"I'm sorry, Oliver, but there's just no way Fox is going to tell me who it is," Chloe was saying into the phone the next morning, pacing idly around her room. She paused to listen for a moment, then continued again. "What do you want me to do? Get a nice old man drunk so he'll tell me whatever I want? Ooh," she added, voice dripping sarcasm, "or maybe I should sleep with him. That wouldn't cross any ethical boundaries at all." She rolled her eyes.
"Don't be so dramatic. I'm just saying, if he knows, then find a way to get the information from him."
"Oliver, would you be happy if you found out someone was trying to force me to give them information on you or one of the team?"
"Of course not. I'd wring their neck, but-"
"Well don't you see it's the same thing? He's taken it upon himself to protect this man, and I'm going to respect that." There was a knock on her door.
"You're not there to be respectful. You're there to-"
"Excuse me, Oliver, there's someone at the door. I have to go," she said, hanging up before he could protest. She tossed the phone on the bed and headed over to open the door, checking the peephole first out of cautionary habit. It was a bellhop from the desk downstairs.
"I've got a delivery for Miss Chloe Sullivan," he said, reading off the small card attached to an excessively large bouquet of roses.
Chloe just stared blankly first at the flowers, then at gave her a funny look. "You are Miss Sullivan, aren't you?" he asked her.
Chloe started. "Oh! Yes, I am. Sorry. I just wasn't expecting these." She took them off his hands.
He chuckled. "If you don't mind me saying so, ma'am, I think that's usually the point when someone sends you flowers."
She laughed, setting the flowers down inside and grabbing a couple of bucks off her desk to tip him with. "I guess you're right," she said as she handed him the cash. "Thanks."
"Have a good day!" he smiled before taking off down the hallway. Once he was gone, Chloe turned back inside to look at the flowers. They were gorgeous. Insanely over the top, but gorgeous. She picked up the card.
To Chloe.
From Bruce.
She quirked an eyebrow at the spartan content. Looking at the ceiling as if it sympathized with her, she reached for her phone and dialed his number.
"Wayne speaking." "Three dozen roses, Bruce? That's subtle. For future reference, I prefer tulips."
"Future reference? Does that mean you intend on giving me future opportunities to screw up and send you flowers?"
She bit her lip, glad he couldn't see her grinning. "I'm not sure yet."
"I can work with that."
She laughed. "Can you?"
"Definitely."
"Well just so you know, it would have helped your case if you had tried putting an apology somewhere in there amongst the foliage. I believe that's traditionally how it works."
"Somehow, I thought 'To the Spy Who Loved Me' might send the wrong message."
"And I'm still waiting to hear an apology," she reminded, not entirely amused. "You're really bad at this, you know that?"
"All right: I apologize for suspecting you of corporate espionage."
"And?"
"And government spying."
"And?"
"And standing you up for lunch."
"And?"
"...was there something else?"
She chuckled. "Nope. Just testing you."
"That's a relief. I don't like not knowing when I've screwed up."
"Uh huh. So just out of curiosity, what makes you suddenly so sure that I'm not a spy?" she asked.
"I talked to Oliver Queen."
She almost dropped the phone. "What?" Oliver hadn't mentioned that, and she'd been on the phone with him all morning.
"Well, I think I mentioned the other day that it stung when I found out you were on Queen's payroll. Part of that's because Oliver Queen and I have a bit of history. We went to boarding school together and even though we're not exactly best friends, we have an understanding. Neither of us has ever sunk to questionable tactics before, so I'm choosing to believe what he tells me now."
"Which is?" Chloe asked, sitting down to stop herself from getting dizzy with confusion.
"That while you are one of his employees, you're cashing in several years of built-up vacation time to pursue a book you've been wanting to write. I guess only time will tell if I'm a really good guy for taking you both at your word or just a huge idiot, but I'm willing to take a risk."
Chloe felt a slow blush creep into her cheeks at the statement.
"So...you wanna tell me what kind of book leads you into research at Arkham Asylum and an interview with my company's business manager about weapons development?"
Chloe bit her lip. She wondered how much detail Lucius Fox had gone into about their meeting. It had the potential to be extremely embarrassing. "It started out as criminal psychology, but I've been drifting away from that a bit."
"Into?"
"Into criminal history in Gotham. The effect of 'vigilante' efforts on quality of life."
"Batman," he said, as if summing it all up for her.
"Yes and no. I'm obviously interested in Batman, but he's not my sole focus." She winced, that was a pretty big lie. She wondered how long it would take for all of this to catch up with her. It was only a matter of time.
Enjoy the ride for now, she told herself ominously.
"Well," Bruce continued. "I was hoping that you would let me take you out tonight."
"Oh?" she asked lightly, her smile returning.
"I was picturing something fancy."
"Really? Do tell."
"I have a party to attend tonight."
"Mmhmm."
"Well, technically, I have a party to host tonight. Wayne Foundation Fundraiser."
"Interesting."
He let out a chuckle. "You really are going to make me work for this, aren't you?" he reiterated his sentiments from yesterday.
"Why not? You do seem to enjoy a challenge."
She could almost here the responding smirk in his voice. "That I do. So, Miss Sullivan, who makes me work so hard, would you mind accompanying me tonight?"
She sighed. "Do I have to wear a fancy dress?"
"Theoretically."
"And painful shoes."
"Most likely, but if you wanted to set a trend for running shoes, I wouldn't stop you."
"I'm not sure you're worth the torture."
"What if I promise to keep you constantly supplied with alcohol so you can't feel the pain in your toes?"
"It would help."
"And if I promised to whisper naughty things in your ear when we're supposed to be respectable?"
"In front of boring, old business men?"
"As many as you want."
"Okay, I'll go," she conceded, as if it had ever really been in question.
"Fantastic. Alfred will pick you up at 9:30."
She suddenly realized something. "Bruce?"
"Yes?"
"How did you know I was staying at a different hotel?"
"I'm magic."
"You're crazy."
"That too. Goodbye, Chloe."
"Goodbye, Bruce."
They hung up on each other and Chloe flopped backwards on her bed, trying not to squeal like a teenage girl going on a date with her crush.
It didn't stop the tiny squeak that slipped out, though.
"Good evening, Miss Chloe. I take it Master Bruce's flowers worked?" Alfred greeted her that evening, holding open the door of the car for her.
Chloe laughed a little. "That they did."
"Glad to hear it."
Chloe beamed as she slid into the car and he closed the door for her.
"Master Bruce said to apologize for being unable to pick you up himself," he told her once he was seated in the driver's seat. "One of the unfortunate downsides to being the host, I'm afraid."
"That's all right, Alfred. Thank you, though."
"And I was also instructed to tell you that you look very lovely this evening, but I would have said that anyway," he smiled at her in the rear view mirror, and Chloe laughed.
"He's laying it on pretty thick, isn't he?"
"Only the best, Miss."
When they arrived at Wayne Manor, Alfred informed Chloe that she would find Bruce upstairs, waiting to 'make an entrance.'
Chloe had raised her eyebrow at the phrase but shrugged it off and headed for the grand center staircase to find her so-called Date. She didn't have to search long to find him, already knowing from a brief tour of the manor that Alfred had given her where to find the upstairs entrance to the ballroom. He was waiting for her, looking exceptionally sharp in a tuxedo, and she had the sudden whimsical idea that he reminded her of James Bond.
He grinned when he saw her. "Well this is a bust," he said, putting his hands on her hips and looking at her.
"What is?" she asked.
"I won't be able to do any socializing tonight with you looking like that. You need to be kissed in that dress," he said, leaning down to capture her lips seductively. She shivered beneath the midnight blue silk.
Chloe groaned. He was good. She already felt a pool of lava forming in the base of her stomach. She bit his lip gently, pulling away.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but the host is expected to talk to his guests, isn't he?" she teased.
"There you go again with that traditionalist nonsense," he winked. "If you ask me, they wouldn't even notice if I didn't show up."
"Mmm, well maybe we can compromise and leave early," she grinned, turning his shoulders to make him face the door. "But for now, charity beckons," she reminded.
He sighed. "If I must."
"Come on, Mr. Wayne. Prove that you can show a girl a good time at least once."
He grinned as he pulled the door open for her, then offered her his arm, and she threaded her hand around his elbow, trying to ignore the sudden knots in her stomach on making such a public spectacle. "Anything for you," he whispered in her ear, and tingles spread across her skin at the sensation of his breath on her.
By the time they walked out into view, all eyes were already on them, anticipating Bruce's usual dramatic entrance. Chloe clutched his elbow a little more tightly, lifting the hem of her dress slightly with her other hand to descend the stairs. She could feel her face growing hot from the attention and turned her eyelashes down shyly.
Meanwhile, Bruce, so accustomed to limelight, waved genially, smiled broadly, and made himself all-around like-able.
Alfred greeted them each at the bottom of the stairs with drinks, and Bruce took one, lifting it to propose a toast and commend the evening's chosen philanthropy. As Chloe watched him, she found herself growing painfully aware of the fact that she did not look like she belonged on Bruce Wayne's arm. If she'd dared look at any of the sea of faces, she was sure she'd fine people sending her scrutinizing looks, as if wondering where Bruce's usual fare was for the evening.
She forced herself to brush it off and lift her chin a little higher. It didn't matter what kind of reputation he had. He had asked her to be there with him. And just because a man went through a wild phase didn't mean he wasn't interested in something a little more serious. So far Bruce didn't compare remotely to the hype that had preceded him.
His toast ended and she took a sip from her champagne flute but frowned as she swallowed. She missed the ever-so-slight widening of Bruce's eyes as he did the same. She looked down at her drink and took another sip while Bruce and Alfred exchanged a discreet glance of helplessness with each other. Instead of champagne, it seemed that she was drinking sparkling apple cider. How bizarre. She glanced around at the nearby faces, and none of them seemed to have noticed anything about their drinks. It was just her. Should she say something or pretend not to notice? Nothing quite like this had ever happened to her before.
Before she could make a decision, Bruce slipped the glass out of her hand and placed it on a passing tray along with his own. "You can get tipsy later," he teased. "For now, dance with me?"
She beamed, momentarily distracted from the dilemma, as she placed her hand in his and allowed herself to be swept toward the center of the ballroom.
The pleasure of the dance didn't last long, however, and she was soon working on her fourth martini as she forced herself to smile at yet another trophy wife making an obvious pass at Bruce right in front of her husband.
She wondered how much of a scene it would make if she ate the olive off the stirrer in her drink and stabbed one of the woman's inflatable breasts with it.
Eventually the couple left them and she felt Bruce's hand pinch her side lightly, his arm draped around her waist. "Holding up okay?" he joked.
"How do you stand it?" she wondered, eyes trailing vindictively in the direction of the hussy that had just left.
He pulled her attention back to him. "Some of them are worth it. The Morgans certainly seemed to like you. When you weren't looking, Mrs. Morgan mouthed the words 'Marry her,' at me," he smirked.
"Huh. I liked them, too. She seems smart," she teased.
"Mmhmm. And Mortimer was impressed with you, which was nice for me since he's convinced I'll never live up to my father, and usually takes the opinion that my choice of dates symbolizes that fact."
She laughed. "Interesting."
"Not to mention I particularly enjoyed seeing Michael's face turn thirteen different shades of purple when you wouldn't give him a second glance."
Chloe raised an eyebrow.
"You had to have noticed."
"That he was coming on to me? Yes. He wasn't exactly subtle."
"He has a very one-sided competition with me about stealing one another's dates."
She smirked, turning to face him more fully, her hands finding the lapels of his suit coat. "One-sided, huh? I assume that means you always win," she teased, rising up on her toes slightly so he could kiss her. He did so, his hands sliding down her bare back to rest just above the curve of her ass, and she found herself badly wanting him to take it further, to plunge his tongue into her mouth and wrap her thighs around his waist and...
Ugh. Stupid public place. Stupid appropriate behavior.
She pulled back from his kiss, meeting his eyes and sucking in a breath at the sight of how dark they were. He brushed another kiss against her lips and then one on her neck just below her ear before whispering, "I think I've sufficiently played my part for the night."
She raised an eyebrow. "Won't it look bad if you don't stick around?"
He shook his head. "Please. I've already lasted at least an hour and a half longer than usual. And I've been resisting the temptations of this dress all night." His hands gripped her hips slightly and pulled her a little closer, pressing her against him, and she could feel him growing hard.
She closed her eyes and let out a quiet moan. "Well..." she trailed off, not sure if either of them should really be considering it.
His thumbs starting massaging circles over her lower back and she broke.
"Oh God, get me out of here," she begged.
He smirked, swooping down to steal another lingering kiss. "Gladly."