Chapter Seven: Womanizing Chess Pieces

[Jeanette's POV:]

It seemed so wrong that Tuesday was as bright and cheerful as it turned out to be. It just wasn't right, not for Gotham City.

Needless to say, I was feeling a little paranoid. Jesse and his twisted mystic friend had left me Sunday night, and the next morning I'd had to come up with a good excuse for my behavior that day to feed to Chantelle, who hadn't been too pleased that I'd stormed out, mid-shift, because of Lancelot Pendragon. She'd kept on me yesterday while I worked Heidi's shift, practically breathing down my back as though daring me to walk out again, and the way this morning was shaping up, I thought it was going to be highly likely she'd continue with this method of intimidation. And the fact that Heidi and the other girls kept looking at me with expressions that said I'd brought this on myself wasn't helping in the least. Truth to tell, I wasn't just paranoid that Tuesday. I was getting extremely annoyed, and wanted nothing more than to grab another hardback and hit somebody else over the head with it.

I was busy sorting the requested holds when my opportunity to do so arrived in the front door. I had a stack of materials in my arms for a Gabrielle Lanyon when I heard Marcia make an appreciative noise and the other girls began to murmur and giggle amongst themselves. Rolling my eyes, I set to work shelving the materials, as such noises from the girls usually indicates a male patron arriving that they find attractive. It was of no interest to me. At least, not until I heard my name come up.

"Yyyeah, I'm looking for a Jeanette Harker. Any of you lovely ladies happen to be her?" I heard a man drawl.

Oh. Hell. No.

Slowly I turned around, setting the rest of the materials down on the counter, gritting my teeth as I adjusted my glasses.

The speaker was a young man—perhaps a few years younger than myself—with black and white hair and clothing, done up in a checker pattern. Even his face had been painted with some sort of make-up in the same pattern, making his gray eyes stand out, and he swaggered and grinned like a bizarre, monochromatic peacock with his hands behind his back. The last thing I wanted was for him to talk to me, but when on the job, I've got no choice.

"Who wants to know?" I demanded, placing my hands on my hips. He stopped short, blinking at me like he couldn't really believe I was there, and tilted his head to the side like a bird before grinning again.

"Could be me. Could be my friend." he answered, clicking his tongue and running it over his lips. A sudden urge to take a stapler to his mouth came to mind, and I had to fight it down before I answered.

"Perhaps you might get a proper answer when you tell me who you are and what you're doing here." the words slipped from my mouth with a wonderful touch of irritation, but he didn't seem too fazed as he winked at some of my coworkers.

"Call me Rook, everyone does." He purred, waggling his eyebrows at me, "But see, I got a problem with your terms. I've got a mission to carry out, and I can only do it if I find Miss Jeanette Harker."

This was getting nowhere.

Oh, just give him what he wants and maybe he'll shut up and leave sooner! I thought in annoyance as I crossed my arms and scowled at him.

"One might suppose you'd count yourself in luck then, Mr…Rook, was it? I am Jeanette Harker." I said as calmly as I could. His eyes widened slightly, and his grin got wider as he whipped a beautiful bouquet out from behind his back.

Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me…

"I've been asked to deliver these to you, Miss Harker!" he said proudly.

That's a relief! Talk about a close call!

"Oh, th-thank you," I stammered, a little stunned that anyone would send me flowers. "Wh-who—"

"My best friend, Lancelot Pendragon! He would have brought them himself but he's in the middle of a business meeting right now, so he asked me to!"

Long dark hair and intense green eyes came to mind, and I gritted my teeth harder. Him again?

"And did Mr. Pendragon mention what the occasion was for sending me flowers…?" I ground out between clenched teeth.

"He mentioned you might say something like that," Rook took a step back, rubbed his temples, and cleared his throat. "He said if you did, to tell you that any woman as lovely as you needs no occasion for receiving flowers."

My heart gave a tiny flutter and I found myself, for once, at a loss for words.

The man is deluded, I told myself at once, thinking I'm attractive! And he picks the worst sort of person to deliver flowers!

Still…no one's ever sent me flowers before.

"Do you like them?" Rook asked, trying this time for a genuine smile. It made him look a lot younger, like a grade-schooler. I turned and took a look: jasmine with lilies and baby's breath. I'm not one of those women who's good at reading the whole messages-in-the-flowers thing, and if my guess was right, Mr. Pendragon wasn't the sort of man who worried or cared about "flower messages" beyond trying to flatter me. Maybe I would look that up later.

"They're nice," I answered him, sighing and setting the flowers off to the side.

"So is it true that you and Lancey-pants have a date tomorrow?" Rook asked, leaning in all of a sudden with a nasty grin on his face, and I had to resist the urge to heave up my breakfast; he smelled strongly of alcohol.

"It's not a date," I answered irritably, furious that he'd reminded me of it. "Mr. Pendragon and I are just going to share some coffee and talk, as he seems so insistent on getting to know me!"

"Your face is bright red." He stated nonchalantly.

How in the Lord's blessed name did this man walk around this city and NOT get slapped in his face on a regular basis?

"My face is NOT red!" I protested, feeling heat rise in my cheeks.

"Sure, sure. Of course it isn't," he chuckled, waving me off. Then, he seemed to grow serious as he narrowed his eyes at me and asked, "So, is it true? Did you really do something as stupid and suicidal as bashing Joker over the head with a book? If so, I've just got to tell you, you're the most awesome bookworm ever!"

I know he meant it to be a good thing, a compliment of sorts.

Didn't stop me from sending him off with a paperweight to the head and a kick in the rear.