Author's Note: A huge thanks to all who read and reviewed the last chapter. I really do appreciate it! As ever, I don't own Arrow, its characters, etc. But you knew that already, didn't you? ;)

Chapter Two: "So this was how the moth felt"

"I asked you a question," he ground out. "Who are you and why are you dealing at my card game?"

Felicity suddenly realized how silent the table had become, how everyone in the room stared at her. Whoever this man was, he was the authority and, of course, everyone had looked at him as if he was in charge—except her.

When she was young, her dad called her 'sassy' with a glint of admiration in his eyes. As an adult, her supervisor, Ralph Jameson, stated in her yearly job performance report that she was not a team player and would likely never be managerial material because she had a problem with authority. She had to bite her tongue to keep from retorting that no, she just had a problem with dumbasses.

Now she wondered if they were all onto something because this man—oh goodness, he was built and incredibly handsome and frowny—made her stubbornly dig in, and now the situation was worse. Way worse. Worse than dealing at an illegal casino worse.

"Oliver, it's okay," one of the players finally said, vouching for her. "She's good."

Oliver's scowl loosened somewhat as Dimitri repeated that the dealer called in sick and that the blonde offered to help.

But he kept staring.

"I'm Felicity. Felicity Smoak." Dang it. Why did she keep offering up her last name?

He didn't respond to her directly. "Who brought this женщина here?"

She huffed slightly, annoyed both at his dismissal and the sneaking suspicion he had called her a dirty name in…what was that…Russian?

Suddenly, a man seated to the side leaned in, smirking. "Who cares? I'd rather look at her than those old fucks you have over there."

The tension choking the air diffused as everyone dissolved into laughter. Even Oliver's eyes lightened and a smile twitched across his stony face.

Felicity felt a sudden swoop of heat in her chest, even though the smile wasn't directed at her. She could still feel his uneasiness as he circled around the table, as though stalking prey. They resumed the game, her face burning whenever she glanced up and caught the brooding man staring at her. With his arms crossed in front of his chest, he was hot enough to be on the cover of GQ. Gorgeous but a jerk. Life was so unfair.

The games went on and on for hours, and she fought the urge to yawn. Getting up and going to work in the morning was going to suck, but she had to see this through. That fact was reflected on Oliver's stern face. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"All right, hon. I'm out."

Chairs scraped the floor as players started to leave, and they all slid over chips towards Felicity. She didn't know whether she should accept them or not, but something told her it would be insulting not to. "Thank you."

They were all so polite as they prepared to depart, lining up to cash out next to a heavily guarded man with a metal box.

Felicity stood up to leave, too, feeling more and more uneasy as the room emptied of people.

Maxim and Regina make a beeline for her. "Finally," Regina said in a hushed voice.

"Let's just go. Now." Maxim's voice was tight.

Oliver stood against the wall, talking to a few other men next to him. He pulled his arms back and Felicity caught a glimpse of something black and metallic resting on his hip. He had a gun. Holy shit. Felicity walked as quietly as she could with the heels Regina loaned her and kept her head down. The trio's strides quickened as they passed him, but Oliver's head snapped up like he never missed a thing.

"Felicity."

She hesitated when she heard Oliver's smooth voice. Could she keep going like she didn't hear him? No, the hesitation in her movement would give her away, and something told her that Oliver was not the type of man that someone simply walked away from. "I'm not done with you."

The way he spoke—his voice like velvet-covered marble—made her heart freeze in her chest. What exactly did he want from her?

Oliver pushed himself off the wall, dark and menacing as he approached the three friends. He swept around Felicity and lightly touched her upper back, the warmth of his skin mesmerizing her. He was dangerous, calculating, everything that she should not want in a man, and yet she felt the most delicious tingling at his nearness, at his touch.

So this was how the moth felt.

"You can go," Oliver said to Maxim. "I'll drive her home." There was something forbidding in his gaze, or maybe it was the way he spoke, as if he expected everyone to do what he said without question.

Roman appeared in the room and patted his brother on the shoulder as if to assure him it would be okay. Poor Maxim was too terrified to argue. His anxious eyes slid to Felicity before meeting Oliver's again. "Okay. C'mon, Regina."

Regina frowned, the worry on her face mirroring the feelings in Felicity's chest as Maxim gripped her arm so tightly that her face looked pained. "Call me when you get home no matter how late."

"I'll walk you out," Roman offered the couple.

Oliver watched them go with a satisfied expression and ushered Felicity to a secluded area of the room where he gestured toward a sofa that—she realized when she sat on it—was intended more as a style statement than for comfort. Of course, maybe it was just hard to get comfortable while sitting with a man who made her feel so uneasy. Her eyes fell on the backs of her friends. Traitors, Felicity thought as she watched them leave without her.

"I—I think I should go, too." Swallowing hard, Felicity suppressed the urge to leap from the sofa and run away from him. Maybe if she took off her too-high heels, she could speed along her escape. The heels themselves would make excellent projectile weapons if only her aim were better. Oh, who was she kidding? Coach Buckner was right. She really should have tried harder in P.E.

For his part, Oliver looked calm, casual even, as he rested his arm on the back of the sofa and his fingers brushed against her shoulder lightly. Her skin burned at his touch, but it was a pleasant burn, an awareness as her senses went into overload.

She became acutely aware that they were all alone. The last people in the room were finished packing up the tables.

"You can relax," he said recognizing her discomfort. "I just wanted to apologize. I'm sorry for the way I talked to you."

Well, that wasn't what she expected. "Oh." Her guard was still up. There was definitely darkness behind his icy blue eyes, but she was not sure what it entailed. "I mean, all's forgiven."

"When I saw someone I didn't recognize dealing at one of my games, I was not happy."

"I—I see."

His lips pulled upwards, revealing deep dimples as he studied her. His other hand reached out and his finger stroked her face in a surprisingly tender gesture. "You really have no idea who I am, do you?" He sounded amused, which was probably a good thing. It beat the alternative.

"Should I?" Her voice came out breathy, not defiant, as she had intended. She was too fixated on the disconnect between how incredible it felt to have this veritable stranger touch her cheek and the uncertainty of her situation. He was the spider, and she was the fly. All that heat combined with the energy in his eyes made her dizzy.

He laughed then, a deep, pleasant rumble. Blue eyes twinkled at her. "No, I guess not. But you will soon enough."

What does that even mean?

"You're really good at what you do. I was watching you the whole time." The compliment, along with his smile, burned Felicity all the way down to her toes. He tilted his head, looking at her like he'd never seen anything quite like her.

It was unnerving.

And exhilarating.

"Yeah, I kind of noticed." That intensity…not sure if it was creepy or hot. I was kind of wondering whether you want to lick me from head to toe or break my kneecaps.

His eyes flashed with amusement. "Personally, I would go with discerning over creepy or hot, but licking is a distinct possibility. As for breaking your kneecaps, it would be a shame to ruin such beautiful legs."

She squeezed her eyes shut and silently counted down from three before opening them again. "Oh crap. I said that aloud didn't I? I have got to work on my filter."

"Felicity, how would you like to work for me?"

Shock reverberated through her body.

"Men like staring at gorgeous women when they gamble. You did a good job, you earned a lot of tips tonight, and the players left happy even though they were lining my wallet. That says a lot for you."

Felicity stared at him, struggling to form a coherent sentence.

Oliver was bad news all packaged in an expensive suit with a beautiful smile and a body that… No, she reminded herself. Keep this professional. This was a one-off deal. The last thing she needed was to get sucked into a seedy underworld, no matter how strapped for cash she was.

But curiosity won out.

"How much?"

Oliver left her side to gather the boxed up chips, the tips that she was about to leave behind in her haste to escape.

He glanced at the take. "About five grand. Of course, that's before my cut. Sixty-forty."

What?

She watched as he gouged the box and handed it back to her. There was only a relatively small heap left. Three thousand dollars at the most, which was more money than she had starting out the evening, but what gave him the right to just take what he wanted of it? Especially considering from the cut of his suit, he wasn't exactly hurting for money.

She couldn't help but feel indignant. "Wait a second. That's not fair! All you did was glower and make people feel uncomfortable. I'm the one who charmed them."

For the first time since hours ago, a shadow crossed over his face. "I'll give you this. You're either incredibly courageous or monumentally stupid." She blinked quickly at that. She'd been called many things in her life, but never stupid. "If you were man, you'd be picking yourself off the floor right now. This opportunity exists for you because of my connections and my generosity." He tempered his reaction. "It's a couple nights per week, and if you're getting tips like this all the time, you'll be making good money for yourself even with my cut."

He was right. If she could make a few thousand dollars for just a few hours' worth of work, her life would be so much easier. Perhaps she could finally get her head above water, actually breathe without waiting for the next crisis to hit.

Was she actually considering this? Maybe she was monumentally stupid. Or maybe desperation caused smart people to do stupid things. Either way…

She swallowed her anger and backed off. "I'm sorry, Mr. Oliver—I mean—"

The smile returned to his face. Satisfaction. "Just Oliver. And is that a yes?" His eyes watched her like he already knew her answer. He could see her wrestling with it.

"Yes—wait, how do I—" Felicity lowered her voice. "I can't deposit this in the bank, can I?" She knew that what she was agreeing to was illegal. The phrase "money laundering" came to mind. It was one she'd only heard of in mob movies, but it was just for the short term. Just to get herself back on her feet. No harm, no foul.

He chuckled again. "I'll put you on the Verdant payroll. It will all be on the up-and-up. Well, as much as our arrangement can be." He extended his hand waiting for her to take it. She hesitated but finally stood and clasped his. His calloused fingers wrapped around her smaller hand, shaking it. It would have seemed perfectly businesslike if not for the gentle caress of his thumb against the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist. A shot of desire coursed through her. She swallowed hard. When was the last time she'd had sex? The last time she'd even been touched like this? A few years? It was as though all those parts of her body were waking up again just from this man's simple touch. It was like there was a demon inside her, rattling the bars of its cage. And she didn't even like him! Not really. Okay, maybe a little.

And just as quickly as his ministrations began, Oliver pulled away, stepped back, and inclined his head towards the man guarded by two ape-like looking guards.

"Anton. Pay her out."

The man took the box of chips from Felicity and handed back a little more than three thousand in cash. Her eyes widened. This was surreal. There would finally be a little safety net. She could pay her own bills, help her mom, and have enough left over for a trip to Victoria's Secret. Not that she would tell Regina about that. Her friend would gloat mercilessly.

Felicity stuffed the cash into her clutch.

Oliver looked at her over his iPhone. "I need your number to contact you."

She gave it to him, trying to hide the quiver in her voice, the fear that not only had she made a deal with the devil but she liked it, too.

They exited to the larger anteroom. A crew was gathering the leftover food and preparing to dump it in large, black trash bags for disposal.

"Donate the food to the 8th Street Shelter," Oliver instructed when he saw what they were about to do.

A little sound of surprise escaped Felicity.

"What?" he asked turning to her.

"Nothing. I just—you're not what I expected."

"It's a shame to let it to go to waste. No one should go hungry." There was a flash of something in his eyes that struck her. It was as though he spoke from experience.

"Maybe you're a good man after all." She paused, realized she had paid him a backhanded compliment, and added, "Not that I thought you were evil. Or even mildly bad. Maybe rude. Or…"

He cut her off. "Felicity, I'm not a good man. Far from it."

His contradiction was tinged with sadness, and she wondered if perhaps she was getting a glimpse at the man behind the facade.

The two began their ascent on the metal stairs, finally finding their way into the cool night air. A shiver ran through her, and Oliver shrugged off his jacket and draped it around Felicity's shoulders. There were no lingering stares or touches. Instead, the two made their way through the alley, Felicity struggling to keep up with his longer stride, all the while she noticed him scouting their surroundings for anything amiss.

"The car is over here."

Oliver led her to a fenced-in lot, which housed a dark, late-model town car, next to which stood a man wearing a suit that stretched tightly over his muscles. The man opened the car door for his employer and guest.

"We'll be dropping off Ms. Smoak at—" Oliver looked to her for a location.

"Havenside Apartments. Near the intersection of Oakwood and Fennel," Felicity supplied.

The man nodded and silently closed the car door after the duo had climbed into the back.

The car's interior was sumptuous, all glossy wood and supple leather. Felicity felt as though she was sitting on clouds when she sank into the seat, and a little sigh must have escaped her because Oliver looked to her with a hint of amusement.

"You don't have much of a poker face. So how did you learn how to play cards so well?" His blue eyes studied her, making her feel stripped bare.

"I picked it up when I was a kid. My dad taught me the basics, much to my mom's horror, but when you grow up in Vegas... Then I learned how to count cards. Ratios. Probability. It's just second nature now," she babbled before she realized her mistake of admitting to the ring leader of an illegal gambling outfit that she was, in essence, a card shark.

He shook his head. "You realize people get their fingers broken for that, right? Sometimes worse."

A stab of anxiety reminded Felicity to be careful with this man. He must have sensed her nervousness because he added, "Not that I would want your fingers broken. I think we could both come up with better uses for them." He paused a beat. "Like dealing cards."

Her heart slammed in her chest. Did he know what he was doing to her? The push-pull of his comments, his very nearness in the backseat of that town car, and the shroud of mystery that cloaked him all served to draw her in against her better judgment. He had to know. Perhaps it was even a game to him, but she would not be playing the game according to his rules. No, this Oliver was trouble, and she didn't get into bed with trouble—literally or figuratively.

"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not using my powers for evil," she replied lightly, brushing aside his flirtation. "As a dealer, being able to count cards useful. I can see whether people are cheating. I know the tells before someone ends up with a huge pile of chips. That came in handy on game nights at MIT. Have you ever tried to play cards with certified geniuses? Talk about herding cats."

"Certified geniuses are a thing?"

"They are," she confirmed. She should know.

"You are different."

Different? What was that supposed to mean? "Is that an insult or a compliment?"

"I could be coy with you. I could do the whole insult-you-before-complimenting-you routine."

Now it was her turn. "That's a thing?"

"It is. But the fact you're not like anyone else I've met is definitely a compliment. It takes a hell of a lot for someone to surprise me."

The car stopped in front of her apartment building and she waited for—something. She wasn't sure what. Would he try to kiss her? Would he shake her hand like a business associate? Pat her on the head like a beloved pet?

It was none of the above, as it turned out.

"It was nice meeting you, Felicity."

"Nice meeting you, too."

Oliver nodded, his mouth fixed in a neutral expression, and she took that—along with the driver opening the door for her—as her cue to leave.

How anticlimactic.

She climbed out of the sleek car with no difficulty and start walking the front steps of her apartment building, her mind buzzing with everything that happened.

"Felicity?"

Turning around, she could see that he was still parked there, watching her.

"Yes, Oliver?"

"At the games, don't be afraid to show more skin." He spoke as if it was just a suggestion, but the words had her off keel. "You'll get bigger tips, I guarantee it."

Her face felt warm despite the cold night air. "I—I'll keep that in mind."

He winked at her before rolling up the window of the car, leaving her absolutely dumbfounded.

What the hell did she just sign up for?

She padded up to her third-floor walk-up and let herself in. Immediately she texted Regina.

FS: Made it home.

RP: Thank God.

FS: See you in a few hours.

She flopped down on her bed without removing her makeup or even brushing her teeth. Her pores were so going to rebel, but she was exhausted. She shifted slightly on the lumpy mattress and felt the silk blend suit jacket rub against her skin.

She still had Oliver's jacket, her sleep deprived mind realized. He must have known and hadn't said a word.

She inhaled deeply. It smelled like him: clean with an undertone of Oliver himself.

So familiar. Oddly comforting.

Why?

Her eyes drooped, heavy with fatigue, and she was finally lulled into a dreamless sleep.