LEX
But first, she knocked a cup of coffee over her bandaged hand and said, "Damn you, Lex Luthor!"
Frankly, I fail to see what it is that I have to be damned about. It was her own clumsiness after all, I only just walked into the office with a large bouquet of lilies in one hand and spoke, "Good afternoon, Chloe." Before she spilled her coffee all over the place.
Which only helps ease the guilty conscience if only a little bit, at the fact that this girl is a natural walking disaster area and could have gotten stitches (albeit two) anywhere.
Lilies thrown aside on another desk, tissue paper scrambled from her pockets, her desk drawers, anywhere we could lay our hands on them, pressed against her now damp bandages, and when we finally assumed some stability, she glared at me.
"What?" I ask, annoyed.
She breathes deeply, obviously trying to gain some control over herself, and probably remembering that bitchiness is not the correct attitude to be fronted when meeting with your father's boss.
Especially after this father's boss drove her to the fucking emergency room only yesterday.
It is with some slowness and control when she finally says, "Mr. Luthor, I would appreciate it if you didn't shock the living daylights out of me the next time."
"That wasn't my intention," I reply, dryly. "I actually had another purpose as to why I came here, and it wasn't to drive you to the emergency room, again." Then I add, "And please call me Lex." And mentally, here's hoping there isn't a next time.
She gives me a look of which I can only assume is supreme dislike.
"Well, I'm sorry the welcoming committee got hot coffee all over her injured hand and is unable to greet you with the service of which you are accustomed to," she says, equally dryly.
I decide to ignore that, instead walk over to the discarded lilies and hand them to her. In my mind I had pictured this to be a more ceremonious moment.
"For me?" she says, surprised.
"For you," I confirm.
Seemingly at a loss for words (this might very well be the first time anyone has encountered such a thing), she takes the flowers and brings one petal to the tip of her nose. "Thanks," she says, uncertainly.
"You're welcome. I actually do hope that you're feeling better, Chloe." I look around at the mess of the office, the mess that is multiplied by the wads of coffee soaked tissues everywhere. I forebear comment, knowing that if I so much as hint at an insult I might not be walking out of here with my arms attached. "Of course, you must be better or you wouldn't be at school."
"I'm much better, thank you," she says, suddenly the epitome of awkward politeness. I stare at her for a little while, and wonder if I prefer this side of her or the more dynamically bitchy side that I've grown familiar with.
She notices me staring and looks down, blushing. I notice me staring and look away, slightly red.
"I trust the doctors treated you well," I say, and find myself disconcerted at the sudden formality of which I'm addressing her.
She nods. I wish she didn't. I'd rather she say something bitchy to lift this awkward silence away.
"So, anyway," I say, hoping to snap myself back to the normal world. "I hope you like the flowers. Take care, Chloe."
I'm already halfway out of the office and out of surreal hell when her voice stops me, "Wait, Lex."
I turn around and find her not looking at me, but her face has a look of hardened resolve about it, and her right fist is clenched.
I prepare myself for the worst.
"Talking about the injury…" she starts.
"We weren't talking about the injury," I cut in. "We left the topic some time ago, didn't we?"
I'm awarded with a glare. "Okay, if you're gonna get all technical about it, referring back to my injury…" she trails off, probably waiting for me to interrupt, which I don't. I stand in front of her desk with my hands clasped behind my back like a student waiting for his principal to dish out the lecture. "Yes, anyway, the injury. You know I hate to be the one pointing this out, but I received that injury at the Talon."
For some reason, I had a feeling that this was coming. I just didn't think that she'd have the balls or the heart to actually follow through. Evidently, I know even less about teenage girls than I did when I was actually allowed to date them.
I wait patiently for her to continue.
"And it was due to a carelessness of a staff at the Talon…"
"Which, if I'm not mistaken," I cut in, "Your current housemate is a partner of."
"…which is also owned by you," she finishes.
I smile at her. Obviously she doesn't expect this, and it seems to fluster her.
"Continue," I say, businesslike.
She takes a deep breath, a sign of weakness. She knows that she has never dealt with this before and she probably guesses that I have, many times.
"I plan to sue the Talon for the injury," she says in one breath.
I smile again. She glares.
"I'm serious."
"I know you are," I assure her. "Have you spoken to an attorney already?"
"No," she replies, slightly baffled. "As I said, I'm planning to sue. I haven't taken it into action yet."
"Have you got all the details figured out?" I ask. She glares again. She probably planned for me to be a bit more pissed off about the whole ordeal, not give her suggestions.
"I can prove that it's the negligence of the Talon that injured me…"
"Which is neither long-term nor does it seem to be affecting your schoolwork."
"..and it does have an insurance claim on it seeing that I did have to sit in an operating theater…"
"For two stitches."
"But they're still stitches, and they still hurt, don't they?"
"I don't know Chloe, you tell me."
She glares at me again, and I smile at her again.
"How much are you looking to claim for this two-stitch injury?"
"However much," she says, through gritted teeth.
"Well lets put some factors into account," I tell her airily, lifting up my five fingers and counting them down. "First, you're only sixteen and a student, so the injury wouldn't affect you as it would a sixty-year old janitor, hence compensation would be severed to an amount that does not equal the hassle of bringing someone to court. Second, you only had two stitches, which, seeing as you're in school already, doesn't seem to be affecting your schoolwork or your every day life to any large degree. Third, you'll have to prove that the injury was caused by the negligence of the Talon and not your own, which, seeing that you managed to pour hot coffee all by yourself just ten minutes ago, might be a little hard to prove. Fourth…"
"A lawyer might speak differently," she cuts in, calmly.
"Chloe, I'd give you free coffee at the Talon for a month for that injury, and not a cent more. And believe me, that's generous, seeing as you don't even have a leg to stand on."
She breathes again. "Lex, I don't want to threaten..."
"Funny, it sounded like it a minute ago."
"… but I'm going to have to remind you that I wouldn't be suing just about anyone, I would be suing you, and that's something any lawyer would love to get their hands on. Even for two stitches. And you wouldn't want the bad publicity, win or lose. The whole world would be on my side."
I look her in the eye, and wonder what the hell it is that she wants. Unfortunately, she's right; any lawyer would love the opportunity to get back at me, and I can't have the publicity. Usually this would be settled as an out-of-court matter, if I chose to do it the right way, and it's evident that Chloe is depending on this.
"Alright, Miss Sullivan. What do you want? Because I know you have something in mind."
And of all the money, cars and images that flew past my mind, what she says is: "I want an interview."
Oh for fuck's sake.
"Fine."
"Actually I want more than that."
"Shoot."
"I want to follow you around every day for a week. Actually, make that two weeks."
I laugh. I can't help it. Just the image of me trying to escape from my father and Mike seemed pathetic enough without injecting Chloe into the list.
"I'm not joking!" she says, irritably.
"Yes well, whether you intended it or not, this is a joke, Chloe."
"I'm giving you an easy out here, Lex."
I study her for a moment, wondering how I would be able to break this to her gently without breaking her oversized confidence, and come to the conclusion that sometimes, you just have to be cruel to be kind.
"I could give you an easy out too," I tell her, assuming business mode and looking her in the eye. "Here's one for a start: you don't sue me, and I'll let your father keep his job. How's that? No? There are many other scenarios I can give you, Chloe, if that be not sufficient enough for you."
For all her intelligence, Chloe has walked into this with her eyes closed. The despairing look that crosses her face is enough to make even me feel sorry for her, but it's her fault to begin with.
I mean, a day-to-day interview? Is she out of her fucking mind?
Then she purses her lips and I get the strangest feeling that she's about to give up, and yet another stranger feeling of not really wanting her to give up.
She sniffs, loudly.
And yes, if she cries, it will up my guilty conscience at about a million notches.
She looks down and rubs at her face.
"I see," she says, in a shaky voice, not looking up at my face. "I see. Well, Lex, I'm glad that you've managed to make things clear…" she trails off and covers her mouth with her hand, to my increasing horror.
I find myself weighing the odds.
Okay, day-to-day interview. It'll kill me, sure, but it'll also salvage her pride, which I have actually grown rather fond of, and it'll also lift my guilty conscience up totally. She wouldn't actually need to go to work with me, she would just need to spend about five hours a day with me, and that's not too bad. Unless you count the weekend. I can just negotiate it for a week instead of two.
And, although I hate to say it, she will probably get Mike off my back. He would be delirious at the thought, I'm certain.
I know I'm going to regret it but, "Okay," I sigh. "Okay."
"Okay?" she says, hopefully.
"One week."
"One week," she echoes.
"Yes," I sigh heavily. "One week. Starting this afternoon. It'll end next Wednesday."
She nods and says quietly, "Okay."
"And you won't be following me around work. After office hours only."
She sighs. "I suppose I can't argue with that."
Damn straight she can't argue with that.
She sticks a shaky hand out to me. "Deal?"
I clasp it with my own, still hesitating before I actually close the distance. "Deal."
"Great!" she looks up and smiles at me, and it is with some ramification that I notice that her eyes are completely dry. "So I'll meet you later at around five? Where can we meet? The Talon? Or your place?"
Slightly confused at the sudden transition from unsure Chloe to bubbly Chloe, I reply uncertainly, "Sure. I mean, the Talon. We'll meet at the Talon."
"Great!" she says, in a tone that says that I'm dismissed. "See you then, Lex."
"Yes," I say, still unsure. "See you then."
I start to walk out of the office, and hear her humming a song vaguely recognizable to me as a tune that I wouldn't buy with good money. I turn back, once, for my peace of mind.
"You weren't crying just now, were you."
She looks surprised. "Why, no, Lex. What on earth made you suppose that?"
I should have known. Get past all of the guilt and the injury and the fact that she's a pretty blonde teenager, and you still come down to the essential core of her: she's a reporter, and I'm a fucking idiot to have forgotten that.
"I see we're going to get along famously, Miss Sullivan," I tell her wearily. "In fact, there may be no survivors."
"Well, let's keep our fingers crossed," she grins at me.
I leave the Torch and Smallville High with my head down, only allowing myself a bit of reflection when I'm back in the car with the blood-stained seats.
What is my conclusion of Chloe Sullivan?
Besides being a stubborn, annoying and manipulative blonde teenager?
Maybe I'm a little impressed.
I drive away, keeping in mind my newly added appointment at the Talon at five.
