Believe it or not, this story idea is a year and a half old, but I decided to flesh it out with the encouragement of akaJB. I hope you enjoy this AU and its Halloween theme :)
The night had gone from bad to worse for her. He began their evening on the entirely wrong foot, literally. Who shows up to a first date with Claire Dearing in sandals and board shorts? Granted, it had been some time since she'd been on a proper date. She'd slept with a handful of guys on the island, but they weren't her intellectual equals. They certainly didn't give her the "stomach flip" either. Owen gave her the stomach flip and then some. It was scary and exciting all at once. Claire couldn't remember the last time she'd had that feeling. It was no secret she was lonely. Zara had been the one to encourage her to find a true partner. Someone she could share her days with. Someone for comfort and understanding. Someone she could respect.
As soon as she met Owen, Claire knew he was different. Smart, funny, and sexy as hell. It didn't hurt that he worked outside her direct chain of command. Organized as ever, she did her research. A dip into his personnel file revealed that Owen was very devoted to his job - something she appreciated - but had been reprimanded by Hoskins for not filing reports on time - something she could overlook, knowing that Hoskins had a tendency to act harshly toward employees who threatened his dominance. From her conversations with staff, Owen was dominant in the most appealing way. Women wanted him, and men wanted to be him. There was also an air of mystery and danger about him. Her imagination went wild considering his varied life experiences. She dismissed his established "love 'em and leave 'em" behaviors as overblown and misunderstood. Like her, he lacked an intellectual equal.
When she had an opportunity to ask him out, there was no hesitation on either of their parts. It validated what she'd carefully worked out in her head: Owen was her perfect guy. Unfortunately, he may have only been that way on paper. The guy in front of her this night was a bitter disappointment. Her itinerary was a cleverly designed mix of tantalizing opportunities and challenges for him. It could've been her best date ever. Proven him worthy of her attentions. Too bad the mounting evidence suggested a very different and specific goal for him. Between his attire and his persistent attempts to ply her with alcohol - something she'd predetermined to avoid in order to keep her wits about her and assess him accurately - it was becoming painfully obvious that all he wanted from her was sex.
While they walked in an awkward silence to her car, Claire considered how easy it would be to invite him home. Her heart, for better or worse, wouldn't allow that. She didn't want to add him to the list of "one and done." Owen was supposed to be more.
Before she could reach for the sedan's door handle, he leaned down to kiss her. Lightning-quick reflexes and a well-honed ability to anticipate others' failings allowed her to deflect his last ditch salvage effort. His lips landed squarely on her cheek. He laughed, but she just felt disgusted by him. His skills at wooing her had been pitiful, start to finish. What a waste of a beautiful vessel. He didn't know when to quit either.
"You should've slapped me," quipped Owen with a devious grin.
Shaking her head with derision, Claire replied, "I thought that would've turned you on."
"It absolutely would have." She scoffed aloud when it appeared that he might try the same move again.
"Goodbye, Owen." That was that. She got in her car and slammed the door shut as fast as humanly possible. Turning the key in the ignition, she felt as if she was turning herself over, too. Maybe a true partnership wasn't realistic for her. Maybe she needed to consider other options.
The Jurassic World staff Halloween party featured a predictable assortment of ghouls, goblins, and sluts. Although most women actively tried not to be objectified in the workplace, Owen Grady noticed that many of them made an exception on Halloween. Women had seemingly no qualms about choosing costumes that could only be preceded by the adjective "sexy": nurse, cat, witch, pirate, maid, bunny, etc etc. Even the princess dresses were decidedly not wholesome. Under different circumstances, he would find all the eye candy beyond thrilling. After his terrible first date with Claire Dearing, however, the sight made him nauseous. It felt like only yesterday that the Senior Assets Manager dramatically rejected him. His mind still wrestled with why it had affected him so deeply. Why it left him feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. He was usually so confident and sure of himself, especially with women. He was absolutely thrown by her uptight antics on the date. And yet, he also felt regret. At the time, he'd convinced himself that it was all on her. Following several weeks of contemplation, the blame no longer appeared one-sided. Owen wanted to chalk it up to pure lust, but he was starting to realize that she might just be "the one that got away."
Tonight, he was out to prove he could get back in the game. He grinned to himself over his clever ensemble as "Clark Kent." The Superman t-shirt just visible beneath the open buttons at the top of his crisp, collared shirt was meant to tease, and the subtle touches - his InGen badge repurposed with well-placed tape to read "The Daily Planet" and a pencil behind his ear - were eye-catching. His eyes had an unobstructed view of potential prey through the empty rims of his glasses. Surveying the scene from the far corner of the bar, his gaze stopped on a statuesque butterfly at the opposite end. She was as regal as a Monarch and bedecked in glitter from head to toe. Her elaborate costume featured wings that fanned out from her dress, attached themselves to sequined wrist cuffs, and fluttered seductively as she moved. On her head was a mask that covered most of her face. His breath hitched as his eyes traveled downward, taking in her shimmering cleavage, the nearly scandalous slit in her dress, and long legs covered in fishnet stockings. For a moment, he couldn't move. He froze staring at her familiar purple stilettos. His head snapped up to her face to examine the green of her eyes and the shape of her lips. He'd previously studied them all. Fantasized about them all over stilted dinner conversation with Claire Dearing.
Attempting to put down his beer bottle, Owen missed the bar top and, as he grabbed for it, almost slid off his stool. He slammed his hands onto the slick surface to hold himself steady, wincing as the bottle clattered on the floor. The ruckus drew her attention. Although her exact expression was difficult to decipher behind the mask, her eyes reacted strongly. He couldn't tell if it was horror or embarrassment, but it certainly wasn't the lust that he was trying to elicit or had just been present in his own eyes. After picking up his empty bottle, he straightened to find that Claire was gone. A pang of horror sliced through his body. Did she leave because of him or, worse, did she take another guy home? His head on a swivel, he spied her talking to a brunette in a catsuit not far away. The resultant sigh of relief was likely audible, but he didn't care. Ordering another beer, he tried not to stare at her. His regret over missing a chance to sleep with her intensified. It might've been nice to get at least a one night stand out of it. Hell, if their date had gone better, he could've been her escort to the party and assured to be the one taking her home tonight. He considered trying again, and his pants felt uncomfortably tighter. They were not done. No way, no how. Maybe if he fucked her brains out, she'd agree to a second date.
Daydreaming about alone time with Claire Dearing did not do anything to reduce the bulge at his crotch. He remained shielded by the bar while he continued to watch her as stealthily as possible. When he finally felt free to move, he took a necessary detour to the men's room to "break the seal." Owen emerged on a mission to charm her right out of her costume - except maybe those stilettos. The stilettos could stay on her feet. By this point in the evening, the music was blaring, and the lights had dimmed. He weaved in and out of the crowd to locate her. Sadly, she wasn't amongst the gyrating bodies on the dance floor or the wallflowers hovering by the refreshments table. His hunt dragged on for twenty minutes but to no avail. It felt as if all the blood had been sucked out of his body. Claire might as well have been a vampire for Halloween. Owen was lifeless, drained, and very frustrated. Returning to the bar, he decided to wait her out a little longer. Perhaps she'd gone to the restroom herself. Her costume might make it difficult to maneuver in a stall. Thinking about taking off her dress was not a good idea. His erection was back full-force. He groaned before chugging his fifth or sixth beer.
Another twenty minutes later, and he transitioned to feeling pathetic. He'd already rebuffed a cute girl dressed as Dorothy, complete with ginger braids. She was too young and not the redhead he wanted. Eventually, Owen conceded that he would not accomplish his mission and decided to settle. Two sexy devils sat across the bar, batting their fake eyelashes at him between giggling to each other. The sultry pair wouldn't be better than one sparkly butterfly, but they'd fulfill an immediate need.
It took a week of restless nights and screening out repeated calls from the clingy "twins" before Owen finally decided to go after what he really wanted. He never chased women. They always came to him. He fought every natural impulse to continue his pursuit of Claire. Buying flowers wasn't something he did for anyone - not even his mother - yet there he stood, waiting outside her office door with a bouquet. He was about to give up and leave until he heard a high-pitched squeal. Turning his head toward the sound, he recognized the brunette from the party. Her catsuit had been replaced with a blazer and slacks.
"Oh my God," she exclaimed in a British accent, "I should've known it was you!" She smiled as if she'd just uncovered a very juicy secret. Owen played along.
"You caught me," he sighed over-dramatically.
"Let's put them on her desk!" He followed her inside the office while she rambled. "Claire's meeting with an investor right now, but you probably knew that already." Zara could barely contain her glee. Her boss's mystery man was familiar after all. It wasn't tough to guess that Claire and Owen were still interested in each other. "Glad you're keeping her satisfied...night and day," she added with a cheeky wink. Motioning for him to leave the bouquet, Zara mused, "I bet you reconnected at the Halloween party." Her eyebrows went up expectantly. When he opened his mouth to respond, she waved her hand in front of his face. "No, no, don't tell me. I'm not supposed to know. She keeps things private, but - don't worry - I won't tell her or anyone else what I know. I'd be sacked!" He laughed nervously as they walked back to the door.
Before he could make a break for it in the hallway, the woman grabbed his sleeve. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered coquettishly, "Bravo, at being the perfect boyfriend. Color me impressed. Maybe I should be marrying you instead?" It took every ounce of self-control for him not to lash out. He couldn't see or think straight. Although he didn't know this assistant from Adam, he wouldn't take his aggressions out on her. Given the circumstances, her teasing was also alarmingly arousing. Owen needed to find someone to punch. Or someone to fuck.