"Need a hand with that?"
Oliver tried not to wince when Chloe almost shrieked. He kept his expression friendly and as debonair as he could while he rescued the bag she dropped in fright. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."
She crushed her other bag in response to his grin. Damned. This was not going well.
"I…" Her mouth clamped shut. Oliver almost could see the cogs turning in her head as she looked at the two trios walking away, one toward a F-150 pick-up, the other through the bush toward the shore. "Yes, thank you."
The words probably seared her tongue. It didn't take a genius to guess she was trying to avoid him. He'd spotted her tiptoeing toward the entrance like Peter Pan' shadow after all. Oliver tilted his head toward the building. "Lead the way…"
Since she had no choice, the beautiful blond signaled him to follow with a jolt of her chin. They passed under a lintel into a tiled courtyard styled like a hacienda's placita, complete with a foyer and a pool.
Oliver followed as she turned her back to the pool, and started to climb up the stairs. Her shorts and tee-shirt did even more justice to her silhouette than her dress had, he decided. They reached her floor too quickly for his taste—not that he particularly liked steep stairs— and went down a corridor until she spun on her heels to face him.
"Coffee?"
Oliver wondered if the flash of glee in her green eyes meant she knew her offer had caught him off guard. Since he'd been preparing to sweettalk his way inside and his jaw scraped on the floor, she probably did.
"Sure…"
She scrutinized his face for a moment longer, then nodded. "Come on in, then."
The inside of the apartment was carefully furnished. Pine woods buffets and wicker chairs with plush cushions filled the space, again in the same Spanish colonial look. It was très chic… And very unlike her, Oliver decided. She vibrated with nervous energy and bottled up emotions. The apartment she lived in was too bland, too coordinated. A home brimming with colors, and knickknacks, messy and imperfect suited her better. This felt like an illusion, an image of the person she was supposed to be. Misdirection.
Oliver bit back an empty compliment to follow her in the kitchen nook. He imitated Chloe and placed his load on the counter. Not so neat here, he noticed. There was a cloth rumpled next to the sink. A mug sat near a laptop and a recorder on the dining table. An equally empty pack of oreos mocked him.
"I can make tea if you prefer…"
"Coffer is fine. Chloe…"
She deflated as soon as the name left his lips. "How did you find me?"
Oliver started emptying the bags mechanically, handing out items for her to store. "I wasn't looking for you. Barbara… That's my PR advisor presented me with this idea for— Never mind." Oliver shrugged, giving him his best puppy look. "Happy coincidence?"
Chloe closed the fridge. "I can't afford coincidences, Mr. Queen."
Her voice echoed flatly in the soulless apartment. Without anything to occupy his hands, Oliver stuffed them in his back pockets. She measured water and coffee with military precision.
"Chloe, let me help you. Whatever's scaring you… I have resources…"
"The FBI had resources too. It didn't stop our safe house from exploding with my father inside."
Not so calm now. Not so strong-willed. Her eyes shimmered with sorrow. Oliver pulled fists off his pockets, forced his hands to unclench. "I…"
A ping interrupted. Then another. Chloe checked her phone.
"Ah! Hell!"
His jaw dropped when she pounced on her laptop. The screen saver vanished. Within seconds, all he could see was black windows exploding into lines of codes. Her fingers flew over the keyboard while she muttered. "Damned vultures… Reporters, my butt…"
"Chloe?"
"Busy. Coffee please."
She held the empty cup without looking. Amused and just a little awed, Oliver filled her mug. "Creamer in the fridge. Yahoo? Really? Who uses Yahoo anymore…?"
He splashed what he hoped was the right measure of cream in her cup before handing it back. She gulped some coffee, still typing. "Oh no, you don't… You can run, but you can't hide… Crash and burn, ah! Oliver, no don't!"
Coffee sloshed off the cup she'd just slapped off his hand. His skin throbbed from the burning hot splashes. When she yanked him toward the sink hard enough to jar his arm off its socket, Oliver protested.
"Hey!"
"You're allergic to nuts, aren't you?"
"Yeah, so?"
"The coffee is hazelnut flavored."
"I'm fine."
"Wash your hands."
"I'm fine, Chloe. Flavored coffee uses artificial aromas, not real nuts."
She refused to listen, pulling and tugging until he allowed her to put his hands under the water. He suspected that the past few minutes, the hacking, the quick thinking face to domestic threats, were more like her than her scared-mouse behavior on the beach the previous weekend. Oliver winked at her over his shoulder. "You're cute when you're bossy."
"Can the charm, Queen. I'm immune to billionaires."
He would have believed it without the sparkle in her eyes. Oliver leaned forward a notch. She smelled like almond and orange blossom. He liked it. "Really?"
Oliver let the question hang between them and stared. Chloe met his eyes dead on, a small smirk hovering on her lips. The contest lasted for a few seconds until her eyes clouded and her cheeks pinked. She laughed. "You're terrible."
He liked the carefree sound too. Oliver allowed her to escape on the other side of the counter. "So what was it with—"
His phone set off so loud they both jumped. Oliver recovered the contraption from his pocket. "Sorry, I have to take this. Barbara? What's up?... I am still on site, why?" His gaze slanted toward Chloe who had returned to her laptop. "I'll see you at the office. One hour."
Oliver cut off the call, grabbed a chair and sat. "Chloe, do you have anything to do with half the tabloids in the country losing their entire network ten minutes ago?"
Chloe lifted innocent eyes toward him, her pale skin flushed a little more under his stare. "Maybe?"
"Damned. Where were you all my life?"
She laughed again. Chloe sobered up quickly and explained. "Someone snapped a picture of you picking up my groceries. I cannot— I have to be careful."
Being associated with him put her at risk. Damned. "Do you want me to leave?"
He didn't want to. He wanted to stay and discover more about Chloe, who she was, where she came from, what she liked. Why she was so scared, though that one started to make sense. Why he was suddenly so fascinated with a pint-size blonde with a goddess' legs and deep green eyes.
Chloe shrugged. "Guess it's okay… I hacked into the account of the photographer. It was easy to send a Trojan horse through his mailing list. It destroyed the pictures, and scrambled a couple of other things along the way."
"A couple of things, you say… My PR advisor told me she had a call from the Inquisitor asking about Oliver Queen's new squeezethen two minutes later, the social medias were screaming about another Dark Thursday!"
She lifted her chin in defiance. "Queen Industries survived Dark Thursday fairly well, if I recall. Your satellites were the only ones still working."
"Yes, but—"
"I do whatever is necessary to protect myself."
Her face lost the last bribes of joy from their banter. Even her expressive eyes turned cold. "I think you should go."
"And don't come back?"
The retort was bitterer than he intended. He regretted it immediately, as the hard edge in her eyes wavered. Oliver wondered if he was the only person who knew her real name. He extended one arm to squeeze her petite hand in his. The subdue smile he got in return almost broke his heart.
Oliver pressed her fingers one last time then released her hand. "Give me your phone."
"Why?"
"So I can give you my number. If you need something, or simply want someone to talk to, just give me a call, okay?"
Chloe opened her mouth then closed it and nodded. He punched in his personal cell number, plus the one at the office. Then sent himself a text, so he got hers in return.
"You'll be all right?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"All right, then."
She looked ready to break down again. He hated himself for leaving her like this. Oliver pulled his Ray Ban from his collar, his mind already on an escape route to avoid any paparazzi that might still be lurking around.
"Oliver?"
He tensed, his hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"
"Take care."
The young man flashed his trademark grin and winked before he put his sunglasses on and exited the apartment.
