Part II
The doorbell buzzed.
"I can't do this," Irene said anxiously before swallowing a pill. "I'm coming." He can hear the fear in my voice.
Before opening the door she stopped to look in the mirror. The minute crystals on her pale green dress shimmered violently as her breaths came in short bursts. Her reflection would've possessed a delicate beauty had it not been for the expression she wore on her face. She decided against leaving her hair down and quickly pulled it up behind her head. I can't let him think I'm enjoying this, because I'm not. Am I? Try to look like you're not going to a funeral Irene.
"Hello," Irene said perplexedly. Standing in the doorway of her apartment was an unfamiliar stranger.
"I'm sorry ma'am. I was sent by Mr. Connor." He paused momentarily. "Something came up."
"He won't be able to join me tonight?"
"Certainly not ma'am. He will just be running behind. He sent me to pick you up."
I knew I couldn't get out of it that easy. "I see…Well, let me get my coat."
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Irene was jolted back from her thoughts as light filled the back of Connor's long black car. She picked the middle of her dress up and femininely stepped out of the vehicle, hearing the ivory heels of her shoes touch the ground. Too anxious to even see who had opened the door, she began walking down the violet carpet, which lead towards the entrance of wherever she now was. Because of the archway contrived of two fountains of water, one coming from each side down the entire length of the carpet, she couldn't even look to her left or right, to get some hint of where she was at.
But at the end was a man by the door, regal in dress, pompous in manner. He spoke slowly, as if they were both royalty.
"Welcome, madam, to The Laureate." He opened the door as if she were the next contestant in the Roman Coliseum.
Her senses were filled to the brim immediately. The elaborate restaurant was dressed in all colors of the rainbow, which overwhelmed her eyes, and the symphony soothed her ears.
I really could care less where I am.
Not too long after she had been seated, a glass of chardonnay was set down at her table. Before she could tell the woman that she hadn't ordered, the woman said, "It's from the man sitting over there."
"Where?" But before the woman could answer, a man's voice—off in the distance—somehow caught her ear. By the time she had turned around, Michael was sitting down at the table.
Michael studied her with a grin. But it didn't stay for long.
"Seeing as how you were so eager to get me here, I think it's funny that you yourself couldn't even make it on time," Irene said, wearing an indifferent expression on her face. "It's the least you could have done."
"A mission…unforeseen difficulties—"
"It would've been nice to have been wrong about you. Obviously, all of your charm is a ruse." Irene began to scoot her chair back, getting ready to leave, but a thought nagged her mind. She spoke more slowly now, as if approaching an object with caution. "Which mission was it?"
"Titan One. Listen Irene, you have to understand—"
"Jerome Morrow. He's on that mission. Is it serious?"
"We've…lost contact with the ship."
"I…" she suddenly felt sick. "I need to go. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow."
She began hastily walking away, uninterested with whatever Michael was thinking. The same woman who she had seen earlier stopped her before she could reach the door.
"Miss, did the man who gave you the wine ever find you?"
"Yes. He's there at my table now." Irene began towards the door.
"Oh, that's not him, ma'am."
"It's not? Well who was it?"
"That handsome man in the corner," the woman said smartly.
Reluctantly, Irene turned to see. Indeed, there the man was, sitting in the corner. He was quite handsome. He sat, leaning away from the table. His slicked back hair was noticeable, since he seemed to look down at the table, distraught. Before Irene could turn her own eyes away, his eyes suddenly looked up to see her staring at him. That's when she realized who it was—Anton Freeman, the young detective.