On Tuesday evening, a black Rolls Royce Phantom pulled up beside the curb in front of the Talon. Alfred—dressed in a formal suit and driver's hat—exited the driver's side and walked around the vehicle; he opened the back passenger door.

"Miss Kent," he replied cordially.

Linda hesitated for a moment before she carefully stepped out of the vehicle. She wore a burgundy sleeveless pencil dress with a sweetheart neckline, sheathed in matching lace from collar to her feet; her hair had been styled into a braided bun, her makeup was light enough to accent her facial features, and she wore simple pearl clip on earrings and a matching necklace. She glanced up at the Talon, lit up with bright lights; she nervously pushed her glasses up on her nose.

"You're going to be just fine."

Linda glanced at Alfred; he was smiling warmly at her. "I doubt it," she replied. "I've never been to one of these before; I don't know what to do." She knew Clark and Jimmy were running a little late, but Bruce and Dick were already inside.

"Stand straight," Alfred answered, "shoulders back, chin up, smile—and just be yourself. If people can't accept that, then they're not worth your time."

Linda smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Alfred," she replied.

"My pleasure," Alfred replied, still smiling. "Now, go and enjoy yourself."

Linda turned back to face the Talon as Alfred closed the door. She swallowed nervously before glancing over at the butler; he simply nodded encouragingly. The young girl faced the building again, took a deep breath, and headed toward the doors; a doorman held the door open, and she walked in; Linda stopped just inside, staring in awe.

Soft music could be heard playing over the sound system, and the tables and chairs normally reserved for the customers had been moved to the backroom, opening up the floor space. Some of the Christmas lights had been strung like a vaulted canopy over the main area, complimenting the lights hanging on the stair rails. Platters of hors-d'oeuvres and crystal, champagne-filled flutes covered the bar where the displays of baked goods and sweets had once been. Small arrangements of fall flowers—including autumn sunflowers—had been strategically placed to accent the atmosphere. Seven of Linda's paintings—including the one she had finished over the weekend—hung on the columns with soft LED display lights illuminating them. A couple of waiters with trays roved through the crowd of men and women, offering freshly filled flutes in exchange for empty ones. Linda scanned the crowd for either Dick or Bruce, but she couldn't seen either of them anywhere. The young girl briefly wondered if this was a cruel joke, but she knew her family and friends would never do that to her. Deciding to stay, she watched as a group of people moved away from her nearest painting—the 'Summer Memories' one with the dancing fire and ice couple—before she casually walked over, pretending to study it.

"So, what do you think about it?"

Linda looked to her left and saw a young man in a tuxedo standing next to her. He stood about as tall as Clark, with short, dark blond hair styled in a spiky manner; he held a champagne flute in his right hand and looked at her inquisitively with brown eyes.

"I'm sorry?" Linda asked, trying not to sound unnerved. She really hoped her super-hearing would kick in soon; she hated people sneaking up on her.

"The painting," the man replied, nodding before taking a sip from his drink. "You look like someone who has a good eye for this sort of thing. What do you think of," he leaned toward the painting and squinted at the small plaque underneath, reading it, "'Summer Memories'?"

Linda felt her nerves calming as she hid a smile; this guy—who, admittedly, was on the cute side—obviously had no idea who she was. She turned back to her painting and put on her best reflective expression as she pretended to study it. "Well," she said slowly, "it appears to be a combination of a landscape depicting the painter's home fading into a symbolic representation of the song 'Real World.'"

"The Rob Thomas song?" the man asked, confused.

"The Owl City song," Linda corrected. "The upper portion's background is painted in Venetian blue, dotted with stars, representing the 'with a starry brush, paint the dusk Venetian blue' line, the dancing fire and ice couple represent the 'where fire and ice collide' line, and the feathers everywhere cover the 'downy feathers kiss your face and flutter everywhere' line."

"That's pretty impressive," the man replied.

"Yeah, it left an impression alright," Linda said, her voice a lot softer as she just stared at the painting. After a few moments, she blinked and shook her head slightly, coming out of her daze. "I'm sorry…I—it's her favorite painting."

"Well, they say you never forget your first time," the man commented, "and it definitely shows in your work."

Linda slowly looked at the man, her eyebrows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I mean," the man continued, "I'm not really into art, but I do recognize talent; just goes to show I made a good decision in inviting you."

"You're the mysterious CEO," Linda asked incredulously, "the one who bought out Liam Bounder's business?"

"Well, I prefer 'dashing,' the man replied, "but, yes, that's me." He glanced down at her dress briefly, smiling. "And I see the dress fits nicely—and it looks really good on you, too."

Linda pursed her lips as she folded her arms; she was a little embarrassed being caught off guard, but now that she finally had the CEO in front of her, she was going to give him a piece of her mind. "Look, I don't know how things work where you're from," she said, "but where I come from, adult men don't go around asking for the dress measurements of teenage girls they don't know."

"That's why I asked Clark," the man pointed out. "I figured it'd be less creepy coming from him."

"Actually, he texted two of my friends," Linda countered, "my guy friends—at school."

"Oh," the man said, a little surprised, "I would have thought he'd talk to your mother."

"Who are you?" Linda asked.

"Oh, sorry," the man said as he moved his flute to his other hand and held his free hand out to Linda, smiling warmly. "Oliver Queen. It's nice to finally meet you, Linda."

Linda just stared at him, stunned, then her features slowly hardened as she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, now I know why no one told me who you were," she said softly, her eyes growing a little brighter. "Excuse me." She brushed past Oliver and made her way through the crowd as she headed for the stairs.

Oliver watched her, but decided not to make a scene by trying to stop her. He glanced at the front entrance as Clark and Jimmy walked in—both dressed in sharp tuxedos; Jimmy also carried his camera. Both newcomers watched Linda—visibly upset—as she climbed the stairs for a few moments. Clark glanced at Oliver briefly before following his cousin.

Jimmy slowly turned his head toward Oliver, his features set; it took a few moments for him to muster up the courage to walk over to the businessman. "Well, now it all makes sense why everyone was so hush hush," he said curtly.

"It's Jimmy, right?" Oliver said. "Jimmy Olsen?" He had never met the photographer before, but from the way Clark had described him, Oliver knew the teenager in front of him could be no one else.

"Yeah," Jimmy replied, trying to appear as tall as possible as he kept his voice low. "So, I guess when you have as much money as you do and hang out with other people who have certain…qualifications, then that entitles you to do whatever you want to whoever you want, huh?" Oliver opened his mouth, but Jimmy continued. "Look, I don't know what you're planning, but Linda is not going to be a part of it."

"I'm not sure I understand," Oliver said slowly.

"Yeah, well, understand this," Jimmy replied. "Linda's an awesome person, and she doesn't deserve the Big Brother treatment from your little club—and you can stuff that in your quiver with the rest of your arrows." He turned and marched up the stairs, leaving Oliver with a slightly impressed expression on his face.

"Well, now I know who 'Ice Boy' is," he muttered softly.


Linda explored the room above the main area of the Talon, unfazed by the decades worth of dust on the forgotten antiques. She tried distracting herself by imaging the different ways she could 'recycle' each of them, but she couldn't stay focused; she kept thinking about how humiliated and betrayed she felt.

"Can we talk?"

Linda stiffened when she heard her cousin's voice. "You certainly didn't seem to think that was important before now," she replied curtly, refusing to face him.

Clark sighed. "Okay, I deserved that," he replied as he walked in, stopping about ten feet from her.

"Believe me, there's a lot you deserve right now," Linda replied. She turned around, her expression full of anger, her eyes bright with tears. "How could you?"

"I can explain," Clark said gently.

"Explain what?" Linda asked, folding her arms. "Oliver Queen is your friend and a member of the Justice League, but I'm just now finding out that he's the one bringing his business to Smallville." Clark opened his mouth, but Linda cut him off. "You told me you hated the idea of the League monitoring me, but at least you told me about that. Not only did you not tell me about this, but you let everyone else in on the secret—except me."

"And me." Clark and Linda looked over and saw Jimmy standing in the doorway, holding his camera, looking at Clark, his features hard and set.

"Jimmy," Clark explained, "I didn't tell you, because I knew you'd tell Linda."

"You're damn right I would," Jimmy replied as he approached Clark, frowning. "She's your only blood relative, Clark; you had no right to keep this from her, especially with how the League views her."

"Not everyone in the League sees her as a potential threat."

The trio looked over and saw Oliver standing just outside the open door, his expression and body language nonthreatening. "May I come in?" he asked Linda.

"I didn't know my opinion mattered, Mister Queen," Linda replied, "or does it only matter when it suits your purpose?"

Oliver had to hide a smile as he cautiously entered the room; Linda definitely had a spunk and assertiveness that her cousin lacked. He glanced at Jimmy as the photographer subtly moving toward Linda, standing protectively near her, as the businessman stopped near Clark.

"Before you begin what I'm sure is a well-rehearsed speech intended to placate me," Linda said, "I'm well aware not everyone in the League—you included—felt it was necessary to monitor me." She glanced briefly at her cousin, annoyed. "Clark at least told me that much," she looked back at Oliver, "but that still doesn't explain why everyone decided to hide your identity from me in the first place." Oliver opened his mouth, but Linda wasn't finished. "Is that why you're here, Mister Queen? You actually do want to spy on me—and buying Mr. Bounder's business gives you that opportunity?"

"Honestly," Oliver replied, "I bought the business so Smallville's economy didn't flounder because its owner was a gutless, narcissistic horn dog." He shrugged. "You just happened to be an added bonus."

Jimmy snorted as he rolled his eyes. "So, now Linda's a 'bonus,' huh?" he asked.

Oliver pursed his lips a little; he could respect protectiveness, but he had to admit the teenager was starting to grate on his nerves a little. "I meant," he continued, "that ever since Linda came to Earth, Clark is always talking about her," he glanced at Clark, "to the point where some of us were getting annoyed by it." Clark raised an eyebrow, even though he knew Oliver was just ribbing him.

"So, what, you were curious to see if the stories about the little lost alien girl were true?" Linda asked defensively.

"No, I wanted to meet the person who helped give one of my friends a new purpose in his life," Oliver said honestly. Even as Linda kept her defensive posture, the businessman saw the flicker in her eyes as she glanced at her cousin, who appeared a little embarrassed.

"Really?" Linda asked, her voice slightly softer with less edge.

"Oh, yeah," Oliver answered, knowing she was slowly cooling down. "Every time we'd meet he'd always have something to brag on : from a new power coming in, to how talented of an artist you are—and from what I saw downstairs it's not an exaggeration," the corners of his mouth curled up a little, "to single-handedly kicking Rudy Jones' ass."

Linda's cheeks turn red from embarrassment as her body language continued shifting into a less defensive posture. "So, why didn't you want me to know about you before tonight?" she asked.

"Would you have honestly given me a fair shot had you known it was me," Oliver asked, looking pointedly at her, "or would you have automatically assumed I was here for some nefarious purpose instead?" He glanced over at Jimmy, who also appeared to be calming down, even if he still looked like he would punch Oliver if the moment presented itself.

"You can't blame me," Linda said, her voice softer.

"No," Oliver replied, "and Clark did warn me you wouldn't be happy when you found out, but I honestly just wanted to get to know you better—and I figured if you knew who I was, you'd always be on guard."

"And the last-minute invitation?" Jimmy asked curiously.

"I figured Linda would be so curious about who I was," Oliver explained, "that she wouldn't have enough time to have second thoughts." He took a deep breath and let it out as he looked back at Linda. "Look, I know this whole thing sucks, but I'm really sorry I upset you." He held out his hand, putting on a charming smile. "Am I forgiven?"

Clark and Jimmy glanced at Linda, knowing the ball was in her court. Her features appeared hard and set, and she slowly approached Oliver, arms crossed—and both Clark and Jimmy wondered if she was about ready to tell the businessman where he could stick one of his arrows.

"Part of me wants to say 'iru inferen,'" the teenager said after a few moments.

"Which means?" Oliver asked slowly.

"It's the Kryptonian version of 'go to hell,'" Linda answered. Oliver's smile faded a little, and the teenager took a deep breath. "But I can tell you're being sincere and I'm willing to give you a second chance," she slowly smiled as she extended her hand toward the businessman, "especially since you obviously appreciate good art." Oliver smiled in return and shook her offered hand.

"Well, now that we have all that settled," Clark said, "we ready to get back to the party?"

"Just one more thing," Linda replied. "Mr. Queen, I—"

"Oliver, please," the businessman interrupted. "We're all friends here, right?"

"Okay, Oliver," Linda continued, "could you do me a favor the next time you invite me to anything?"

"Sure," Oliver replied.

"Don't ever buy me a dress again," Linda said. "It's very nice and all, but it seems a little creepy getting a dress from an older guy I hardly know—even if it's a token of apology."

"Yeah, people might get the wrong impression about what that apology's for," Jimmy added, smirking a little; he still didn't like the guy much, so he figured he'd get a bit of a dig in.

"Duly noted," Oliver replied, trying not to smile at the veiled insult, "and don't worry; I won't buy your girlfriend another dress or do anything that might seem like I'm invading your territory."

"'Girlfriend'?" the teenagers asked together.

"Yeah," Oliver answered. "I mean, not too many people can do the whole inter-species relationship thing and actually make it look cute."

"We're not a couple," teenagers said in unison, looking embarrassed.

"I'm going to get some food," Linda said as she brushed past Oliver and quickly headed out of the room.

"Yeah, and I got pictures to take," Jimmy added, leaving just as quickly, leaving Clark and Oliver by themselves.

"They're not dating?" Oliver asked, confused.

"It's…complicated," Clark replied before patting his friend's shoulder. "Come on, Mr. Queen, your guests await." The two of them headed out of the room together.

(End of Chapter 7)