I'm on a major roll.

We Were Promised Jetpacks

Sorry Doesn't Cut It

The walk down the stairs after the meeting with Luke was flat out painful. The amiable and pleasant show he put on was dropped the second the stairway door closed. Even though she knew it was going to happen—she couldn't in all honesty convince herself that Luke had simply forgotten that she had been twenty minutes late, no matter how hard she wanted it to be true—she had let herself buy into the act for a few moments. This fact made his three sixty turn around sting all the more.

"Luke—" she started pleadingly, but flinched when Luke spun around, expression livid.

"What? You want to say sorry for nearly costing us everything we've worked so hard for? You want to say sorry for embarrassing yourself and I in front of a bunch of stuck up rich guys who already think we're street rats? You want to say sorry for nearly costing everyone in Sector Six the only pathetic excuse for a home they have?" He was breathing hard by the time he was finished. "Well?"

Alice felt tears sting her eyes. She clenched her fists at her sides. "Yes."

Luke gave her a scornful look, hard brown eyes boring into her. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, I'm sorry for all of that and anything and everything else I screwed up today!" she shouted at him.

Luke just took a step up so they're faces were level with each other. He leaned close.
"Are you?" he spoke harshly. "Are you really? Because you know what, not all of us have had the privilege of having some old guy take us in, baby us, feed us, clothe us, and give us work. I should have expected you wouldn't be dedicated to this. Why would you? None of this affects you—none of this matters to you—"

The sound of a loud slap echoed throughout the stairwell.

"You—you—ass!" she screamed, voice cracking. Luke's cheek had already begun turning bright red, as had Alice's, flushed with indignant anger. "You don't know anything!"

"Well then why don't you tell me?" he bit back.

"Fine!" she cried throwing her arms into the air. "I woke up late." She stabbed a finger at his chest. "I realized I started my period overnight,"—stab—"ruined my sheets,"—stab—"realized I was out of tampons,"—stab-"couldn't find my blouse or freaking bobby pins," —stab—"stubbed my toe," —stab—"had Duo point out just how ugly my scars are," —stab—"and to top it off we were out of freaking yogurt, which is the only thing that stands between me and the worst cramps of my life!" she paused huffing from the effort. "That good enough for you?"

Luke's eyes had steadily grown larger through her tirade, which seemed to grow in volume after each stab. It took him a moment or two to finally respond. "You're such a girl," he said, outright astonished at this revelation.

Alice let out a scream of frustration and stormed by him.

"Fuck boys!"

Alice had never been so livid—so pissed—in her life. She stomped through the lobby not giving a passing thought to the stares she was getting—which may have had something to do with her bright red face and her lack of shoes—nor the people who were swerving dangerously to avoid her path.

Something, or someone, was going to suffer.

"Ms. Alice?"

To hell with Luke. He didn't know anything. He didn't know how hard it had been to find a jacket and shirt set to fit her arm. He didn't know how long she had spent shopping—yes, shopping—for the damn outfit and heels she could barely walk in.

"Ms. Alice?"

He didn't know how many extra hours she had had to put in with Locke to afford the damn clothes. He didn't know how she had had to painstakingly wrap her shoulder that morning to keep the cheap jacket from irritating her scars.

"Alice?"

Screw Luke!

"Alice?"

"What the hell do you want?" she cried, spinning to face Luke.

Except it wasn't Luke's hard, cold brown eyes staring back at her, but the open, earnest blue eyes from the meeting.

Alice slapped her hands to her face, letting out a squeak of pain as the high heels she forgot she was holding smacked her. Her cheeks burned. God, what hadn't she done wrong in front of this guy?

"I'm so sorry to have startled you." Hot damn, even his voice was oozing honesty. "Are you alright?"

Alice pulled herself together. "No, no, no." Well, she tried.

He looked on with patience, giving her a moment to really pull herself together. "Eh, what I meant to say was that, uh," she paused, floundering for words, "that you shouldn't be apologizing. I've done nothing but be a complete spaz around you. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me."

His expression got even softer, which was feat she couldn't believe possible. For a rich, teenage CEO, this guy wasn't as much of an asshole as she expected.

"Spaz?" he chuckled, a sound so soft it would be better suited on a girl. "You mean being late, I assume." She nodded dumbly. "Don't worry about that. I felt it was a refreshing break from the legal jargon being thrown around."

Alice could do no more than stupidly open her mouth and say, "Oh."

He gave her a warm smile.

"Alice?"

So caught up with the exchange, she didn't even notice Luke approaching until he had come to stand next to her.

"Where do you—" he stopped abruptly, finally catching sight of who she was talking to. "Mr. Winner."

"Luke," he nodded back, amicably. "I was just about to ask Alice out for a cup of coffee."

Two sets of jaws dropped.

Where the hell did that come from?

Luke seemed to come out of the stupor first. "I'm sorry—can you repeat that?"

Quatre just smiled on, oblivious or blatantly ignoring the shock and disbelief broadcasted on their faces.

"I was going to ask Ms. Alice here to coffee. You're welcome to join. I would like to hear a more first-hand view of Sector Six. As someone who doesn't live there, yet visits frequently, I believe she has a unique perspective in the matter."

Alice's brain still hadn't caught up with the conversation. So when Luke placed a hand on her shoulder and sent her a smirk, she should have been alarmed. Scratch alarmed, she should have been flat out scared. Instead, she continued mimicking a goldfish.

"Actually, I've got something to take care of, but Alice would love to."

And with that she reentered the conversation.

"I would love-to-what-now?" she sputtered.

"Go to coffee with Mr. Winner," Luke explained slowly with an unnaturally wide grin.

Alice gave him a horrified look. Her mind raced. Luke was doing this on purpose as revenge for being late. Well, she wouldn't be thrown to the lion's that easily.

"Would you excuse Luke and I for a moment, Mr. Winner?" she said, voice sugary sweet.

"Please," Mr. Winner interjected, "call me Quatre. Mr. Winner was my father."

She shot him a fake smile and nodded. "Quatre then. Excuse us." With that she grabbed Luke's arm and dragged him away.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed, once they got out of hearing distance.

"Trying to give us a little more sway in the decisions," he whispered back harshly, jerking his arm out of her grip.

"And just how exactly is that related to this, pray tell?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "You really are an oblivious idiot sometimes, you know?" Alice flushed with indignation. "And really are such an ass, you know?"

He pretended not to hear her and continued speaking. "He was staring at you the entire meeting."

Alice's voice got squeaky. "He was not!"

He looked at her as if she were slow. "Everyone, and I mean everyone, noticed. He wasn't exactly being subtle about it either." He rolled his eyes. "Typical spoiled brat."

Her mouth opened and closed for a few moments without any sound coming out.

He looked down at her angrily. "Snap out of it! You have a job to do. You're going to have to have coffee with the rich bastard and do everything you can to bring him over to our side, okay? Consider this your way to make up for being late."

Alice gave him a flat look. "Let me get this straight. You want me to seduce Quatre Winner—the Quatre Winner."

Luke rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time. "No one's seducing anyone, okay? It's coffee, not a night in a hotel."

Her face flushed red at the thought. He reached up and ruffled her hair. "For all your talk, you really are just a kid, aren't you?"

"Lay off!" she said shoving his hand away. "I'm eighteen—not a toddler! And quit talking like you're so old, Mr.-I-just-turned-twenty-two."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, turning to walk away. "Go back to prince charming, okay? And remember," he sent her a hard look, "try to be pleasant."

She was going to slaughter him.

"Alice?"

She forced herself to count to five in her head to calm down. That done and smile in place, she spun to meet Quatre.

"Sorry about that—we had an, er," she realized half-way through she didn't know where she was going with that train of thought.

"A bit of a dispute?" Quatre interjected helpfully.

Alice snorted and then tried to cover it up with a cough. "That's, um, certainly one way to put it."

"Well, shall we go?" he asked, thoughtfully changing the subject and saving her from embarrassing herself any more.

She nodded and took hold of his outstretched arm. As they began walking, she eyed him out of the corner of her eye.

He was nice to look at, she supposed, with hair so blonde it was almost white and eyes the same color she imagined the ocean to be. A little on the feminine side, she had to admit, but in a way his softness was refreshing—not necessarily her type—but nice nonetheless.

As if sensing her thoughts, he glanced over at her and caught her staring. Instead of smirking or donning a smug expression at her blatantly checking him out, he simply smiled his warm, heartfelt smile.

Her stomach plummeted. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something hiding behind those eyes and that smile. A deep sadness—a hidden secret—an ulterior motive.

"Are you alright, Alice?" he broke into her thoughts, voice laced with concern.

She realized she hadn't moved her stare from him the entire time.

"Yeah, I'm fine. So where's this coffee place we're going?

He gave her another smile. "Just up ahead. I hope you like it. It's nothing too fancy, I'm sorry to say, but it's one of my favorites on this colony."

"It sounds perfect." She gave him her first real smile.

Sadness?—secrets?—ulterior motives?

What the hell was she thinking? This guy was practically an angel.