Chloe jostled awake. She pushed up against her pillow, rubbing sleep off her eyes. The alarm clock on the nightstand insisted it was 10 a.m. So little light filtered through the closed shutters she doubted it until her ears picked up the rain drumming outside. She yawned, debated with herself wherever to get up for coffee, or curled under the covers for five more minutes.

She plucked her phone from its charger on the bedside table and snuggled under her duvet to read the news. The first alert soured her mood in six words.

'Bachelor party or trouble in paradise? Oliver Queen was spotted last night outside The Duma in the Oktober district of Star City looking passably drunk. The gentlemen's club is well-known for its dubious entertainments. Has Queen fallen back in his old habits? Star City's favorite son appeared in the company of a mysterious blonde in the past weeks. Was Queen celebrating the end of his unattached era last night? Or is there trouble in paradise?'

Chloe pushed the cover away to pad toward the bathroom, phone abandoned on the bed. Suddenly she was very glad she hadn't followed through her initial impulse and gone to the penthouse with coffee and the plum pie she'd baked after he ended their night early.

Oliver was free to do as he pleased. His public image was part of the misdirection he needed to ensure the Arrow's safety. If for him "downtime" meant "unwind in a shady club" it was perfectly all right with her. The acrid taste in the back of her throat was not disappointment, and certainly not jealousy. While Oliver made a show of himself in the worst area of the city, she'd spent a very nice evening listening to her favorite Christina Aguilera medley and baking. Then she'd watched Love Actually. She'd gone to bed at a decent hour for once and she'd slept like a baby for a full eight hours.

The only frustration she faced this morning was the stormy weather and the trial it was going to be to air-dry her laundry when the air was so humid.

Her phone went off. The number signaled a call from Queen Industries. For a second she wondered if Oliver knew she might not answer if he called himself. But then, he probably was still in bed with whomever he'd graced with a one-night stand this time. Something tall with dark curly hair down their ass, slim as a rachitic bean, and unable to form a complete sentence in English. Chloe inhaled deeply to bury the snarl threatening to come up. "Dorothy Gale."

"Miss Gale, please hold the line, I'm patching you through."

At least it wasn't Oliver pulling on rank. His EA was a man, not a woman with a smoky Australian accent. "Chloe? Barbara Hall speaking."

"Good morning Barbara. What can I do for you?"

"Hum… Your tone tells me to mind my own business."

Chloe swallowed the nasty reply searing her tongue. She knew very well that Barbara co-chaired the "Team Chlollie" committee with Tess, and apparently Hal. Oliver and herself were friends. She'd been a little starry-eyed at the beginning, he was protective of her, but that was all. They enjoyed each other company, as friends, they worked well as teammates—when he didn't put it in his mind to fly solo, and it was the end of it. As he proved last night.

Barbara didn't give her time to rectify her statement. "I have the final edits of your article on the Oasis, and something to give you. So how about a late lunch? Do you know the Maria's? It's a Spanish restaurant near Star Park. I could meet you there around… 1:30 p.m. is that's all right with you."

The blonde closed her eyes in exasperation. Trust Queen Industries to force her to cross half the city for something that could have been handled by email when it was raining cats and dogs. Anyway. Work was work. Queen Industries was compensating her well for this article. With her gig for the Museum delayed, she couldn't afford to alienate such a client, even if she wanted to pummel their CEO. "I'll be there."

"Excellent. I'll see you later, then."

Barbara cut off the communication. Chloe stared at her phone, unsure if she should laugh or throw a tantrum. Her phone rang again before she could decide between the two. "Oliver."

"I can explain."

"You lied to me." The reasoning she'd walked herself through flew out the window. Hurt and anger took the open battlefield by storm. "You said… My entire life is a big lie, Oliver. I need something real to survive. The leather I can forgive because it means something. But this… I can't—"

He interrupted before she told him she'd rather he left her alone.

"I know. I do. I promise it's not what the tabloids made of it."

"What part?" She wanted to scream. Keeping her voice even took so much effort her throat threatened to size up. "The clubbing in a strip joint or the binge drinking?"

"Either. Both. Let me take you to lunch. I'll explain everything."

"I already have plans for lunch."

She heard his jaw cracked as he clamped his mouth shut. The unhappy noise put some balm on her bruised heart. "I see. All right. There are new files that require your attention in the system. I'd like you to see if you can find any link between Werner Zlythe and the Bratva. If you still want to help."

"Fine. I'll take a look."

"Good. That's… good. Excellent. Enjoy your day, Chloe." She foolishly waited for a more personal sign, some warmth in the flat tone that would hint Oliver still cared. "I'll be in touch."

And again, the line went dead without so much of a goodbye. Chloe busted into tears.

"My what?"

"Your invitation for the Queen Industries annual Christmas Party."

Chloe opened and closed her mouth twice. The embossed gold Q on the red and green envelope glittered in the light. "I'm not an employee."

Barbara smiled. "No, you're a consultant. Queen Industries always invites both to its Christmas Party. It's a great event. And I don't say so because I'm on the organization committee. Even Carter enjoys the party, and he's not a fan of galas, as you undoubtedly noticed at the Masquerade. We have good food, excellent music. Of course, there are the mandatory speeches to endure, about how great we are, how well we did in the past year, how expectations are even higher for the next year, et cetera, that's unavoidable. But Oliver and Walter Steel always make sure no one bores us to tears for more than five minutes straight."

"But…" She didn't know what to say, or rather, how to say "no". Going to the Masquerade has already been a mistake. Being anywhere near Oliver as anything else than Watchtower was a mistake.

Barbara took a bite of her paella, then she placed her fork on the side of her plate carefully. "Chloe, may I offer a piece of advice?"

As if I had any way to stop you. Chloe nodded silently.

"Come to the party. Treat yourself to an over-the-top ball gown and overpriced pair of shoes. Bring a friend with you. Enjoy a fantasy night out on the company's dimes."

"And show Oliver what he is missing?" Chloe added, unable to stop herself this time.

The intelligent eyes fixed on her sparkled with mischief. "That goes without saying."