Disclaimer: Batman belongs to those people at DC Comics, and Christopher Nolan. But my characters belong to only me and no one else.
Finally, after the third time, the ringing of Bruce's phone woke him up. Very unwillingly he rolled over to his side and without opening his eyes, his hands felt their way to the said phone on the nightstand.
He didn't need to look at the caller ID to know who was calling him, the screaming of bloody murder coming from the other line enlightened him as much. "Chloe," He acknowledged the pissed- off woman across the line, his voice still rough from sleep.
"Good, you're awake enough to recognize me pissed off. How in fuck's sake did you get my address?" He knew fully what she was talking about. It was just yesterday he had arranged for the motor of her deflated boat to be delivered to her address soonest possible. He had his doubts on whether the company could make good on their tagline that packages would be sent to designated recipients at a speed faster than any of their competitors. Clearly they delivered on that promise.
"You're talking to Bruce Wayne here, what do you think?" He asked, with a genuine irritation that was directed at the need to play the champion idiot that he despised.
"He's an asshole. And I know you can pay people to do a complete background check on anyone you wish to know more about, but you could have asked."
If only she knew. "You know, things can get a little busy when I've got a company to run and the names of too many chicks to remember." He was intentionally proving to her that she was right about him, that he was a rich jerk who could care less about getting her number from her personally. After all, Bruce Wayne was supposed to have his mind occupied with inconsequential things that many others could care less about.
"Oh silly me! Of course, its hard work trying to remember that your chick's name is Natalya and not Natasha or Natalia." Ouch.
In addition to how her retort was meant to make him look at himself in shame, he also hated to think about the disdain that was clear in her voice— which made him want to apologize. "Chloe, I'm sorry."
He heard her disbelieving snort. "You think being sorry would make up for you sending one impatient courier guy to my house and pressing the doorbell like the end of the world is nigh? That is only slightly more sincere than you sending me a sorry text."
"Don't be mean. I feel bad."
"So Bruce Wayne actually knows how to feel sorry." She said, sounding as if her anger had died down. Except she couldn't let him off the hook so easily. Chloe knew what she would do to even the score, even as it occurred that it was childish and petty.
"I am. So let bygones be bygones?"
Her reply was considerably slow in coming. "Hmmm… well… Bruce?"
"Yeah?" Now he was confused.
"Rise and shine, lazy bum!" With that extremely loud exclamation, the line clicked dead as he allowed himself a smile.
Bruce Wayne saw no point in trying to return to the land of sleep that Chloe had roused him from. As he was awake enough, he might as well spare Alfred the task of waking him up as he did every morning. Groaning audibly, he hoisted himself out of bed, unsure of who to blame for what few hours he had to sleep.
With precise timing, Alfred entered the master bedchamber, not at all expecting to see the master of the house away from the usual sight of him burrowed under the down comforter. "Master Bruce, I see you're awake."
"I got woken up," Bruce said from his position on the floor, starting on his daily routine of push-ups.
"By whom, sir?" Alfred sounded amused and Bruce knew the butler was liking every bit of this. "Maybe this person can take over my job of waking you up. If you ask me, I don't particularly enjoy doing it."
"You've heard of her, Alfred. It's Chloe Greenwell." Bruce didn't seem too keen on mentioning her as he brought his eyes up to the tray of breakfast fare that awaited him. Alfred had simply given up on taking the pains to prepare a full breakfast when Bruce, upon his return had told him that he had grown accustomed to simpler meals and that Alfred would be wasting his time and effort to be doing otherwise.
"That would be the Greenwell heiress, I believe." Alfred paused in pulling the heavy velvet drapes back, looking over his shoulder at the younger man to see how he would react to the mention of her. She was like any of the other heiresses that he occasionally appeared in public with but it certainly didn't seem as if Bruce disliked her company.
"Yeah," Bruce's expression was devoid of anything that showed his distaste whenever the topic of his dates was brought up in the manor. At this point, Bruce finished his exercise and went to consume his energy drink.
"What do you think about her, sir?" Sunlight basked the room in its brilliant light, bringing with it the promise of a beautiful day ahead to those seeking it.
"Why is that relevant, Alfred?" Bruce was standing in an area of sunlight and something about the sight made Alfred think that this Greenwell lady might very well be that ray of light that would illuminate the darkest recesses of Bruce's soul.
"From the photos taken by the media, I surmised that she is every bit as how she appears to be." If going by the hair color was any indication, Alfred supposed that she would be quite the intriguing character. "And not your usual type, if I may add."
Bruce didn't bother correcting the butler on what exactly was his type of woman because he didn't even know it himself. "For one, she's smart. Guess what Alfred, she has a Ph.D. Not to mention that she has an utter dislike for the society she's in but… she has a thing for alcohol." His opinions on her physical appearance were intentionally left out of the conversation. Alfred would think him as being too shallow.
He didn't want to label her an alcoholic just yet, probably because he could understand where her penchant for alcohol was coming from.
Alfred was unperturbed in the least by this information. "By and by, a good personality would suffice. That tendency for alcohol is nothing that can't be dealt with eventually. I'm sure she knows that it isn't a good habit when in the long run."
It was Bruce's turn to look at the older man in total surprise. "You've taken an instant fondness for her even before meeting her in person, haven't you Alfred?"
"It would seem so." Here, Alfred paused meaningfully to make sure that his next words would be lodged firmly in Bruce's head for a long time to come. "More than that, Master Wayne, you should know that if you like her, there is nothing holding you back from wanting to get even closer to her."
"Alfred, you make it sound like as if it's anything serious." Even as Bruce said it, he knew he didn't truly believe his own words. He hadn't met her many times enough to confirm what he had been feeling about her but he wasn't that stupid to be able to fool himself by saying that he didn't like the sides of her that he had seen so far.
Alfred looked infinitely pleased with himself as he delivered these words. "Only time will tell, Master Wayne."
More to himself, Bruce muttered while crossing the room, over to the large window and stood to eat his bowl of muesli. "And she agrees with the idea of the Batman." Why does she have to approve of things the Batman does?
Chloe lay sprawled on the bed, her energy spent. For the most part of the morning and the afternoon, she had been busy getting all the things in her new place sorted out. There was the fridge to stock up, a whole load of books that she'd bought online to unpack, among other little things that she had to do here and there around the house. Her body was grateful for the contact with the mattress beneath, while her body and mind were beginning the slow descent into sleep.
And her BlackBerry chose that inopportune time to ring. With a scowl that was directed more at herself for not having the sense to switch the phone off, she took the call.
There were a few seconds of silence, and then Marc's voice reached her. "Chloe Greenwell?"
"Marc? Do I even want to know how you got my number?" Having one guy knowing her address and another knowing her phone number without her ever telling them about it wasn't making her feel any safer, especially not in this damned city.
"I know it isn't a right thing to do, but I don't think you would respond to an invitation through Facebook from a guy you barely know."
"So you're saying that for me to know that a guy I barely know had gotten my number from God knows where would make me more willing to accept his invitation to whatever it is that he has planned?"
"Maybe? And the fact that you're still on the other end of the line tells me that so far things are working in my favor." He was right, of course. In light of Bruce obtaining her address from some other source that is not her, Marc's possession of her phone number was less of an invasion of sorts.
"Well, what's up?"
"My club's opening tomorrow night, and I'm wondering if you'd come." She smiled into the phone, more amused than taken in by his words. "In case you're worried about who gets an invitation from me personally, you're the only one."
"But you're not the only one to invite me to that opening of your place. Your aunt had taken it upon herself to invite me on your behalf sometime back."
"I told her I'd do the personal invites myself," He muttered down the line. "So would the lady free up tomorrow night for me?"
"Only because you asked nicely— "
"— and you crave my company."
"And the reverse applies just as well, Marc.""We'll see, Ms. Greenwell," And just like that, the call ended. Followed by a text containing the address she would need for tomorrow night.
Marc registered her arrival when he ended a call he was having. The first few buttons of his black silk shirt unbuttoned, she could see that he had a gold necklace from which hung a medallion with the image of Virgin Mary. And in his left ear was a gold hoop. He pulled off the black and gold combo well— surely he knew it too.
He took in the sultry Mediterranean vibe of his guest's Emilio Pucci dress and brown lace-up boots. As he raked his eyes over her, a slow grin broke out across his handsome features. "As gorgeous as ever Dr. Chloe." Marc came over to her, offering his arm.
"What can I say? I'd hate to disappoint someone who had taken the pains to invite me, Dr. Marc." She returned smilingly, taking his arm.
"Most would have simply thanked me for the invite. And the compliment." He turned to her, his eyes telling her enough that he hadn't expected any less from her with that compliment.
"When you put it that way," She pretended to consider this for a moment. "Maybe I'll just gracefully accept that?"
He nodded with a slight smirk. "As a lady should when she deserves one."
They were nearing the club's entrance when his question caught her off- guard. "If I'm not mistaken, you're part Italian?"
"Huh?" Whatever other people always managed to detect in her that suggested of her Italian parentage from her mother's side was lost on her. "Yeah, why?"
"I'd like to have your opinion on something."
"And having some Italian blood is a prerequisite?" She looked at him, unsure of whether to be offended or not.
"Sort of." His lips quirked at how easily she made his question seemed offensive. "How does Giallo sound to you?"
Having glimpsed the name of the club, she knew what he was asking about. "I like Giallo. But as for anyone else, I think that maybe you can count on the bookish types to relate to it?" She had an Italian upbringing when she was younger and was no stranger to the series of mystery and crime pulp novels from which the term giallo was derived in referral to its trademark yellow cover background. It was only later that the word became established as the widespread translation of the English 'mystery'.
However, his reason for that name could be simpler. "Unless you intended for giallo to be the Italian for yellow."
"Yellow?" Marc looked like how she thought her father would if she had told him that he looked good in pink. "No. It's not even my favorite color."
They resumed heading toward the main entrance but stopped at a door in matte black paint with the words: VIP ONLY. Several couples passed them by, mostly of the younger set. He pushed open the door, ushering her inside. "This is Giallo for you."
Beyond the gyrating bodies and the relentless music which was characteristic of all such hangouts, she could see elements of its namesake being manifested in the decor all around the dance floor. Darkness shrouded most of the place, which was only illuminated by red strobe lights on the dance floor and candlelight in most of the other places, needing only liberal amounts of nudity and sex— one of the general characteristics of Giallo films— to bring it all together.
Faced with a future of fewer clubbing nights— courtesy of her obligation to be present whenever Gotham's social scene called for it— she could definitely afford to get completely wasted just this once. The leather banquette Marc steered her toward was populated by five other men and any female presence was conspicuously absent. Judging from the small group, she supposed that they were Marc's inner circle of friends.
"Guys, the lady of the hour is finally here." He announced and the five heads swiveled around.
"Como se llama?" She heard the question coming from someone in their midst.
As she was about to answer for herself, a guy with his tattoos all showing through his shirt stood up. When he approached them, she saw that he had obviously put in a lot of time at the gym. The sheer shirt and laced leather pants clung to him in a way that showed off his physique to perfection. He hadn't shown any qualms about not dressing like all the other men and the black eyeliner that ringed his eyes further emphasized this. A single shark tooth dangled from his ear.
"I'm Jared Klein. I co-owned this place with Marc." Jared, who she couldn't help but notice was good- looking, in a Marc Jacobs- Adam Levine kind of way.
"Chloe Greenwell." She smiled and it was a gesture which he returned. Up close, she could see his tattoos; a raven below his armpit, and a Bengal tiger on his right forearm and bicep area.
Marc introduced her to his friends, and taking in their names, realized that they were mostly either Italian or Spanish. She hadn't been really able to get a good glimpse of their faces until they were introduced as the only source of light was a trio of fat red candles in a marble alcove that was at some height above them. From the light cast by the candles, she could see many more such alcoves for every two tables.
"Señorita," One of them, Armando, poured about three inches of Grey Goose into two glasses and offered her a glass. She took it, the long tall at her lips the same time as it did his. They both drained the glass in one go, earning her a few whooping laughs. Chloe helped herself to a couple round of drinks with the rest at the table.
Her last round was with Jared who sat beside her, and only then did she glance to her other side, noticing that Marc was nowhere to be seen. "Any ideas where the guy's gone to?" she asked him.
Jared glanced around, his eyes resting on the bottles of wine on the table. "He's probably gone to get the wine that he's been saving for tonight's congratulatory toast."
"Marc tells me you're the new kid on the block. How's this city treating you?" He handed her another glass of wine.
Born and bred in Gotham until her last year in high school, she wasn't technically the new kid on the block. All the same, it was a very valid question. "There's a lot that would need some major getting used to," Chloe admitted, swirling the wine in the glass.
"That makes two of us." He toasted her. "I'd be here in the long- run with this biz. Guess we'd be seeing more of each other soon."
"I'm certain we will," They each drank from their glasses. "Where are you from anyways?"
"Sin City." He declared.
"So what made you come out to Gotham?"
"Marc and I wanted to start a business of our own. So we decided that Gotham's a good place to start. You?"
"I'm back to help my dad with his business." She explained just as Marc reappeared with a bottle of the 2001 Brunello di Montalcino vintage.
"Not subtle at all, Miss Greenwell." A familiar male voice intervened as Chloe was in the midst of trying to eavesdrop on what seemed to be a guy's pathetic attempt at trying to pick up a fellow female clubgoer.
"Bad pick-up lines always gets attention." She turned around in her seat to look at her newest billionaire friend. "Although I think you know of better ways to gain attention, Bruce."
The man in a pinstriped black shirt and slacks shrugged. "All in the name of having fun, Chloe." And as he sat down on the empty barstool beside her, she caught a glimpse of his U-Boat watch.
She gave his black and steel whopper of a timepiece a closer look. "It suits you."
"I know. It gets attention, and makes a statement." Simultaneously, he took in her appearance. Her blue minidress which was edged in tiny, trembling pompons, had a plunging back. As for her hair, those green locks were loose around her face and decorated with several rich berry-hued feathers.
However, she was obviously without a male companion. "You came alone?"
"I'm pretty sure that are a whole lot of offensive terms to describe my sexual lifestyle. But let's just say that I'm not the wholesome sort that guys bring home to meet their parents." Bruce was smart enough to notice the roundabout way she was explaining it to him, making it clear that her sexual relationships were made up of one- time encounters.
"At least now I know how a mutual attraction on both our parts will end if it ever came to be."
"I'd expect nothing less from Bruce Wayne." She smiled, sipping the Kiwitini in her hand.
From her end of the bar, Chloe motioned for the bartender. "A bourbon sour over here please."
"Don't you already have a drink?" Bruce asked, referring to the drink she just ordered.
"It's high time that I thank you, and I apologize for the way I behaved when I called you up yesterday morning. So I'm buying you a drink," After having the time to calm down and reflect on what that had transpired, Chloe felt bad for reacting the way she did to his knowledge of her address. She had overreacted when he had only meant well.
"There's really no need to buy me a drink," He looked rather reluctant about the prospect of having another drink, which she guessed was because he still nursed an untouched tumbler of whiskey, served on the rocks. "Thanking me in words would be more than enough."
Chloe rolled her eyes just as the drink she ordered was placed in front of her. "Just have fun and drink some." With every intention for him to at least take a mouthful, she pushed the glass toward him. "Come on. Don't be a bore and waste a good drink." To prove her point, she took a generous sip, nodding her approval.
Something on her wrist caught Bruce's eye. "You've got tattoos?"
Naturally, she glanced down at her wrists, the one tattoo she had that was normally visible. "Yeah, I've got it since forever. Now drink up."
Bruce shook his head, moving his body closer to her and peered at the ink circling her left wrist. The way she saw it, he obviously hadn't seen enough tatted women for the novelty of him spotting an inked female to wear off. "Would you mind me looking?"
While she wasn't quite sure about having her tattoo scrutinized like it was a big deal, she indulged him anyway, shrugging her consent. "But you've got to drink this first."
And so she wasn't expecting it at all when he downed the content of the glass in one go. "How do I say this— I'm more fun in other areas if you get my drift."
"I absolutely get your drift," Chloe assured him and his ego as well. Once again, she waved the bartender over. "A bowl of cherries please." At this request, the man behind the bar gave her a knowing look.
As he took in the snake that begun winding itself somewhere below her wrist with its head coming to rest on her inner wrist, it became increasingly obvious that she had more than just an adder tattoo. In the midst of the length of the snake which was done in dark green and black colors, he saw what was presumably a quote except that he couldn't exactly read the words. It was unintelligible. Recalling the mention of her Italian heritage, Bruce tried to identify a single Italian word. But he couldn't.
Before he could ask her what the words were, she enlightened him. It didn't take much for her to sense the frustration at his inability to read the words. "He who is fixed to a star does not change his mind. That's Leonardo da Vinci writing in the mirror."
"Did he now?" Bruce straightened up so he could better take in the words as a whole, to reverse them into readability.
"Ah, now I see it." His surprised expression dissolved into that of triumph, but not before she had managed to take in the look on his face with smug satisfaction. "How old were you when you got this?"
"Eighteen."
"They're beautiful," He admitted, giving her another look. This time, he searched for further markings that were... "Remnants of a rebellious phase?"
"My rebelliousness is still very much with me." The cherries she had requested for appeared.
"Still a bad girl," He mused with a slight smirk gracing his lips. "Now that's a suggestion for my next public appearance. Do you know any bad girls who might be willing to spend some time with Bruce Wayne?"
"I'll spread the word around," Chloe said, playing along. "And now that it has been sorted out, are you up for a little bit of fun?"
"What's fun about eating cherries?" Bruce was incredulous. He stared down at the fleshy stone fruits, wondering if fruits could pose any sort of challenge to begin with.
"Huh, that's what I thought," She remarked easily, deciding that he really didn't know what she had planned to do with the cherries. "We're going to knot the stems with our tongues."
"Is it possible?" Bruce asked quizzically. "And to what end?"
"Have you not heard of it being an indication of one being skillful with their tongues in the bedroom?" She asked without the slightest hint of judgement.
Bruce only raised his brows disbelief. "It's an inaccurate measure."
"Then it wouldn't hurt to put women's high estimation of your sexual prowess on the line." She took out her phone and gestured to Bruce's watch. "Come on. I promise I wouldn't breathe a word of the outcome to anyone."
"You left me with no choice," He muttered, albeit the fact that he was going to give it a try anyway. "Can you at least not be so smug about it?" Bruce mock- complained even as he realised that he was actually enjoying himself.
He mirrored her act of eating the cherries and then putting the stem into his mouth. His tongue immediately got down to the task of knotting the stem. No pressure, Bruce chanted silently like a mantra. While he was busy coaxing his tongue into usefulness to knot the stem, Chloe efficiently produced one knotted stem in the palm of her hand.
"One minute and counting," She informed him complacently while consulting the clock on her BlackBerry. Absently, she placed another cherry stem into her mouth to repeat the process.
"How long did you take anyway?" Bruce asked, the question coming out unclear with his tongue preoccupied with an act that wasn't for speech.
The figures on her phone's timer stared back at her. "Seven seconds."
For having no real reason to put him through what he was now experiencing— other than for the fun of it— whatever hell she had given him was more than enough. She was about to tell him to not sweat it when Bruce showed her his handiwork. "Don't I deserve something in return for being able to pull this off?"
"That, I think would involve lots of drama. And I'm not up for it tonight." She cast a look around for any signs of a catfight breaking out soon— courtesy of Bruce's date— and found none. There wasn't anyone around to give her any jealous looks for hanging out with him.
"Seems like you're wanted." He said, gesturing not far- off. She followed the direction of his gaze and only saw a flash of gold. Which, in her case, she knew was none other than Marc.
"Guess I am." She confirmed.
He stood up as she did when she saw Marc coming closer.
Bruce noticed Marc's arm around Chloe's waist when they were within distance for physical contact. "Care for one round with me on the dance floor?" His face was almost touching hers.
"What do you think?" She asked back, pulling away slightly so that she could introduce the men.
"Marc, this is Bruce Wayne."
"And Bruce, Marco Cianciana."
"Hey, Wayne," Marc's hand came out almost immediately. "Nice meeting you."
"Likewise, Cianciana." They shook hands. She didn't know if guys were prone to infinitesimal animosity but something suggested that they were like cooled acquaintances separated by misunderstandings of sorts.
"One question before you go. How did you get my number? I'm extremely curious."
Chloe smiled a slow, secret smile. "I don't give my methods away easily. Till next time."
Their arms touched briefly as he leaned in, whispering. "Neither do I."
Tonight had been rather quiet for the Batman. By Gotham's standard, three attempted robberies, an assault, and several petty thefts were quotidian crimes. It served him well that the streets weren't currently demanding his attention. He'd thought long and hard about the wisdom of his decision to pay a visit to Chloe Greenwell and decided in the end that it was only for the sake of his own curiosity. Whether she was going to thank him for the other night was irrelevant, despite her clearly intending it.
The lavish apartment complex was currently one of the priciest pieces of real estate in Gotham. While being at the edge of the City's finer side should have made the property a slightly less coveted one, the developers had made its location into a glamorous address by lauding it an exclusivity to be living within city limits but far removed enough from the city's worsening pollution.
He couldn't have known for sure that he would be able to see her tonight. As it was, his coming over hadn't been a wasted effort. The Batman found her in the middle of the rooftop area, extending both legs upward into a Pilates pose.
Much as he would have wanted his presence announced at his will, she didn't take any chances with her security. Before he could feel foolish for forgetting about any security installations around her rooftop, her alarm went off like a banshee that pierced his eardrums. Chloe who had glanced at the iPad on the stand beside her touched the screen in a quick gesture. Immediately the wailing died down. Judging by her reaction, he had no doubt she knew just exactly who the intruder was.
Exhaling, she angled her legs slightly lower and began to roll down through her spine. Dropping her legs to the floor, Chloe stood up. And it was at this time that the Batman took in the place he was at. Candlelight illuminated the area which Chloe had used plants to great effect in an attempt to give the place a sense of privacy. He liked it.
Instead of the glamorous heiress image that everyone had come to associate her with recently, the woman tonight was one clad in a gray V-neck and shorts. Her hair was a mass of unruly green curls pulled into a messy ponytail, while her gold bracelet stood out in stark contrast to the overall picture of her at this very moment.
As she stared back at him, Chloe was unsure as to the purpose of his sudden presence on her rooftop. "To what do I owe this?" She asked, pulling down self- consciously at her loose T- shirt. His intervention many nights ago assured her that she wasn't in any danger, although she couldn't deny that his imposing hulking figure made her wary of his exact motives. But she was unwilling to indicate that she was intimidated by him, and she knew that there was no avoiding it.
Stultum est timere quod vitare non potes. In the words of Publilius Syrus, it is foolish to fear that which you cannot avoid.
Having been told by her friends as being an affectionate drunk, she knew he probably got a dose of it during the other night too— her recollections of whatever exchanges she had with him was fuzzy at best. "I'm Chloe." She stuck out a hand.
Batman dropped his eyes to the outstretched offering but didn't take it. "You know who I am." She had no idea how she expected him to sound like, but the painfully rasping voice sounded a tad overdone to her.
"Come on, are you going to make me ask all the questions? Or are you always letting the girl take the initiative?" Chloe asked indignantly as she awkwardly pulled back her hand.
As much as she acknowledged that she was lucky to only have the Batman intruding into her home, it was no less disconcerting to be reminded that her security system would serve her no real purpose in guarding against him. It was plain to see that a man driving around in what was a cross between a Lamborghini and a tank with unsanctioned rocket burners would know how to get through her security system without much effort.
"Girls shouldn't roam the streets of Gotham alone at night."
"And guys shouldn't go running around town as a bat." No matter how good he may look in black, she added silently.
"Don't think I'll keep running to your rescue. This will be the first and the last time." His lips were thinned into a grim line, the only feature that hinted to Chloe that there was a man underneath the mask.
"That's pretty obvious. Unless you only keep a lookout for damsels in distress in your line of work." She retorted, disliking the implication that she needed his rescuing.
"I don't."
"Alright, so I wanted to thank you for the other night," Chloe said quickly, afraid that she might never have the opportunity to say what she had been wanting to say since then.
At that, the Batman turned around and they locked gazes. "I could have been smarter about it," Chloe admitted as she hesitated to say anything more. Oh, what the hell. "I know that you're not quite as popular as you once were with this city's folks. But you should really know that there are those of us who are grateful for your existence."
"You don't know what I've done," The Batman replied gruffly.
"I don't need to. All I know is that you deserve better, and Gotham hasn't shown themselves to be deserving of much." She took a step back, deciding that she had said enough.
Chloe was ready to turn in for the night after her nightly routine of Pilates and yoga on the roof. As she was about to retreat into the comfort of her home downstairs, the Batman reached for her wrist. "Make sure there's no next time."
"I will." His grip was relentlessly firm around her wrist.
"You'll need to do better than that."
"What? Like I, Chloe Greenwell hereby solemnly swear that I'll never touch alcohol and be home by ten?" She rolled her eyes while holding one hand aloft, mimicking the act of taking an oath.
He didn't answer, and her wrist was still in his hand. Chloe sighed, attempting to go for utter sincerity. "Tell me if this does the trick— I'll try to not get drunk and be out on the streets at the same time."
Their gaze met once more and it was clear that he was satisfied with what she'd said. He let her go then, but not without getting the last word in. "You shouldn't try to drink anyone under the table."
"It's none of your fucking business," All goodwill she'd harbored toward him evaporated instantly. For someone whose singular indulgence is dressing up in Kevlar night after night and going round making pancakes out of cop cars, he was the last person who could rightly tell her off.
