Again, many thanks for the reviews!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters of Smallville, etc.
* * * * * *
LEX
When Chloe drops into the chair opposite mine, I fight the urge not to look at her. For some reason, and it's the same all the time, I start to get a little frazzled.
Nothing pisses me off more than not being in control of myself. I'm a businessman, trained academically and through nail-biting experience. My odious personality, or what you see of it, and my ability to intimidate people is not a talent that I was born with. It's a skill, honed down to perfection, from years and years of insufferable torment.
Poor little rich boy.
Please do not think that because I was born into a family as rich as the Luthors that it comes easier for me. Believe me, it hasn't.
My father is the epitome of tyranny. He believes in only the best and failure is not something he tolerates in his workplace, in his staff, and most importantly, in the very man who would replace his throne at LutherCorp - his own son. So when his son failed to grow hair and turned into an outright freak at an early age, he began his training. If putting a scared little boy through all kinds of insecure ordeals and self-esteem nibbling shit is called training.
So forget my father, I've trained myself personally to ensure that my exterior wall remains intact and foolproof. Not because I want to, but because I don't have a choice. I've always been an outsider, never mind the fact that I have no hair and my boarding school memories are only that of being bullied mercilessly by normal rich snots who never have to work a day of their lives. You either stand up straight or let people get you down, and I will never resort to letting anyone make me feel unimportant. I have enough of that from my own blood, thanks very much.
I have to be tough. It's a survival of the fittest out there, and I am always and will always be the fittest. This is something I've earned, and quite frankly, something that I'm good at.
But I haven't even stopped my own personal training yet. There's still something else that I need. It's a smell in the air and an instinct in my soul.
Greatness.
Even if I have to overthrow my own father to do it.
So being in a situation like this, where a petite blonde can plop into a chair and flash a dazzling smile at me can reduce me to a pile of jelly, disconcerts me…. to say the very least.
Maybe I haven't been trained enough.
I lean back and wait for her to start the conversation. Unlike me, Chloe doesn't like uncomfortable silences. She's never had to sit at dinner in a large room while her father yells at some poor fuck on his cellular phone.
As a matter of fact, Chloe is probably at her best around crowds. She can be cynical all she wants in front of people. I have a feeling that she's her own worst enemy when she's alone, trying to block out never-ending thoughts.
Like me. Yet, I prefer to be alone.
I cannot be bothered to mull over what that says about my character.
"So," she says brightly, all traces of earlier trepidation gone. If Chloe really is intimidated by me, she would never show it. "How's the evening treating you, Mr. Luthor?"
"Lex," I correct but it's futile. Chloe would rather not address me at all than call me by my first name. Probably has something to do with the fact that I am her father's boss. "Fairly well."
"Despite the fact that you've been ditched so early in the evening?" she says, in what started out as a bright manner but ended slightly bitter.
"It really doesn't bother me," I assure her, partly out of honesty, partly because a major chip of Chloe's magic deteriorates when she starts talking about her major hang-up, ten grand to the first correct guess.
"Really," she says, doubtfully.
"Why should it bother me when I have the charming Chloe Sullivan in my company?"
She rolls her eyes at this. "Sarcasm, as always, fits you like an Armani T- shirt." I'm about to object when she continues, "But I suppose it wouldn't bother you. Sometimes I wonder if anything does."
She makes me sound almost inhuman. "Lots of things bother me," I reply, annoyed to find a testy note in my tone of my voice.
"Like?"
You mooning over Clark is a start. "I won't bore you with the details."
"I promise to pretend to stay interested." Seeing that my facial expression has not changed, she rolls her eyes skyward and continues, "Okay, just name one thing that bothers you."
"Fine. You first."
"Screw that, I asked you first."
I'm not about to object, because experience reminds me that the girl is, quite possibly, more stubborn than a mule. One of the many charms of a reporter. Anyway, the answer comes easy to me. "My father."
"Why?"
"Interview's over. Your turn."
She scowls at this. Her nose wrinkles up and her eyebrows furrow, and I have this insane urge to reach out and smooth out the crinkles in her brow line.
"Okay. One thing that bothers me. You know there's a lot."
"I guessed."
She thinks about it for while, curled in a ball, finger on her chin, eyes staring a hole in the coffee table in front of her. "Lana Lang."
I expected the answer, but I still feel a pang somewhere.
"Why?"
"Interview's over," she says, wryly.
"Point taken."
We lapse into a silence not wholly uncomfortable. She's contemplating her words, and I'm contemplating her. She's gone back to curling up in a little ball, finger on her chin, eyes staring at the coffee table.
"So!" I say loudly, with as much pep as I could possibly muster, which isn't much. But it serves its purpose: it jumps her out of whatever plane of miserable existence she had gotten herself sucked into, which is all I needed. "How's The Torch doing? Riveting as always, I'm sure."
"I try," she says, with a bad attempt at modesty. "Not as riveting as the underground lab work at LutherCorp, I'm sure."
"I'm sure you're sure. It's not as controversial as you think, Chloe."
"Despite the growing number of mutated people we used to call our town folk but are now our resident freaks?"
"Something in the water, perhaps?"
"Or the soil. Wait. Doesn't LutherCorp run a fertilization plant here?"
I smile dryly at her. "Ask your father, Chloe. We're not all evil."
"How would you explain it then?"
"I always thought that you were opting for the meteorite rock theory. Or maybe I flatter myself too much."
"Yeah, you really should look out for that."
"I'll try."
She smiles a bit at this and a lock of her hair strays and flops over one blue eye. Suddenly struck with an impulse to do a very gallant thing, I reach out and tuck the blonde strands behind her ear. They're soft and wispy to the touch.
However, the effects are monstrously evil on my ego. She jerks back from me with a startled look in her eyes.
Way to go, Lex.
"Anyway," she says, somewhat uncomfortably, but thankfully deciding to ignore the whole thing. "Yeah, anyway. I'll give you that. I like the meteorite theory better. More sci-fi, less politics, more interesting."
"You might be the only one."
"Do you blame them?" she says, half-teasing, half-curious.
"I don't blame people. It's a waste of energy."
"So you just go straight to revenge."
"It's a lot more satisfying."
Instead of looking shocked at this comment, as I predicted, she thinks about it. Just a little too hard for my liking. She chews on the corner of her lip and phases out for a moment.
I watch her and patiently wait for her to say something.
"Guess so," she finally says with a shrug.
"Don't follow my advice."
"I didn't realize it was advice," she remarks. I give her a hard stare. "I wasn't intending to follow your 'advice' but thanks for the attempt at keeping me pure and innocent and diverting me away from having a corrupted mind like yours."
"Don't mention it." I lean back in my red couch. "You know I just realized something."
"Do tell."
"You haven't ordered a coffee yet."
She looks surprised at this. "Wow. You're right. And caffeine is usually first and foremost in my mind."
"Must be swept away by the Luthor charm," I smile. She smiles back in a polite way that tells me that it's the Kent charm that sweeps her off her feet and it has nothing to do whatsoever with the Luthors.
"I'll order you a drink," I get up. When turning back to her to ask what she wants, I stop at the stricken look on her face. "What?"
"No! God, no. Sit your royal ass down Luthor and let me get my own drink."
Royal ass. I smirk a bit at this.
I lean forward until my eye is on level with hers and gently say, "I'm being chivalrous. Stop embarrassing me and tell me what you want." I intend to finish this line with an all-famous Lex Luthor smirk, but I'm just beginning to realize that our faces are very close together, and the effect it has on me is somewhat similar to how I picture a human being in the grossest process of mutation. I feel blood flush up my cheeks and a shortness of breath.
Somewhere in the back of my sick mind I'm entertaining another possibility. I could just close the gap right now. Lean in a few inches and kiss her softly on the lips.
Yeah. And face the possibility of her jerking away from me again. Not to mention the fact that the newspapers will have a field day with this. Lex Luthor Kisses Girl In Coffee Shop. Girl Runs Screaming. Yeah. Good one, Lex.
I force the moment away and stand upright again, vexed at myself.
Chloe appears unaffected. I feel light-headed and heady at the very closeness of her, and she doesn't even notice. But why should she? Hardly the six foot three farm boy now am I?
"Chivalry does not exist in Chloeland," she says. "Especially when it comes to rich boys like you."
I give her a half-hearted attempt at a smile. Smiling takes too much energy for me, particularly at this moment.
"Take a plunge, see how the water feels."
She regards me for a moment and I look at anything but her. I'm still feeling flustered and it's bothering the shit out of me. I'd welcome anything to change me back to my normal hateful self, even a trip to the counter to see Clark failing at his chance with Lana again.
"Mocha Latte," she finally decides. "Any hint of poison and I'll sue."
I can't help but smile at this. "You'd be dead before you could do that."
"Dead or mutated?" she challenges.
"I'll definitely let you decide."
"Great. I'll go for mutated. I'd definitely have a story to tell then, what with the hands-on experience and everything." She leans back and stretches her arms above her head and sighs somewhat contentedly. "Lex Luthor getting me a coffee."
"Just don't go around telling everybody."
"I might just do that anyway, because you know what? I don't think you're as bad as you think are."
Ready with a quip, I look at her face and see her grinning up at me, making me lose focus again.
Fuck. I leave to get her a cup of Mocha Latte and myself some peace of mind.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters of Smallville, etc.
* * * * * *
LEX
When Chloe drops into the chair opposite mine, I fight the urge not to look at her. For some reason, and it's the same all the time, I start to get a little frazzled.
Nothing pisses me off more than not being in control of myself. I'm a businessman, trained academically and through nail-biting experience. My odious personality, or what you see of it, and my ability to intimidate people is not a talent that I was born with. It's a skill, honed down to perfection, from years and years of insufferable torment.
Poor little rich boy.
Please do not think that because I was born into a family as rich as the Luthors that it comes easier for me. Believe me, it hasn't.
My father is the epitome of tyranny. He believes in only the best and failure is not something he tolerates in his workplace, in his staff, and most importantly, in the very man who would replace his throne at LutherCorp - his own son. So when his son failed to grow hair and turned into an outright freak at an early age, he began his training. If putting a scared little boy through all kinds of insecure ordeals and self-esteem nibbling shit is called training.
So forget my father, I've trained myself personally to ensure that my exterior wall remains intact and foolproof. Not because I want to, but because I don't have a choice. I've always been an outsider, never mind the fact that I have no hair and my boarding school memories are only that of being bullied mercilessly by normal rich snots who never have to work a day of their lives. You either stand up straight or let people get you down, and I will never resort to letting anyone make me feel unimportant. I have enough of that from my own blood, thanks very much.
I have to be tough. It's a survival of the fittest out there, and I am always and will always be the fittest. This is something I've earned, and quite frankly, something that I'm good at.
But I haven't even stopped my own personal training yet. There's still something else that I need. It's a smell in the air and an instinct in my soul.
Greatness.
Even if I have to overthrow my own father to do it.
So being in a situation like this, where a petite blonde can plop into a chair and flash a dazzling smile at me can reduce me to a pile of jelly, disconcerts me…. to say the very least.
Maybe I haven't been trained enough.
I lean back and wait for her to start the conversation. Unlike me, Chloe doesn't like uncomfortable silences. She's never had to sit at dinner in a large room while her father yells at some poor fuck on his cellular phone.
As a matter of fact, Chloe is probably at her best around crowds. She can be cynical all she wants in front of people. I have a feeling that she's her own worst enemy when she's alone, trying to block out never-ending thoughts.
Like me. Yet, I prefer to be alone.
I cannot be bothered to mull over what that says about my character.
"So," she says brightly, all traces of earlier trepidation gone. If Chloe really is intimidated by me, she would never show it. "How's the evening treating you, Mr. Luthor?"
"Lex," I correct but it's futile. Chloe would rather not address me at all than call me by my first name. Probably has something to do with the fact that I am her father's boss. "Fairly well."
"Despite the fact that you've been ditched so early in the evening?" she says, in what started out as a bright manner but ended slightly bitter.
"It really doesn't bother me," I assure her, partly out of honesty, partly because a major chip of Chloe's magic deteriorates when she starts talking about her major hang-up, ten grand to the first correct guess.
"Really," she says, doubtfully.
"Why should it bother me when I have the charming Chloe Sullivan in my company?"
She rolls her eyes at this. "Sarcasm, as always, fits you like an Armani T- shirt." I'm about to object when she continues, "But I suppose it wouldn't bother you. Sometimes I wonder if anything does."
She makes me sound almost inhuman. "Lots of things bother me," I reply, annoyed to find a testy note in my tone of my voice.
"Like?"
You mooning over Clark is a start. "I won't bore you with the details."
"I promise to pretend to stay interested." Seeing that my facial expression has not changed, she rolls her eyes skyward and continues, "Okay, just name one thing that bothers you."
"Fine. You first."
"Screw that, I asked you first."
I'm not about to object, because experience reminds me that the girl is, quite possibly, more stubborn than a mule. One of the many charms of a reporter. Anyway, the answer comes easy to me. "My father."
"Why?"
"Interview's over. Your turn."
She scowls at this. Her nose wrinkles up and her eyebrows furrow, and I have this insane urge to reach out and smooth out the crinkles in her brow line.
"Okay. One thing that bothers me. You know there's a lot."
"I guessed."
She thinks about it for while, curled in a ball, finger on her chin, eyes staring a hole in the coffee table in front of her. "Lana Lang."
I expected the answer, but I still feel a pang somewhere.
"Why?"
"Interview's over," she says, wryly.
"Point taken."
We lapse into a silence not wholly uncomfortable. She's contemplating her words, and I'm contemplating her. She's gone back to curling up in a little ball, finger on her chin, eyes staring at the coffee table.
"So!" I say loudly, with as much pep as I could possibly muster, which isn't much. But it serves its purpose: it jumps her out of whatever plane of miserable existence she had gotten herself sucked into, which is all I needed. "How's The Torch doing? Riveting as always, I'm sure."
"I try," she says, with a bad attempt at modesty. "Not as riveting as the underground lab work at LutherCorp, I'm sure."
"I'm sure you're sure. It's not as controversial as you think, Chloe."
"Despite the growing number of mutated people we used to call our town folk but are now our resident freaks?"
"Something in the water, perhaps?"
"Or the soil. Wait. Doesn't LutherCorp run a fertilization plant here?"
I smile dryly at her. "Ask your father, Chloe. We're not all evil."
"How would you explain it then?"
"I always thought that you were opting for the meteorite rock theory. Or maybe I flatter myself too much."
"Yeah, you really should look out for that."
"I'll try."
She smiles a bit at this and a lock of her hair strays and flops over one blue eye. Suddenly struck with an impulse to do a very gallant thing, I reach out and tuck the blonde strands behind her ear. They're soft and wispy to the touch.
However, the effects are monstrously evil on my ego. She jerks back from me with a startled look in her eyes.
Way to go, Lex.
"Anyway," she says, somewhat uncomfortably, but thankfully deciding to ignore the whole thing. "Yeah, anyway. I'll give you that. I like the meteorite theory better. More sci-fi, less politics, more interesting."
"You might be the only one."
"Do you blame them?" she says, half-teasing, half-curious.
"I don't blame people. It's a waste of energy."
"So you just go straight to revenge."
"It's a lot more satisfying."
Instead of looking shocked at this comment, as I predicted, she thinks about it. Just a little too hard for my liking. She chews on the corner of her lip and phases out for a moment.
I watch her and patiently wait for her to say something.
"Guess so," she finally says with a shrug.
"Don't follow my advice."
"I didn't realize it was advice," she remarks. I give her a hard stare. "I wasn't intending to follow your 'advice' but thanks for the attempt at keeping me pure and innocent and diverting me away from having a corrupted mind like yours."
"Don't mention it." I lean back in my red couch. "You know I just realized something."
"Do tell."
"You haven't ordered a coffee yet."
She looks surprised at this. "Wow. You're right. And caffeine is usually first and foremost in my mind."
"Must be swept away by the Luthor charm," I smile. She smiles back in a polite way that tells me that it's the Kent charm that sweeps her off her feet and it has nothing to do whatsoever with the Luthors.
"I'll order you a drink," I get up. When turning back to her to ask what she wants, I stop at the stricken look on her face. "What?"
"No! God, no. Sit your royal ass down Luthor and let me get my own drink."
Royal ass. I smirk a bit at this.
I lean forward until my eye is on level with hers and gently say, "I'm being chivalrous. Stop embarrassing me and tell me what you want." I intend to finish this line with an all-famous Lex Luthor smirk, but I'm just beginning to realize that our faces are very close together, and the effect it has on me is somewhat similar to how I picture a human being in the grossest process of mutation. I feel blood flush up my cheeks and a shortness of breath.
Somewhere in the back of my sick mind I'm entertaining another possibility. I could just close the gap right now. Lean in a few inches and kiss her softly on the lips.
Yeah. And face the possibility of her jerking away from me again. Not to mention the fact that the newspapers will have a field day with this. Lex Luthor Kisses Girl In Coffee Shop. Girl Runs Screaming. Yeah. Good one, Lex.
I force the moment away and stand upright again, vexed at myself.
Chloe appears unaffected. I feel light-headed and heady at the very closeness of her, and she doesn't even notice. But why should she? Hardly the six foot three farm boy now am I?
"Chivalry does not exist in Chloeland," she says. "Especially when it comes to rich boys like you."
I give her a half-hearted attempt at a smile. Smiling takes too much energy for me, particularly at this moment.
"Take a plunge, see how the water feels."
She regards me for a moment and I look at anything but her. I'm still feeling flustered and it's bothering the shit out of me. I'd welcome anything to change me back to my normal hateful self, even a trip to the counter to see Clark failing at his chance with Lana again.
"Mocha Latte," she finally decides. "Any hint of poison and I'll sue."
I can't help but smile at this. "You'd be dead before you could do that."
"Dead or mutated?" she challenges.
"I'll definitely let you decide."
"Great. I'll go for mutated. I'd definitely have a story to tell then, what with the hands-on experience and everything." She leans back and stretches her arms above her head and sighs somewhat contentedly. "Lex Luthor getting me a coffee."
"Just don't go around telling everybody."
"I might just do that anyway, because you know what? I don't think you're as bad as you think are."
Ready with a quip, I look at her face and see her grinning up at me, making me lose focus again.
Fuck. I leave to get her a cup of Mocha Latte and myself some peace of mind.