DISCLAIMER: The song, My Funny Valentine, is a show tune written by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart for the musical Babes in Arms. I do NOT own this song! I just thought it would be a fun way to enhance the story. Look it up, if you've never heard it before.

Chapter 1: THE SERENADE

"Would you care for dinner this evening, sir?"

Dick Grayson smiled in greeting to his waiter as he sat at his usual table. He'd been coming every Thursday to Chez Donovan for the past five weeks, ever since he had first seen her. Dick perused the menu. He didn't eat every time he came because the restaurant was rather expensive. Of course, the food was truly excellent and the service impressive, thus deserving its higher prices . . .

"The grilled Ora King Salmon with a glass of Pinot Noir, please," Dick handed the waiter his menu.

"A very good choice, sir."

The man was about to walk away when Dick caught his sleeve. "She's singing tonight, isn't she?"

The waiter smiled. "Yes sir. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday."

He had shown up last night, only to be disappointed when another singer had appeared – not that the other woman wasn't talented; it was just that she wasn't her. He had left after being assured he should come back tonight.

Since the restaurant's recent remodel, business was booming. Of course, one of the changes made was the live entertainment and brand-new dance floor. Dick had brought a date the first time he had come, shortly after it had reopened. Wanting to impress his date, he had bandied Bruce's name to get reservations and an excellent table.

Her name had been Sandra, or maybe Cheryl, something or another; a tall blonde with rather risqué tastes in clothes. At the time, Dick appreciated the short, skin-tight dress that shimmered in fascinating ways as she moved, but that was before the entertainment began. He was still more than a little embarrassed that he had so totally forgotten the woman he had brought with him. It had been inexcusable of him, and of course the date had deteriorated after that. When the singer had paused for a break after an hour, he had been surprised to find himself alone. The waiter had had to inform him that his date had left in a cab twenty minutes earlier. Dick had learned from his mistake, however. Every time since then, he had come alone.

The meal was superb, as usual, and after ordering another glass of wine, Dick leaned back in his chair. This was becoming a rather expensive obsession of his. The orchestra had been playing throughout the dinner, but now it was ten o'clock and the real show was about to begin.

He wiped his hands on his pants. It was nuts, but he was nervous enough that his palms were sweating. He had never spoken to her; never even called attention to himself. Dick only ever sat and listened, but for the past few times he had come to see her, his heart started pounding in the moments before she took the stage and butterflies invaded his stomach. Tonight was no different with the exception that the feelings were, if possible, even more intense!

Brian Donovan, the restaurant/club owner, stepped up to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you tonight's spectacular entertainment. Please help me to welcome to the stage Miss Arabella Hamilton!"

Miss Hamilton had been headlining a few nights a week, apparently only for the last three months, but already she had a following. The audience welcomed her to the stage with enthusiastic applause. Dick reminded himself to remain seated. This was a very upscale place, and the management probably wouldn't be amused if he jumped to his feet, whistling like the pathetic fanboy he had become.

As had happened every time she had appeared, Arabella took his breath away. He was unaware of his jaw dropping. Every time he saw her, she was even more beautiful than the last. Time slowed, and the restaurant and its patrons faded away. His world consisted only of his table and Arabella on the stage, as if she were performing exclusively for him.

He didn't know why he hadn't approached her. He had never really been shy before. Hell, he had been raised in a circus until he was almost nine years old; performing nearly every night with his parents on the trapeze since he was six. He had eaten up the attention as only a performer could. But staring at her up there in all her poised grace and beauty . . . He felt as though he were a humble acolyte in the presence of his goddess. He took another sip of his wine to assuage his sudden attack of dry mouth. The ridiculousness of his situation was not lost on him, but that didn't alter the fact that she affected him.

Arabella Hamilton was average in height, barely topping 5'4", but that was likely the only thing about her that could be described as average. Her long, dark brown hair tonight was gathered up near her crown; the loose curls cascading down past her shoulders, soft tendrils framing her oval face. Her eyes were large and dark, but that was all he could tell from this distance. An elegant, sloping nose topped a wide mouth with full, shapely lips. The strapless gown she wore was stunning; a deep bold red that warmed her skin and accentuated her lush curves. Not slender was she, but rather just shy of voluptuous. Dick couldn't tell if she were athletic or not from here. There wasn't any sign of the muscle definition that had graced most of the girlfriends he had had, like Babs or Kori. It had dawned on him recently that the vast majority of women he had relationships with were not simply athletic, but crime fighters much like himself.

Her mouth opened, and all thoughts fell out of his mind as if someone had opened a door and all the clutter had fallen out until nothing was left but her voice. His last thought was that this must be her super power.

Arabella Hamilton had never really experienced stage fright before. Sure, she felt a little nervous excitement before she walked out before an audience, but this was different. Her palms were actually sweating! She decided to wear a wireless headset tonight rather than risk dropping the microphone because of clammy hands. Her heart was pounding, her stomach felt like a flock of sparrows had roosted there, and she felt breathless; not a good thing for a singer to experience!

And it was all his fault . . .

She peeked out again, her eyes searching out his usual table. His suit was dark and impeccably tailored. If he didn't have money, he was still used to the finer things in life. His tie was the bright, intense blue. She liked its touch. The happy color kept him from seeming too serious; hinting at the possible presence of a sense of humor. While that was one of the most important characteristics in a person to her, but it certainly was not the only thing that attracted her! This guy was also the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on, and that was saying something!

His masculinity practically reached out to surround her even where she hid behind the curtain. It was there in the breadth of his shoulders and width of his chest, but it was also almost a palpable thing as well. As if she could reach out a hand to touch it. His dark hair could use a haircut, but she liked it like this. It made him less fussy and more approachable. She had been surrounded for most of her life by the GQ-type; the professional, metrosexual man. While she appreciated a well-groomed man as much as the next woman, those who were more obsessed with fashion and appearances than she was left her with a vague impression of spinelessness.

She had first noticed him several weeks ago when the woman he had come with made a bit of an angry show of leaving in the middle of her performance. Daniel, the couple's waiter, had told them that the man had apparently hadn't even noticed it at the time. He had had the good grace to blush, however, when Daniel had informed him of her departure nearly a half an hour later, but Elle felt relieved when Daniel had assured her that the woman had grumbled that he had been the worst date she had ever had.

So . . . Elle had thought, pleased in spite of the woman's words. He was single . . .

He came every Thursday, sat at the same table near the front, and didn't leave until after her show was over. He never brought another date with him; never asked another woman to dance. He would occasionally have dinner, but sometimes he merely nursed a drink all evening. And stared at her . . .

Maybe she should feel alarmed by that; potential stalker and all, but instead she felt . . . flattered. Attractive. Thrilled . . . and alive!

With her background, one would think that such attention would be accepted as her normal due. The daughter of one of Chicago's most powerful and wealthy businessmen, she had had her fair share of so-called "dates". But they were men that her father or brother had hand-chosen to escort her to an event. Sometimes she was being introduced to that night's escort when he came to pick her up. Their conversations were flat. The men talked only about themselves, business, or either her father or brother. Every single one of them were more interested in impressing her relatives than in Elle as a person. Occasionally, there would be a man who would feign interest, but she had never been fooled, mostly because of the glazed look in his eyes when she began talking about her love of music, her desire to get out of Chicago, and to earn her own way. She was always dropped back off at the end of the evening at her father's apartment with a business-like handshake.

It had taken her a long time to convince her father to allow her an opportunity to get out on her own; to prove she could be successful without his assistance. It was why she had come to Bludhaven. The city was close enough to Chicago that her father wouldn't have a heart attack, but far enough away that she felt at least a modicum of independence. What would be even better would be if, every time she stepped out of her apartment building, she didn't see one of her father's vehicles with either one or both of her personal bodyguards inside.

Her eyes glanced toward the back of the restaurant, to a corner table near the kitchen, and sure enough, there they both were. Edward and Hugh had been with her since her mother had died when she was seven. They were like family, but like her father, they tended to hover and Elle wished they would go back to Chicago.

Wiping her hands off on the curtain, Elle prepared to take the stage as her boss and friend, Brian Donovan, introduced her. Her eyes strayed back to the man who was the source of her current nervousness. He sat up and set his wineglass down.

Oh yes, he was interested. A voice in her head wondered if he were a record producer, interested only in how many records she might be able to sell. That idea was at once flattering and depressing because Elle was interested in him as well. Just not in a business sense.

He was the first man that she had ever been interested in, in her whole life. She was twenty-three years old, so that was actually saying something. He had never made a move, however. Never sent her a note, a song request, or flowers; never asked to be introduced, nor even asked if she were single or not. And Elle was getting tired of waiting. She wasn't the type of woman who made the first move, though. She remembered her grandmother, a very wise, Italian woman, once telling her that if she pursued the man, then she would never be entirely certain of his affections. Was he too polite to refuse her offer? Was he merely alleviating his boredom until something better came along? No, she said, it was far better to allow the man to pursue her.

Men were elemental creatures who, like animals, reveled in the hunt. The more difficult the pursuit of his objective, the more valuable she would become to him; the more fascinating she would be. At least that was the advice her grandmother had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Of course, then again, the old woman had never met such a frustrating man as the one whom Elle found herself currently obsessing over.

Determination washed over her. Elle was nothing if not a problem solver. She would compromise without relaxing her beliefs. She would give him a sign that she was interested in him, and then place the ball firmly in his court. And wait . . . She hated waiting, but she would do it because apparently all this waiting she had been doing for the past five weeks had made this man seem all that more valuable and fascinating to her . . . Damn it!

She smiled widely because she loved what she was doing, and because he was watching her. She waved her hand to the applauding audience and moved center stage as the band began playing the first few bars to the intro of her song. Her eyes strayed back to him of their own accord, as they would likely do the entirety of the evening. He was alert and yet relaxed. He was smiling back at her. He looked happy to see her; to listen to her sing, and that made her way too happy to be safe.

Reporter Maria Sanchez stood near the back of the restaurant preparing to do the fluff piece that would give Chez Donovan some great publicity. Her cameraman, Bart, was panning around the room looking for good angles. They had been treated to dinner on the house. It was delicious, but the prices were a bit stiff for the average Joe to afford on a regular basis. Still, not so high that an evening here wouldn't be a terrific splurge for a special occasion.

The restaurant now sported a stage with a small orchestra or band that provided live music during dinner, but at ten o'clock, the kitchen closed, the plates borne away by super efficient staff, and the lights lowered in preparation of the real show. Every night there was a singer to entertain those who wished to enjoy great music, and the dance floor was opened up for those who wanted to cut a rug.

The music varied depending on the night and artist showcased, but three days a week it was almost exclusively smooth jazz, so that was what their piece would feature. The singer tonight was an unknown, but she headlined for the club more often than any other performer on the payroll.

They had already interviewed the owner, the chef, the headwaiter, and several patrons, so the restaurant was covered. Now, they would highlight a number by this Arabella Hamilton, get a few reactions from the audience, and a few shots of couples dancing. She and Bart had discussed interviewing the singer, but that was still up in the air. That would mean that they would have to be here for another couple of hours, and they had spent an hour here already.

Maria was impressed, and a little jealous, truth be told, by the lovely, young woman. She had stage presence all right. She had the "look" as well. But could she sing? Bart caught her eye . . . She waved him away. Not for the first couple of songs. Give the girl a chance to warm up first. It would allow them the time to decide how they wanted to set up the shot as well.

The music started. She and Bart exchanged glances before Miss Hamilton reached the chorus. Da-a-amn, the woman was good! No, better than good! Her voice was low and sultry, and seemed to seduce the listener, mesmerize him. This chick was fantastic! No wonder she was billed three nights a week. The only question was why she wasn't performing the weekends. She was certainly good enough for it.

Maria signaled Bart. She would give a brief introduction in front of the third song, and she began composing what she would say to the camera in her head.

Elle tried to focus her attention on the crowd, but try as she might, she couldn't get that man out of her mind. She hadn't planned this out. She had meant to wait until further into the evening at least before she did . . . something. She just wasn't sure what that something would be.

As she wrapped up her second song of the evening, Elle couldn't take it anymore. Once she decided a course of action, she wanted to plunge right in. The there was the issue that the longer she waited, the more likely it would be that she would chicken out in the end. As soon as the music stopped, Elle turned around and switching off her mike for a moment as an idea flitted through her mind.

"Hey, guys," she began, startling the band members. "I know we have a playlist already decided upon for the night, but I want to add something to it."

Morris, who led the band and played the bass, stepped closer to her. "What did you have in mind?"

The red indicator light on the camera began flashing. She was on the air. Maria smiled into the lens and began.

"Now that you've had a glimpse into the food, the service, and the atmosphere of the newly renovated restaurant, Chez Donovan, let's discover together what real changes have been made.

"As you can see behind me, there is a new dance floor, and what would a dance floor be without music? Substantial money was put into adding a stage for a small orchestra or band, depending on the night, that provides the restaurant's customers with a wonderful selection of music for their dining pleasure. But the real show begins at ten o'clock each night when the restaurant closes its kitchen and the nightclub set kicks in.

"A variety of singers are headlined each night with their own style of music, ranging from easy pop, to blues, to swing, to jazz. Something for everyone to enjoy! Tonight's singer, Miss Arabella Hamilton, will be showcasing smooth jazz . Let's take a listen . . ."

Elle began slinking her way to the steps that led down to the floor as soon as the music began. She began singing as she moved down them, slowly drawing out the notes.

"My funny valentine,

Sweet, comic valentine,

You make me smile with my heart . . ."

Dick's eyes widened as he realized that Miss Hamilton was staring directly at him as she sang. He sat up in his chair as she turned and made her way directly to his table. He touched his chin, and sure enough, it was hanging open. He closed it with a snap. As she neared his table, unsure of what else to do, Dick stood up to meet her.

"Your looks are laughable,

Unphotographable,

Yet you're my favorite work of art . . ."

He didn't seem upset, Elle thought. In fact, he was smiling at her broadly, flashing all those straight, white teeth. He'd surprised her when he'd stood, although she hadn't a clue what kind of reaction she would get. She had leaned towards the idea that he would sit there while she walked around him, petting his shoulder seductively. When he stood, she had felt a thrill of fear that he would turn and walk out of the restaurant forever. What she got, however, went far beyond her wildest dreams . . .

Dick took her hand and pulled her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist. She sang like an angel, and now he knew for a fact that she felt like heaven in his arms. The words of the song, one he had heard before but had never paid attention to, were funny, and he laughed as he swept her up into a slow dance while she serenaded him.

"Is your figure less than Greek?

Is your mouth a little weak?

When you open it to speak . . . Are you smart?"

She was finally able to see the color of his eyes. Why did the fact that his eyes and his tie were the same gorgeous blue send butterflies fluttering about inside her stomach? Then her heart skipped a beat the moment she realized that he was gazing back into hers with equal intensity. It was as if he were trying to reach inside of her and discover her soul . . . It took some effort to keep her voice from trembling with the rest of her.

Dick finally was able to see her beautiful eyes up close and personal, and they were as stunning as the rest of her. Dark brown, like her hair, with thick black lashes. He could see gold striations that fanned out in a starburst around her pupils; pupils that were dilating . . . That meant something, he thought, something he couldn't quite remember. Attraction, maybe? Yes . . . sexual attraction. He suddenly realized that she was searching his eyes with the same fervency as he was hers. He wondered, as he spun her around in a tight circle, if his own eyes were dilating. And, if she noticed, did she know the reason why?

"Oh, but don't change your hair for me.

Not if you care for me.

Stay, funny valentine, stay . . ."

His hands were strong and warm. He felt . . . safe, and moreover, she felt safe with him. But how could that be when she didn't even know him. Not his name; not anything about him. And yet . . . She wanted to stay right there in his arms forever.

She felt perfect to him. Like a glove made specifically for his hand alone. She looked up at him with those amazing eyes that seemed to see everything, and he felt ten feet tall; like he could do anything, even fly without a grapple or line. So long as she just continued to look at him. Just. Like. That.

"Each day is Valentine's . . .

Stay, my funny valentine . . .

Every day is Valentine's Day."

They had been smiling at each other, but as the song slowed to an end, the smiles faded, just as the world had for them in the beginning. Dick dipped her low, their faces only inches apart. Her breathe smelled like cinnamon, and he had the sudden urge to lick her lips, to see if she tasted as sweet. His eyes slid of their own accord to her lips.

The spell had not been broken, but strengthened. His face was so close. Close enough to kiss. Elle found her eyes being dragged down to his lips. The lower lip was a bit fuller than his top one, and begged to be nipped. She licked her lips in anticipation. She thought he leaned in a little closer . . .

Maria gripped Bart's arm like a vise. When he could tear his gaze from the image in his screen, she mouthed to him, "Are you getting this? WOW!"

He nodded, turning back to the magical scene playing out in front of them and an entire room full of people. There was silence for a pregnant pause after the last note faded, and then the audience burst into wild applause! Maria did as well. This footage was . . . Well, it was golden!

The applause startled them out of their revelry. Dick was rather astounded that he didn't drop her, so startled was he. Arabella looked as out of sorts as he felt. She glanced around at the entire audience on their feet, and her blushed; a beautiful shade of pink. He suddenly realized that he was still leaning over her, holding her in that deep dip. His own face grew warm in response. He lifted her back to her feet. His hands were slow to release her, but he managed the difficult feat and stepped back. Taking one of her hands, he bowed over it; placing the kiss upon her knuckles that he very nearly placed on her lips mere seconds ago.

"Thank you for the song . . . and the dance." He hoped he sounded as sincere as he felt.

She seemed dazed for a moment, staring at her hand. Abruptly, she looked up into his face, and beamed, literally a ray of sunshine, at him. It took his breath away.

"You're welcome . . ." she paused as if she wanted to say more, but then seemed to remember where they were. She stepped back, pulling her hand slowly out of his, as if (he hoped) she was as reluctant to stop touching him as he was her.

The applause was still slowly tapering off. It was a far greater response to such a sweet, simple song than she might have imagined. She wondered what sort of spectacle they had made of themselves . . . Whatever had happened, the audience apparently loved it!

She smiled and waved, as the people slowly retook their seats. It was then that Elle noticed the camera and reporter standing near the back. She had been so focused on the man behind her that she hadn't realized that the news people were coming tonight to do a plug for the restaurant. They had just filmed the entire thing.

She glanced over her shoulder to the man of her dreams. It had ended so positively . . . better than she had hoped, in fact. There was no question now that she was interested in him, and she thought that maybe he returned it, but how would he feel when he saw himself on television? Would he be embarrassed? Angry? Would he come back? Determination filled her. This was important to her. A first for her, and she wasn't allowing a ridiculous publicity plug to get in the way. She made a hand movement to the band, and took a break. They began playing another tune for those who wished to dance, and she made her way to the back.

"That was beautiful! Simply wonderful," the news reporter gushed when Elle reached them. "I can't wait to get this footage back to the station. People are going to love it!"

"You can't put that on the air," Elle blurted out.

That brought both heads around to stare at her, the reporter and the cameraman. "I don't understand. You wanted some good publicity about the renovation and grand re-opening of Chez Donovan; something that would draw attention to the late night club and live entertainment. I can't imagine a better bit than what we just witnessed ," the woman said, perplexed. "It was stunning!"

"You don't understand," Elle began. She was distracted by the flashing red light on the camera. The camera guy had it focused on the two of them. "Are you recording this?"

"That's Bart," the reporter said, attempting to distract her. "My name is Maria Sanchez. Perhaps you recognize me . . ."

Elle turned to her. "Is he recording this?"

Bart peeked around the camera at her. "No. The red light means stand-by," he blatantly lied to her face.

Elle stared at him suspiciously. Maria was smiling serenely at her when Elle returned her attention to the reporter. "As I was saying, I would really appreciate it if you would record another song to use."

Maria blinked at her. "But why? What we got was pure gold!"

"Yes, you said that," Elle grumbled. "Look, can I be honest with you, woman to woman?"

Interest peaked in Maria's eyes. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Do you see that man over there?" She pointed back to the man she had just serenaded.

"You mean that gorgeous hunk that you just made figurative love to in the middle of the restaurant? Yes, what about him? Is he your boyfriend; husband?" Maria looked in his direction with frank appreciation. He looks vaguely familiar, she thought briefly before her attention was once more taken by the woman in front of her. As a matter of fact, so does the singer. I'm pretty sure that I have seen both of them before.

Elle's mouth dropped open as heat flooded her cheeks. "Uh, um, yeah. Well, he's not my boyfriend or anything like that. In fact, I've never met him before. But he's been coming to see my show for several weeks, and well, I kind of wanted him to maybe ask me out. You know, on a date." She blew a frustrated sigh. "But he's never sent me a note, or flowers, or anything really. I mean, he seems to be interested, but he just sits there every Thursday night and watches me, and then at the end of the evening, he leaves. Just leaves . . ."

Understanding suddenly dawned on the reporter. "Wow! Well, I'd have to say you two have got plenty of chemistry going for you, at least. Why do you not ask him out yourself?"

Elle looked shocked. "I couldn't!"

Bart peeked around the camera at her. "Why not?" When the women looked at him, his ears turned red. "I mean, if I had a hot, sexy woman singing to me like that, and she asked me out, I would definitely be saying yes."

"Are you sure that thing isn't recording this?" That light was still on; still flashing. It was annoying. Elle frowned at the camera.

"Absolutely," Maria assured her, but she threw a glance at the camera herself. "Why can't you ask him out instead?"

Elle didn't want to get into that. "Just advice my grandmother gave me once. Men ask the women."

"Your grandmother sounds like a very nice lady, but this is the twenty-first century. Women ask men out all the time."

"Well, maybe other women do, but I don't!" Elle insisted. "I didn't realize you were recording me when I did that or it would never have happened."

"Now, that would have been a crying shame . . ." Maria said.

"Please! I will do another song for you. I'm just afraid that he might not ever come back if this should embarrass him." Elle pleaded.

"Honey, he's a hottie, but you probably have men lined up around the corner and down the block . . ." Maria scoffed.

Elle frowned at the thought. That was rather intimidating. "I-I wouldn't know about that. I've never actually . . . been out on a date before," she admitted reluctantly.

"No way! That's impossible," Maria gasped. How could someone so lovely reach her majority without even one date? "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-three," she said. "I've been out to places before, but those were with escorts picked out for me. I've never actually been out with someone whom I was interested in. This is all new to me. And I would greatly appreciate it if you both would help me out here."

Maria wrinkled her nose in thought. "I've seen you before. I know I have. Hamilton . . ." She perked up. "Are you any relation to Cedric Hamilton out of Chicago?"

Elle pursed her lips. "He's my father."

"Your family is worth millions. Probably millions upon millions," Maria looked at her shrewdly.

"What? Are you wanting an introduction to my brother or something?" Elle sighed. Aidan was rich, attractive, and the heir apparent to their father's business. Women were forever trying to get in thick with him, and willing to use his little sister to accomplish it.

"To your father, actually."

Elle blinked. "Ah, he's a little old for you."

Maria blinked back. "What? Oh, no! Not like that!" The singer had actually managed to make her blush. "I mean, I would like to interview him."

"My father doesn't do interviews," Elle explained, worriedly. "Does this mean you'll run this footage because my father won't do an interview with you?"

"Surely, if daddy's little girl asked him sweetly, he would grant just this one. For you . . ." Maria smiled. It wasn't a pretty smile, however. Elle thought it made her look alarmingly like a shark.

Her father did like to dote on her, Elle mused, not that she encouraged such behavior from him. She felt like he considered her requests as ways to control her. But then, she seldom asked him for anything . . . Maybe, he would do this thing for her simply because she never asked him for favors. He would feel it would give him an edge over her, for sure, especially now that she was defiantly stepping out from under his wing to assert her independence.

Elle looked back in the direction of her interest to discover that he was glancing back at her. He was watching her? He smiled a private kind of smile and tipped his glass in her direction. Suddenly, she had trouble catching her breath again. Unfortunately, Morris was also sending looks in her direction as well, she noticed, as her eyes slipping past her fantasy to the band leader. Morris' were decidedly less friendly, however. She needed to wrap this up quickly and get back to the stage.

How badly did she want this? She sneaked another look in his direction. He was just so . . . beautiful. Was he as lovely inside as he was on the outside? She might never know . . . The decision came quickly.

"All right. I'll see what I can do, but if my father refuses, it is out of my hands. I want the tape, however, in return. The original copy; the only copy!" She looked directly into the camera, and pointed at Bart. "Including this part. Now, stop filming me!"

Bart had the good grace, at least, to blush. He gave her a thumbs up as the light finally went out.

"Okay, deal," Maria said. "But you have to give us another performance just like that one. A serenade! Oh, it doesn't have to be wonder boy over there . . . But it needs to be something exciting. And you have to actually try to talk your father into an interview with me."

"I'll give it my best shot," she promised, telling herself that he was worth it. Knowing what she was setting herself up for, she thought, he had better be worth it.

Mr. Donovan walked up to Elle as she drank the bottled water they kept backstage for her. The rest of the show went very well. The audience was incredibly responsive to her tonight. She had sang a love song, serenading a couple celebrating their 25th anniversary at their table just before a huge cake was presented to them by their several friends who had taken them to Chez Donovan's for the occasion. It was sweet, rather than hot and steamy like her earlier performance had been. It worked., however. Maria Sanchez had looked pleased.

"This is for you," he said, handing her a card. "You know, they will be expecting you to do something similar from here on out," he added conversationally.

She blushed in spite of herself. "I'll try not to disappoint."

"Unless you can pull another performance out of your hat like that Funny Valentine, you just might do that." He stared at her.

"I hope you aren't upset with me." Elle bit her lip.

Donovan laughed. "How could I be? You brought the house down, Elle. And, after expending so much energy this evening, you should probably read that rather than continue demolishing it," he said, pointing at the card she was currently shredding.

Elle gasped, and tried to straighten the edges. It wasn't in too terrible of shape yet. Nothing was written on this side, so she turned it over.

It read:

Thank you for the song and dance. Would you like to have coffee with me afterwards? – Dick Grayson

Donovan tapped his finger to her chin, and she snapped it closed. Elle let out a happy squeal and threw her arms around her employer's neck. He chuckled at the joy and excitement he could see in her eyes. She had only been with him for three months, but Brian Donovan had come to see Elle much as he saw his own daughters. Arabella was at least seven years older than his eldest, who was just beginning to date, but she was nowhere near as experienced at dealing with the opposite sex as his Pamela was. Elle was as naïve as they come, and he heart ached at the thought of her getting hurt.

He knew Bruce Wayne far better than he did the man's son, but the idea of Elle starting out with the son of a rich playboy bothered him more than he could say. But Elle was an adult. She had intentionally sought the young man's attention. He hadn't like seeing how the young man had treated his date those weeks ago, but he was apparently gracious with the servers, and polite to the hostess. Against his better judgment, Brian had agreed to deliver the young man's message.

He watched as Elle grabbed a fresh card and borrowed his pen. She hesitated a moment, and then rubbed the card vigorously on her wrist before writing her reply, and handing it back to him.

Donovan glanced down at the elegant penmanship. He would give the young man the note, but with it a stern warning as well.

"I had better go out there. I have another four songs to sing before closing." Elle took another swig of the water, and then turned and sauntered out on the stage in a way that belied the young woman's innocence.

Dick was enjoying the show. This was Miss Hamilton's last song before closing. His gut churned with nervousness. He had seen Donovan coming out from backstage mere seconds after Arabella. He knew the man had given her his note. He thought he knew the answer from the smiles that she would occasionally shoot his way, but frustratingly, Donovan had chosen to wait to give him her answer. As chair pulled out beside him, and Dick glanced over at the man himself. Dick nodded, but turned his head back to the stage.

"She's not as experienced with men as her performances would lead you to believe," Donovan said as an opening. Although his eyes were on the performance, Dick heard his words easily over the music, and his disapproval. "She's new to this. I would have your promise, Mr. Grayson, that you would have a care of her heart. She is sweet and terribly naïve, and I tend to look at her as I might a daughter."

At this, Dick looked directly at him. He nodded seriously because Donovan seemed to expect that. "I wouldn't dream of hurting her, sir."

"Just so we understand each other." Donovan slid the card across the table as he got up and moved away, back to the business at hand.

After a moment, Dick gathered his courage and looked at the card, noting the beautiful, sloping curves of her handwriting; as elegant as the woman herself.

"I would be delighted, Mr. Grayson. –Elle"

She called herself, Elle. He smiled at the nickname. He liked it, he thought as he glanced up at the woman on the stage. It seemed to fit her, in some aspect that wasn't completely clear to him yet. He met her gaze and grinned. He couldn't wait to learn all there was to this angel with the sultry voice. He was about to tuck the card into his jacket pocket when the whiff of her perfume caught his attention. He raised the card to his nose. No doubt about it, as the soft floral scent enveloped his senses. He winked at her as he slid the card near his heart. He nearly laughed when she blushed brightly enough to see from his table.

Always before, Dick had been disappointed when the show ended. Tonight, however, he felt a nervous exhilaration. It was a good feeling, he thought as Elle bowed and waved to those couples remaining, wishing them a safe trip home. It was a very good feeling, indeed.