"So," he asked a moment later, studying her over the rim of his drink, "what was that about moral support?" He cast his eye around the room before looking back at Jane. "This doesn't seem so bad, all things considered. I attend a great many of these functions in my -" his lips twitched - "capacity, and I'd hazard to say someone put a lot of work into this one."
Jane made a concerted effort not to gulp at her own cocktail, tensing up all over again at the reminder of just why she'd anticipated this evening being so difficult.
Why she'd been so desperate to not be alone tonight. Desperate enough to resort to measures as extreme as this.
"My, uh… my ex is is supposed to attend, and he… um… we… did... not end well." She took a shuddery breath, hating that it still tied her up in knots to even talk about it. "I haven't seen him since things fell apart, and… I'd rather not see him again ever, but… Pepper, who usually handles these sorts of engagements, is out of the country, and well, someone had to come and represent."
Gunther glanced around again. "Is he here now?"
"I haven't seen him yet, no." Jane gave a small snort, then immediately wished she hadn't. It was an unattractively jaded little sound. "He'll give it another half hour or so, let the room fill up. He likes to make an entrance."
Gunther was watching her closely now, his expression unreadable. "He really hurt you." It was not even remotely a question; just a flat statement of fact.
Jane saw no point in denying it. At a loss for what to say, she opted to say nothing.
Gunther shifted, leaning slightly forward. "Tell me."
It was her turn, now, to quirk an eyebrow. "Isn't it considered poor form to talk about one's ex on a date?"
"Technically, this is not a date."
"Touché," she replied, wondering why hearing him say that hurt just a very little bit. It was only the truth, after all. "I suppose not. Well, he's tall, as pretty as any gilded adonis, and about as faithful as a dog with a third nut."
Gunther nearly spat out his drink. "That's not very ladylike," he observed, but his tone was one of high amusement.
"No one has ever accused me of being such," Jane rejoined, with a touch of asperity.
"Well then, Jane, what exactly are you?"
She stirred her drink. "Can I get back to you on that? I haven't quite figured it out."
"Fair enough. Alright then, let's start smaller - what brings you here tonight? Networking, you said?"
Jane considered. "Yes and no," she answered at length. "My company donates to the charity and we're always looking to strengthen our ties in the community. If I should happen to make a few friends?"
"And what is it your company does?"
"We're a…" she hesitated. "A government contractor."
"Roadsigns? Flower gardens?"
"Software."
He leaned back in his seat, clearly assessing her. "And what do you do with that software?"
Now it was Jane's lips that twitched; she couldn't help it. "Government contracting."
Both his eyebrows rose, this time, in tandem. "Is this one of those, if I tell you I have to kill you type answers?"
She sipped at her drink and held his gaze, offering no further response.
"Suddenly -" Gunther cleared his throat - "I find myself a bit intimidated." He appeared to cast about for a change of subject. "What do you do," he asked at length, "when you're not being a spy?"
"I could never be a spy. I am a terrible liar."
"I would agree with you, but it occurs to me this entire evening could be a very elaborate ruse. After all, you had a signal to look for, confirmation that I'm who you came to meet." He gestured to the rose, which now lay on the bar between them. "I just have to take your word that you're who you say you are. Does that really seem fair to you?"
She glanced at the wilted flower, then back at him. "Tell you what, if another woman walks up and asks if you're her prostitute tonight, you can take it for granted that she's your real date and I'm an imposter. How does that sound?"
He gave a surprised laugh. "Deal… but what if I prefer you?"
"Then I'll be in an excellent position to negotiate a discount."
"Good God," he said, with what sounded like real admiration, "I think I might be out of my depth."
Jane just smiled into her drink.
"This Pepper," he asked, after a pause to regroup, "who is not my pimp, what is her title, then?"
"She's our Public Relations Director."
"Ah yes, hence being well-suited to these kinds of shindigs."
"Exactly. But -" she paused for just a heartbeat's worth of time - "the owner, in a fit of unbridled dumbfuckery, sent her off to London, so here I am instead."
"Mmh. Here you are instead, despite being... less well-suited. So what are you well suited to, Just Jane? What exactly is your -" that mischievous glint was back in his eye - "position in the company?"
"Tonight? Filling in for Pepper."
Gunther leaned forward and tilted his glass in her direction. "Cheers."
"What are we toasting?" She asked, confused.
"The dumbfuck owner of your company. For sending… his? Her?"
"Her."
"Her PR person overseas just in time for this event. Because although I do, as previously stated, like Pepper already, I think I like you more."
"I dare say. Just how much money do you stand to make off me this evening?"
"Well… that would depend on the extent of services required, wouldn't you agree?"
"Pepper said it was a flat rate."
Gunther was clearly amused again. "Pepper seems to know an awful lot about it. I'm not sure what I think of the company you keep."
"You just said you liked Pepper," Jane pointed out.
"Increasingly, every minute. But still not as much as I like you. So I'd even be willing to go… a la carte. If that works better for you…" his eyes were suddenly burning holes in her. "Jane."
"You're teasing me. I am not sure I like it."
"You do."
She huffed at a stray curl that was hovering, irritatingly, right at the edge of her vision. "I know I don't like how smug you are."
He pasted a look of mock contrition onto his face. "Then I'll dial it back. I am, after all, here to serve."
"I don't think I've ever," she said emphatically, "met anyone less servile than you. There has to be more to you than - well. What do you do when you're not doing… this?"
"In my free time? I like to travel. See the world. I like museums. I'm very interested in history, I have a sort of… thing for the middle ages. Always have. Camelot and Chaucer and the Crusades… knights and dragons, all that good stuff. I have this collection of ancient weaponry, and… and holy shit, why am I telling you this? I sound like the biggest dork that ever crawled out of the dork hole in the dork ground." He actually winced. "Christ."
Jane had to work hard to school her face because heavens, was he… was he blushing? The faintest tinge had crept into his cheeks and… how on earth could something be so endearing and so arousing at the same time!? She never would have believed it possible, and she was suddenly just as flustered as he seemed to be.
Which was to say, deeply.
He appeared far more disconcerted by his imagined over-share (which Jane had actually found rather charming) than when she'd sauntered up and asked him point blank if he was her manwhore - and this thought nearly made her burst into laughter. But she quelled it, with great effort, because she sensed that it would… not go over well.
Instead she leaned in toward him. "I never missed a Renaissance Faire growing up, and I have a dragon, you know."
"You… come again?"
Smiling, Jane fished out her phone and scrolled quickly through the photos before finding the one she wanted and passing the device to him.
"See? That's Dragon."
His eyes widened slightly and he whistled low under his breath.
"This is yours?"
"As I said. Is that so hard to believe? Don't tell me you're a chauvinist, in your line of work.'
"It's beautiful," he murmured, enlarging the photo to see it better, appearing almost transfixed. "I confess I don't know a whole lot about motorcycles, though. What is it, exactly?"
"A Triumph Thruxton. British Racing Green. I've had it two years. Dragon is… the next best thing to flying. Just makes me feel, I don't know, free."
"Do you ride often?" he asked, handing back the phone.
"Every chance I get. My job is rather sedentary; long hours in front of a computer screen. Don't get me wrong, I like what I do - love it, in fact. But it does create a certain need in me for… release."
There was a musing light in his eyes as he regarded her. "Extraordinary," he said softly.
"Oh, it is," she enthused. "There's nothing else like it, best feeling in the world -"
"I wasn't talking about the bike, Jane."
"Flatterer," she said, trying to keep things light for all that her stomach had just flip-flopped in response to his tone, the sudden intensity in his eyes. "I bet you say that to all your - dates."
He gave his head a single, definitive shake. "Not remotely. This is shaping up to be unlike any other encounter I've ever had. So tell me more. What else do you do to seek… release?"
"Rock climbing, Krav Maga -"
Gunther gave a bark of laughter. "Your ex must be a grade-A prime idiot, or else have a certifiable death wish, to have cheated on you!"
Jane shot him a sidelong glance. "I do know people," she said demurely, "people of the shady and questionable variety - but really, I'm nothing so exciting as all that."
"I beg to differ. But I apologize. I interrupted. What other utterly fantastic thing were you going to say after Krav Maga?"
"Oh - just um, fencing. That I also fence, so… you hardly have the monopoly on dorkdom here."
Gunther leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you trying to out-dork me, Jane? Because I'll have you know I was a Dungeons and Dragons geek all the way through middle school. And high school… and college."
Then she really was laughing, bright clear peals of it, her restraint entirely swept away.
This should probably be my last drink for a while, she thought, and yet… she didn't really believe it was the alcohol that was turning her giddy.
No, it was the company.
God help her, she was really enjoying this conversation. Really enjoying it. Deeply and genuinely. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun… flirting.
"Competitive, aren't you?" She asked at length, when she could once again string words together.
"Sometimes. It's only the truth, though. My character's name was BroadSword."
"You cannot be serious."
"Oh I am."
"No.. no, you are pulling my leg."
"I am doing no such thing, I assure you."
"BroadSword? Come on. I know you're teasing me."
"Nope."
"Isn't that a bit ...precise? Optimistic?"
"You wound me." That smirk was hovering about his lips again. "I was nine when I chose it. And terribly innocent."
"You were prophetic. Or possibly just very, very ambitious."
"I was NINE. My major ambitions included kissing Abigail Fenner in my treehouse and building an operational go-kart. And of course, kicking serious butt at Dungeons and Dragons." His smirk broadened. "My party once received a cloak of tongues - you'd think it'd give you the ability to speak different languages, but no. You have to lick anything within thirty yards. Guild rules."
"Now you're just being cheeky." Jane glanced around, noting that the event seemed to have gotten fully underway at some point during all their lovely banter. "Anyhow, Gunther - or should I say, BroadSword - it's time to earn your paycheck."
Gunther, having just taken another sip of his drink, promptly choked. "What?"
"Aren't you adorable when you're pretending to be prudish?" Jane stood and smoothed her gown; resisted, again, the urge to run her fingers through her hair. She would not destroy what Pepper's team of crack stylists had worked so hard to create. What she had paid them so much to work so hard to create. Would not.
She forced her restless hands back down to her sides and said, "I need to mingle."