Title: Open Bar
Challenge Set: 3
Challenge: 85 - Temptation
Rating: PG
Word Count: 640
Pairings: None
Summary: Dates. Dinner. Drinks. Things Frostbite hates, wants, and can't have.
Other Notes: Late 2002, Frostbite is 35.
Lead me not into temptation; I can find the way myself. – Rita Mae Brown
"Water, please."
"Are you sure, ma'am? We do have a fine collection of wines to choose from for your meal. Particularly ideal with the cedar smoked salmon, steamed asparagus, and roast potato is a white wine, such as our 1990 Grey Owl Pinot Gris. An excellent vintage. Or perhaps you would like to try one of our many cocktails or liquors?"
The desire to drown everything away roared dully in her ears. A drink. Just one. Anything to ease this meeting which promised to be torturous judging by the other man's smile. Or the gleam in his eye as he eyed her across the table.
She hated these so called 'dinner dates'.
The muted clink of silverware on fine bone china was deafening as she turned automatically to accept the wine list. The waiter was indeed correct, The London Grill's selection was vast and superior to anything else she had seen in Oregon so far. She expected nothing less from the exclusive restaurant.
Her 'date' was accustomed to these sorts of settings. The London Grill was one of the few places that he would consider comfortable then, so to speak, and an ideal choice when setting up a rendezvous with her latest mark. And speaking of the oil mogul himself, he seemed to fidget in his black three piece suit as she pretended to scrutinise two different vintages of chardonnay blanc. Which was superior – the Domain de Chaberton or the Sumac Ridge, she mused as she really studied her date. Hmm. She didn't care.
Her first impression was this man was as slippery as the oil he managed. Confident, shrewd, and ruthless. He had no qualms in flashing his success; he wore the air of intelligence and control like his expensive cologne. Here was a man who got what he wanted and was very unused to hearing the word no.
Frostbite gently adjusted the small Autobot insignia pin on her suit lapel to remind him who she was and what she represented. Of what he could stand to lose if he did not behave. The lawyer was not intimidated by his posturing.
She briefly wondered if the Autobots knew just what went on in these meetings and what was at stake. Prime, yes. Prowl, yes. Strangely enough, Sideswipe. The others… she doubted it.
This date was about corporate politics. What she could get from him and what he could squeeze from her. Everything was potentially on the table: resources, connections, technology, favours, a word from Prime or Prowl to just the right ear. All for the right price. If this was done right, it would be lucrative for the both of them.
It made her feel filthy.
Spike felt the same amount of revulsion for these power games, as Carly had confided to her once after they had been on a joint dinner date with their marks, a number of influential politicians. The ambassador had retired to his suite immediately after and had only emerged from the shower long after the hot water had been exhausted.
No, very few could understand why they usually came back wrecks from a supposedly pleasant evening of wining and dining.
She handed back the menu and licked her lips. Her throat was parched; the thirst was nearly overpowering. Whiskey. She needed something to burn away the sick feelings inside. Frostbite knew that all she had to do was ask and comfort would be hers. But then she would want another as the night wore on and then another. Her tolerance was such she could get away without looking or sounding compromised, but any lapse of judgement could be disastrous.
She could get smashed on her private stock stashed in her quarters later.
The lawyer pasted on a smile.
"Water, please."