"You are going to be late and if you are late, you will miss the target and I will assign you overtime."

"Hush now, a work of art can't be rushed."

"If by art you mean an unforgivable £33 allowance you forged my signature for Fabrications, and two tailors working non-stop for a month." William gritted his teeth, still furious at them both; furious at Grell for forging his signature and spreading the belief he would ever approve such an exorbitant amount for Fabrications, and furious with himself for not discovering sooner.

"I am your best undercover Agent, William, and a talented spy requires an expansive wardrobe." The clatter of beads and the swish of fabric. "Shut it. I'll have him dead on time with none the wiser."

"In order to do that, you need to be at the venue." He looked at his pocketwatch. "The gala began a half hour ago."

"So," Grell poked her head from behind the Oriental painted folding screens, "what do you think? Ready to mingle with the bright young things?"

Had anyone ever shone so brightly? William found himself unable to answer her question as she demonstrated a turn and swayed to allow the intricately beaded dress to swirl and tumble. The nylon on her legs gave her skin a bronzed sheen and no matter how she posed, the light caught the hundreds of glass beads painstakingly sewn and strung onto emerald silk.

"I wish it had been made in red but I can't be discovered. High-calibre actresses are adaptable." Grell braced her hand on her vanity and leaned in to inspect her makeup. She fiddled with her short curlicues, ensuring not a hair was out of place. "Now, a kiss for good luck?"

She caught his gaze in the mirror, winking with her blackened lashes, and following it by blowing a kiss with her lacquered oxblood lips.

"Your face has been made up." William turned, walking to the door and opening it. "Any contact will smudge it and we haven't time for you to redo it."

"Oh~?" She slipped her arms around his waist and he felt her press up against his back. When had she moved so closely? "If I wasn't wearing makeup, would you kiss me then?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Let us leave; we are already late and I will not tolerate an-"

"I won't leave unless you kiss me." She purred, giggling as her fingers danced up along his chest and rested on his breast. "Don't break my heart, William. I couldn't possibly carry on."

Growling in irritation, he spun around and pinned her against the wall. She gave a small cry and squirmed.

"You'll ruin my dress." Painted lips pouted. "After you spent so much on it, it'd be such a waste."

William watched her, dismantling her carefully chosen expression by leaning close enough his nose almost brushed her brow. Tilting his head, he breathed in the perfume dotted on her pulsepoint just behind her ear. Roses and jasmine and something clinical and sharp and powdery soft at the same time. He touched his lips to her warm skin and felt the flutter of her heartbeat against his mouth and the sudden violent shiver of her body against his.

"Good luck."


(A/N: In 1921 £33 was the equivalent of £968 in modern British currency or $1,500 in modern US currency)

(Grell's perfume is Chanel n.05, which was released in May 1921 to a select few clientele)