She didn't lie to Oliver exactly. She told him she had an event to cover for the paper if the blue chiffon gown with a slit that ended at the knee and the notepad she stuffed in a silver purse didn't make that clear enough already. She just conveniently left out being Clark Luthor's plus one.
She got into the limousine quickly, hoping and praying Ollie wasn't looking out the window. Though the tinted window would hide Luthor well enough, he would know.
Her leg was sticking out as she hadn't taken the time to adjust her skirt, and he wasn't even disguising the fact that he was looking. She wore skirts that hit her knee all the time at the office, but the way he had of looking at her, made her feel dirty as if she'd worn it just for him.
She cleared her throat, and he had the decency to at least look up at her face. However, she wasn't sure she liked that any better. Looking into each other's eyes seemed even more intimate, and she had to force herself not to look away. "You going to tell me why you wanted me along?"
"Maybe I just enjoy watching you squirm."
Her eyes narrowed. "Or maybe you're just a jacka-"
He interrupted. "Careful, Lane. I admire your courage, but even I have my limits. I don't know you well enough to miss you."
She took him at his word, but continued to glare daggers at him, willing him to hear the silent curses in her head, which only seemed to amuse. She did her best to ignore him after that.
The hospital administrator was making an announcement when they arrived. "I would just like to thank everyone for coming and announce that we have raised the 400 million required for the new children's wing."
She applauded along with the others. Writing about good news for once would be cheering, good for the soul.
"Fifty million of that came from me," he whispered in her ear like a sweet nothing.
"Am I supposed to be impressed? Your father gave to charity every year, it didn't make him Mother Theresa."
He snorted at that image. "No, it didn't."
He tried to sound glib, but she saw the pain that flickered briefly there. What had Lionel done to create such a man?
Maybe that's why she said yes when he asked her to dance. At least, that's what she told herself. She only wanted answers to know what made him tick, to see once and for all if goodness or redemption hid there.
"What was it like?"
"What was what like?" he asked.
"Growing up with Lionel Luthor as your father." She felt his answer in the way his hand suddenly gripped hers too tightly and in the way his other hand dug into waist. He was going to leave bruises for sure.
"My childhood isn't something I like to talk about," he said, his voice going low in warning.
"I get it. My dad wasn't exactly runner-up in any father-of-the-year contests either."
This made him chuckle though it held no humor. "You have no idea what my life's been like."
"So tell me." She found herself wanting to understand more than anything, to help him break through his inner demons.
"Why, so you can pity me? Poor little Clark Luthor who just needs an ounce of compassion and lifetime of therapy. I don't know when you suddenly found yourself desiring to make me into your pet project, but I'm no one's pet."
This time he released her and gave her a push. "Do your job and go get the scoop from the administrator and then you're free to go. Take the limo back to your sad little life. You'll have to find someone else to live vicariously though."
She couldn't help herself. She slapped him. It hurt her more than it hurt him. It was like slapping a bronze statue though the statue might have been less cold and hollow inside.
She supposed he finally had grounds for firing her, assaulting your boss could definitely get a person the pink slip. "If you weren't so in-demand with readers...," he began. "What are you waiting for? The story's not going to write itself."
She should have been grateful. How many people had been able to strike Ultraman and lived to tell about it? She assumed she had joined a club with a membership of one. She should have been even more grateful when his attention turned to a couple of blonde bimbos who would no doubt be warming his bed tonight.
He was truly a dreadful human being in every way imaginable, and yet, it was that second of pain and vulnerability she had seen that she latched onto. She didn't know how to free him of it. Perhaps no one could, but she knew she had to try.