All my ladies, listen up

If that boy ain't giving up
Lick your lips and swing your hips
Girl, all you gotta say is...
"No"- Meghan Trainor

Shocked doesn't even begin to describe how Cassian feels. Not that he minds the chase, but this? This is a first. He's never been outright rejected like this. Without him saying a single word, and so efficiently too.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice still confident, figuring that if he works his charm she'll melt like putty into his hands, but she turns back to the phone in her hands, intent on ignoring him, if Cassian reads her body language correctly.

Cassian takes a step closer, encroaching on her space. She's close enough that the edge of his jacket brushes against her shoulder, and even though he's significantly taller than she is, she doesn't cower in his presence. Instead, she straightens her back, a queen amongst her court. He pauses to give himself time to observe her more. To see past the blockade of rejection she's already thrown at him and he sees her intrigue. Sees through the steely glare she's sending him as he clears his throat again, and to the curiosity and intellect lying behind her cold blue-grey eyes. Sees that there's something that arouses his interest and he's hooked.

"I don't think I heard you…"

"You most certainly did," she snaps. Icy venom drips from her voice and Cassian shivers, the room turning suddenly glacial at her tone.

"Come on sweetheart don't be like that. You don't even know…" But she interrupts him.

"I don't need to know you. There's only two reasons why you'd approach me," she says.

His eyes flash in defiance of her words and she notices. Notices the change in his stance, the predatory gleam in his eye, a feline glint that's matched by her own. A fire sparks in her, a question to challenge him, to see if he really wants an answer, if he's really up to snuff, if he's worth her time.

"Please," he says, voice full of smug curiosity, and a brow cocked in question. "Enlighten me."

He is looking for a fight Nesta decides. Looking to piss her off, and she's had enough. It may not be his fault that she's here, that her sisters are now thirty minutes late and her feet are starting to hurt from the shoes she's forced herself into. She studies him again, cold and calculating and finds him wanting. Still, she gives him a look. One that gives him the option to run, to flee for his life before she tears into him, before she verbally eviscerates him. When he stares right back at her, arrogant expression on his face both a question and an answer to her look, she feels her temper reach it's boiling point.

Fine, but, if she's going to do this, she's going to do it right. Nesta flips her hair behind a shoulder and away from her face and turns toward him fully. She realizes then, just how close he's gotten. But she can play this to her advantage.

"Option one," she states, holding up a finger. "You're here, at the bar, looking for Mrs. Right, right? Some vapid socialite you can turn into your little missus who will cook and clean and do your laundry…" She presses her palm to his chest and drums her fingers across the leather of his jacket to emphasize her point. He subconsciously leans into the touch, and the action doesn't go unnoticed. He's solid muscle underneath her hand and Nesta has to pull herself away, but again she uses her own hesitation to her advantage, prolonging the motion and turning it into a caress. "…and stroke your ego whenever you want."

"Really now?" he leans closer, their breath mingling, and she realizes if he inclines his head just so… Nope she's not going to finish that thought, about how if he closes that distance they'll be kissing or how soft his lips look or how long it's been since her last kiss. Last date for that matter. Her heart is racing and she hopes that he can't tell.

His breath is ragged and she knows he's lost the battle within himself to not touch her. His fingers brush the stubborn strand of hair that's fallen back into her face. His hand slides down her cheek and he lifts her chin. A sly smile plays at her lips.

"And the other one?" he asks. His voice is a husky rasp.

Her smile blooms into full blown smirk and she leans forward. Nesta's cheek presses against his. It's rough and the stubble scratches her skin.

"You're just looking for a quick fuck," she whispers, the sound just barely audible above the noise of the club. She breathes gently into his ear, and a shudder runs down his spine. She chuckles to herself and leans back against the bar.

Cassian is both shocked and aroused at her vulgarity, and what was once an unexpected attraction is a visceral need now. Not necessarily to seduce her, though that would definitely be a perk. No, Cassian wants to crack through the shell she's so very obviously built around herself, find the real her that he can tell lies behind walls and fortifications.

"You seem to know quite a lot about me," he smirks. "And you don't even know my name."

"Doesn't matter." She waves a dismissive hand at him. "Either way, it starts the same. First you're going to say that you aren't playing some silly game, thinking if you say it in a convincing enough tone that I'll believe every word. You'll call me beautiful, which is so original, by the way," she scoffs, "You'll whisper sweet nothings into my ear, telling me I'm not like other girls…"

"What if I told you," he says, stopping her and Cassian pushes closer to her again. "that there's a third option? That there's something between a trophy wife and a causal fuck."

He grips her shoulder softly, and runs a callous thumb over her skin. It's as soft as he suspected and he bites back a groan. It's almost as if she's expecting it, welcoming the touch and she takes a step forward, chest pressed against his.

"I would say," she licks her lips as she leans up again, and Cassian is transfixed as she comes closer. "I'm. Not. Interested." and jabs her knee straight into his groin.