partner/executive assistant/ girl Wednesday (or was it Friday?) is eager to finish the day without any more interruptions so she can return to her impressively detailed background search of Isabel's entire life history.
It's a black, high waisted pencil skirt. He has Thea to thanks for his limited knowledge of fashion.
Maybe it was a co-worker. Felicity had gone up to Verdant's non-secret level a couple of nights ago. After she had guided him back from intercepting a major drug shipment to what she fondly called their "Arrow Cave", she headed upstairs for drinks with her old IT crowd. A friend may have taken her aside, asked her if the rumours were true or not, with the helpful intentions. To preserve a friend's modesty or for gossip, the latter was more likely. Whoever has told her has done nothing to help the situation.
Felicity is wearing a straight black pencil skirt and it is tight.
It reaches to just a palm above her knee and he knows because he's imagined his hand there. Teasing the smooth area of skin, that's stopped way too abruptly by the hem of the skirt. It's still paired with a red top but her distinctive taste in bright colour is just not distracting enough today. Her cheeks were probably that colour when she'd heard about the rumour.
She probably thinks it's more modest. He's thinking it's useless.
As she goes back to reach for a document forgotten on the other end of her desk, he tilts his head slightly. It gives his eyes a clearer appreciation of her curves. The long tight skirt shows off her asset, and then becomes and outline guide to her legs. Which are only extended torture capped by coloured heels she's slipped on to complete this useless attempt at quashing any rumours. He can also tell she's taking shorter steps, instead of her usually confident stride. To work with the tighter restriction the skirt places around her thighs.
He considers this and realises that the skirt isn't helping either of them.
It winds around her like a second skin. A wrapping, one that is impossibly tight, that he's surprised it doesn't come with a "tear here" indicator. An instruction he'd probably follow, if given the chance to do so. It's so tight in every right way. He thinks it might need to be cut or torn off and he imagines doing both, one with his teeth.
He finds himself deciding that if it's not helping either of them, then it would all just have to come off.
Someone told her the rumour that's been swirling through the offices. It didn't help. He just can't decide if it's for the better or the worst.
