The Exception to the Rules
Part 9: Allen, Bart Allen
“Dayum, Ollie!” Bart crowed, jumping up from the couch and rounding the piece of furniture as Oliver entered the living room, dressed in a sharply cut, black tuxedo.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” The younger man enthused. “Can you hook me up with one of those?”
Pausing to adjust one of the cuff-links on his starched, white shirt with perfect, casual aplomb, Oliver arched a quizzical brow.
“What do you need a tux for?”
“What don’t I need it for?” Bart replied eagerly. “Think of the senoritas I could get if I was decked out like that all the time! The red hoodie is fine and all, but if I had that… the babes would be powerless to resist me!”
“I think you’re giving the suit a bit too much credit,” Oliver chuckled.
“No way! That tux is pure Bond,” Bart proclaimed, “and I’m talking Daniel Craig Bond, not Pierce Brosnan Bond.”
“What’s wrong with Brosnan?” AC mumbled through a mouth full of food as he and Victor strolled out of the kitchen to join the conversation. “He was good.”
“Goldeneye was okay,” Bart allowed, “but Brosnan’s cheese-factor got way outta hand by the end of his run.”
“Connery was the best Bond,” Oliver interjected as he leaned a shoulder into the wall and tucked his hands into his pants pockets, the pose - coupled with the tux - proving downright debonair.
Bart looked at him with pure pity.
“Connery?” The young man questioned distastefully. “God you’re old.”
“I’m a purist,” Oliver corrected.
“Yeah,” Bart agreed, “an old one.”
“It’s called maturity,” Oliver drawled. “You might want to try it sometime. It goes better with the tux.”
“Is that your way of saying I’m getting a tux?” Bart asked hopefully.
“No,” Oliver grinned.
“You bought Chloe a new outfit!” Bart protested. “And judging by the size of it, it’s probably a freakin expensive one! A tux can’t be that much.”
“Chloe has a reason for needing the outfit,” Oliver stated plainly as he lifted his arm and glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, is she ready yet? We need to get going.”
“I have a reason,” Bart muttered as he ignored Oliver’s question.
“She’s still primping,” Victor supplied, laughing at Bart’s sullen disposition. “And I strongly advise against going in there to try and hurry her up. AC gave her a time check half-an-hour ago and got a shoe thrown at him for his troubles.”
“Four-inch heel!” AC confirmed animatedly. “I coulda lost an eye!”
Oliver’s brow furrowed suspiciously.
“Please tell me you didn’t walk in on her when she was naked.”
“Of course not!” AC defended. “I’m not some kinda perv. I knocked very politely.”
“He made fun of the hot rollers in her hair,” Bart tattled with a grin, the memory of Chloe’s fury helping him through his disappointment over his refused request for a tux.
“She looked hilarious,” AC offered by way of explanation. “The things women do to themselves…”
“You know, the fact that none of you have girlfriends really boggles the mind,” Oliver deadpanned as he pushed away from the wall and sauntered towards the hallway that lead to the guest room.
“Chloe!” He called out. “Time’s up! Let’s get a move on before I’m late for my own event!”
“I can’t wear this!” She hollered from within the second bedroom, her voice faint behind the closed door, but the aggravation it contained unmistakable.
“Too bad!” Oliver answered back with a smirk. “All my tuxes are too big for you, so there isn’t any other outfit in this penthouse that’s black tie appropriate! You’re stuck with the dress!”
Moving to stand with his teammates, Oliver listened for any signs of life coming from the guest room. The seconds ticked by and he was about to go marching in after her when he heard the sound of the door clicking open, followed by a soft, rustling noise that had all four of them waiting in curious anticipation.
Holding both arms securely across her chest and blushing profusely, Chloe seemed to float into the living room, a vision in dusty rose. The dress boasted an intricate, strapless bodice that wove itself about her tiny figure elegantly, satiny material hugging tight to every curve before melting into a skirt of thick, billowing fabric and feathers. All in all, the girl and the gown were the very definition of grand, exquisite, and jaw-dropping, all rolled into one.
“Damn,” Bart breathed out, long and slow.
Visibly squirming beneath their collective gazes, Chloe tightened the grip she had around the dress and frowned.
“I can’t wear this,” she repeated stubbornly. “It molts.”
To illustrate her point, she swung her hips back and forth delicately and the resulting swish of the full skirt caused specks of the little, adorning feathers to drift up around her.
“Woo! Shake it!” AC whooped delightedly, earning a withering glare from the lady.
“It’s just new,” Oliver assured her. “By the time we get to the gala, it’ll be fine.”
“Oliver, it has feathers. Feathers!” Chloe sulked. “I look ridiculous!”
“No, you look unbelievable,” Bart corrected dreamily, his eyes fixated on her.
“See,” Oliver smirked. “Rave reviews.”
“Victor?” Chloe pleaded, hoping to find one supportive ally in the crowd.
“Sorry Watchtower,” Victor shrugged. “But that’s one hell of a dress.”
“Easy for you to say,” Chloe grumbled, hauling the bodice up higher and keeping her arms wrapped firmly around it. “You’re not the one who has to walk in it. I’m going to trip!”
“You’re not going trip,” Oliver groused. “Honestly, you are the only woman I know who can find a problem when a room full of guys are telling you that you look beautiful! Now take your arms down and quit covering yourself up!”
“I’m not covering up,” Chloe shot back. “I’m holding up!”
She sighed mightily, freeing up one of her hands and pointing to her own back.
“There’s nothing but buttons and hooks and - possibly - a hidden zipper, back there,” she complained.
“I can’t get it done up.”
Oliver’s hand instantly smacked down onto Bart’s shoulder and held him in place, knowing exactly what the young man was going to do before Bart even knew it himself.
“Nice catch,” AC complimented, truly impressed.
“Sit,” Oliver instructed seriously, his heavy hand pushing his teammate to the couch.
Bart’s face was all indignant innocence.
“I was only going to help!” He protested.
“Help yourself to a feel is more like,” Victor laughed, his comment actually getting a blush out of the usually unflappable Bart.
“No!” Bart argued before pausing to reflect. “Well, maybe a little.”
“Stay,” Oliver ordered, releasing Bart’s shoulder and crossing the room towards Chloe.
Mindful of the extravagant skirt, he came to a stop behind her and reached out to gather the sides of the bodice together, his precise hands setting to work at securing all the various closures that ran down the piece of couture. Standing perfectly still, Chloe could feel her blush deepen and her breathing doing funny things as his fingers danced against her bare skin, her eyes dropping to stare at the floor because suddenly, things just felt far too intimate.
“There,” Oliver announced as her slid the final satin button into place and ran his hands along her sides to smooth out the material. “All set.”
Hoping the gulp of air she’d swallowed down when his hands had reached her hips had been imperceptible, Chloe let her arms finally relax and took a few measured steps out of his reach, testing the added weight and circumference of the voluminous skirt before turning carefully to face Oliver.
“I still think I’m going to trip,” she mumbled anxiously.
“I’ll catch you,” he promised with a grin
Despite her fretting, she found herself returning his smile, her eyes sweeping over him and taking note of his appearance.
“You look nice,” she praised, trying to keep her tone light. The fact that he looked good in a tux was a no-brainer on paper, but to see it - up close and personal - was pretty damn striking.
“Very James Bond,” she observed.
“See!” Bart exclaimed. “It’s working already!”
“What’s working?” Chloe asked curiously as three of the men chuckled and one grumbled unhappily.
“The tux inspired a debate over the best Bond,” Oliver explained, glossing over Bart’s theories about the suit and its effect on women.
“Well, you gotta go with the man who set the standard,” Chloe shrugged. “Sean Connery’s always going to be the real Bond.”
With the exception of Bart, who tossed his hands in the air dismissively, the chuckling in the room grew.
“Is it worth my time to try and figure out what’s so funny?” She asked them all simply.
“Even if it was, it doesn’t matter cause we have to go,” Oliver answered.
“Right, I’ll go grab my stuff,” she nodded, shooting the boys a peculiar look as she navigated the gown back to the guest room.
“So,” Oliver began, clapping his hands together and facing his team. “Are you guys all set for your little trip out to the warehouse?”
“Been over every detail and got the mission all worked out,” Victor replied automatically. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”
“You’ve reviewed all the building plans?” Oliver checked.
“Twice,” AC informed him. “We’re gonna be able to bust in there blind folded.”
“And you know what you’re looking for, right?” Oliver continued. “We don’t need anymore supply lists. Just keep it to anything related to the Wynlie Group.”
“Geez, Dad,” Bart heckled with an eye roll. “We’ve done this kinda stuff once or twice before. We know what we’re doing.”
“I know, I know,” Oliver muttered. “Just making sure.”
“Will you guys get outta here already?” AC scolded as Chloe came back into the room with a shawl draped over her arm and a small clutch in her hand. “Go have fun!”
“What part of this night do you figure is going to be fun exactly?” Chloe asked dryly. “The paparazzi vultures who’ll be trying to blind us or the scintillating company of Metropolis’ self-appointed aristocracy?”
“Just try to have fun,” AC smiled. “Despite what you think, it won’t kill you.”
“That remains to be seen,” Chloe snarked, taking Oliver’s offered arm and letting him lead her towards the elevator.
“Remember Chloelicious,” Bart piped up. “If 007 there starts getting handsy again, no means no!”
Stepping into the elevator and spinning to face the young man, Chloe shot Bart a smile and Oliver leaned out to pin him with a glare.
“That’s a warning for your dates, little man,” he mocked. “Not mine.”
“Pseudo-date!” Bart corrected loudly, just before the doors closed and blocked him off.
“Punk,” Oliver muttered as he reached out and tapped the appropriate button.
“So,” Chloe mused beside him. “What was with the inside joke I wasn’t privy to?”
“Oh, Bart just accused me of being old because I said Connery was the best Bond,” he explained. “He wasn’t pleased when his precious Chloe agreed with me.”
“Old?” she laughed. “Right, cause you’re ancient.”
“In Bart’s mind, anyone who can legally drink is old,” he observed lightly.
“Well then, I’m surprised he bothers with me,” she quipped, smiling.
“I’m sure he makes an exception for you,” he noted.
“Lucky me.”
Reaching down to arrange her dress, she noticed that they were headed to the building’s parking garage rather than the main level.
“Got a plan to give the paparazzi the slip?” She inquired knowingly.
“The garage is secure and the limo’s windows are tinted,” he stated. “This way we can hold off on any camera flashes until we get there.”
Chloe’s nose scrunched at yet another reminder that she was about to be put on display for the world, but knowing that Oliver wasn’t looking forward to the feeding frenzy either, she wisely kept her belly-aching to herself.
“What? No bike tonight?” She snarked instead.
“Didn’t want to chance a return of your awful helmet head,” he joked back, remembering what her last turn on his motorcycle had done to her blonde hair.
“Jerk,” she admonished, slapping his arm in retribution.
“Hey now!” He grinned. “You admitted your hair was a disaster that night!”
“Yeah, yeah,” she groused as she reached up and began fussing absently with her curls.
“Don’t go getting all self-conscious,” he chided gently as he took her busily preening hand in his own and pulled it away. “It’s nice now.”
Looking down at the halo of blonde that framed her face, he felt his smile soften.
“Doesn’t look half-bad, actually,” he added.
“Oh thanks,” she grouched. “There’s some real encouragement as I head off to get my photograph taken by the national media.”
“You know you look gorgeous,” he told her simply.
She eyed him sceptically.
“Even with the feathers?” She checked, looking up to meet his gaze.
“Especially with the feathers,” he confirmed, his smile widening when she squeezed the hand that hadn’t let go of hers.
The elevator came to a smooth halt and the resulting chime alerted them to the fact that they’d reached the garage. Still holding her smaller hand in his own, Oliver began making his way through the opening doors, but stopped when he felt her tug on his grip. Turning to face her questioningly, he found her staring at the floor before them.
“It’s dirty,” she noted plainly.
“It’s a garage,” he pointed out, his brow furrowing in amused confusion.
Sliding her hand from his, she gathered up the front of her dress carefully, mindful of the delicate feathers that so enjoyed flying loose, then darted a look behind at the sweeping material that was following her around.
“Little help here?” She requested, one of her feet kicking meaningfully from beneath the dress’ train.
“Aren’t you the high maintenance date,” he chuckled as he put an arm up to stop the elevator door from closing and moved back into the small space to pick up the back of the gown.
“I’m just trying to protect your investment,” she informed him tartly as she lead the way out of the conveyor, towards the idling black limo that was waiting for them.
“Makes no difference to me if it gets mucked up,” he told her, swinging the part of the skirt he was holding playfully. “It’s your dress now.”
She shot him an astonished look over her shoulder.
“I can’t accept this,” she murmured.
“Of course you can,” he countered. “Besides, what am I going to do with it? It’s hardly my size.”
“Or colour,” she quipped.
“Exactly,” he said as they reached the vehicle and he tipped his head to the driver holding the door open for them.
“Good evening Paul.”
“Mr. Queen,” the man smiled in greeting before addressing Chloe, “Miss.”
“Hello, how are you?” She asked politely.
“Very well, thank you,” the driver replied kindly. “May I say, you look positively lovely.”
“You may,” she grinned.
Turning to the limo, Chloe eased herself in gingerly, muttering a grateful thank you to both Oliver and Paul as they assisted her in accomplishing the task of getting all of her gown safely into place. Once she was situated more or less comfortably, Oliver climbed in beside her and the door was slammed closed behind him. Almost immediately, she felt the expensive limo purr beneath her and begin gliding out of the security of the garage and onto the streets of Metropolis.
“While I don’t think I could stomach the actual price tag for this thing,” Chloe told him, picking up their conversation as she motioned to the confection of a gown that puffed about her. “I couldn’t help but notice that it really did have a little Versace label. Please tell me you didn’t spend a down payment on it.”
“Down payment for what?” He asked glibly.
“Car? House?” She offered.
“I didn’t spend what I couldn’t afford,” he replied diplomatically.
“See, that’s what makes me nervous,” she stated. “What you can afford tends to blow my poor little pocket book to smithereens.”
“It’s not as if I’m about to ask you to ante up for it,” he sighed.
“I know that,” she mumbled. “It’s just that it’s too generous.”
“Well, would it make you feel better if we just auctioned it off at the end of the night,” he proposed dryly. “We could get you up on stage to model it during the bidding.”
She glared at him.
“I’ll drop it,” she sniped unhappily.
“Good,” he said as he patted her knee through the mountains of fabric covering it.
“If it helps,” he continued, “you can think of it as part of your cover. A nice, fancy gown to help you blend in with all the elitists.”
At his words, she sat up stiffly, a sudden nervousness taking her over.
“What is it now?” He groaned, hoping she wasn’t about to rag him out for suggesting she needed help fitting in. “You look like something’s about to bite you.”
“I’m fine,” she replied quickly, though she didn’t look fine in the slightest.
“Please don’t make me guess,” he complained. “The dress discussion was plenty tiresome and we still have the whole night to go.”
“I just…” She paused as she thought about what she wanted to say, her hands gripping at her purse anxiously.
“Yes?” He prodded.
“Is there anything I should know about?” She questioned vaguely.
He looked at her peculiarly.
“Like, etiquette wise?” She clarified awkwardly.
“Not really,” he laughed. “I mean, you seem to have a pretty good handle on basic social graces and seeing as there won’t be any secret handshakes or code words tonight, I think you’ll be okay.”
“I’m being serious here,” she hissed.
“So am I,” Oliver protested as he looked at her curiously. “I know you’ve been to big events like this before. Why the sudden Pygmalion complex?”
“Well, yes I’ve been a guest at stuff like this,” she groused, “but I’ve never been the host’s date, or pseudo-date, or whatever.”
He frowned at her and it only made her sigh irritably.
“It’s just that there’s going to be all the photographers and guests,” she blurted out, the words hurried. “Between this conversation starter of a dress and being on your arm, everyone’s going to be looking at me and I don’t want to do anything embarrassing. For me, or you.”
Finished, she drew in a breath and stared at him, waiting uneasily for his response.
“You’re afraid my guests won’t like you,” he teased. “That’s adorable.”
“Do not patronize me when I’m panicky,” she warned lowly. “It won’t end well for you.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he smirked, all at once aware of how very charming he found her.
Her expectant gaze still locked on him, he tucked away his mirth in favour of trying to loosen the worried knots she was twisting herself into.
“Be you and you’ll be perfectly fine,” he assured her. “Besides, I’ll be with you the whole time.”
“I thought you had to work these sorts of functions,” she smiled softly, his support a balm on her nerves. “They’re not good date settings, remember?”
“Well, this is a pseudo-date,” he smiled back.
The limo suddenly pulled to a stop and they both looked out the windows to find that they had arrived.
“Seriously?” She whined before sighing heavily, wondering were her time to mentally prepare had gone.
“Good to go?” He checked.
Steeling herself, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and issued him a curt nod.
“Remember not to trip getting out of the car,” he added.
“Way to jinx me,” she snarked as her eyes darted around the limo’s interior, seeking something out.
“The trim on the bar’s mahogany,” he told her helpfully, grinning knowingly.
She reached over to rap the fine wood sharply and then slid along the seat, gesturing for him to get moving.
“C’mon,” she urged. “Before I change my mind and ditch you.”
“Like you’d get far in that gown,” he laughed as the door opened and he swung his long legs out, exiting the vehicle with fluid grace.
Ignoring her pounding heart, she collected the front of her skirt as best she could and forced her feet out of the limo and onto the pavement. With part of the dress gripped in her right hand, she reached back with her left to gather up some more of the material and began moving carefully, her eyes staying glued to the gown so she could save it each time it worked itself into a potentially horrible snag. She was just about to clear the door when Oliver reached down and with one smooth movement, removed her - in all her feathery glory - from the vehicle.
“Figured that would be easiest,” he smiled as he steadied her on her feet. “I’m starting to think you might be right about that gown having a mind of its own.”
“I tried to tell you,” she sniffed, but her answering smile betrayed her.
Right away, she could feel and see the cameras beginning to flash faster and faster, the buzz among the photographers quickly ascending to a roar at their appearance.
“All set Sidekick?” Oliver whispered against her ear as his arm slid along her lower back to wrap around her waist, his hand coming to rest firmly upon her hip.
Her own arm winding about him, she tucked herself into his side and let her free hand reach down to hold the one that he had settled on the swell of her hip.
“Lead the way Mr. Queen,” she breathed as they turned together and smiled for the barrage.
Chapter 10 can be found here novadelphine.livejournal.com/4468.html#cutid1
and...
Author's Note: Okay, so the dress became such a hot topic (haha!) that I just had to include pictures to show people which one I picked! I knew going in that I wanted something that was just totally over the top and this one went to the front of the pack right away. And yes, I know I went overkill with the pictures, but I couldn't help it. The skirt is just mind-boggling to me!
What I wouldn't give for a reason to wear a dress like this... wouldn't hurt if I had the money to buy a dress like this either...
“Dayum, Ollie!” Bart crowed, jumping up from the couch and rounding the piece of furniture as Oliver entered the living room, dressed in a sharply cut, black tuxedo.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” The younger man enthused. “Can you hook me up with one of those?”
Pausing to adjust one of the cuff-links on his starched, white shirt with perfect, casual aplomb, Oliver arched a quizzical brow.
“What do you need a tux for?”
“What don’t I need it for?” Bart replied eagerly. “Think of the senoritas I could get if I was decked out like that all the time! The red hoodie is fine and all, but if I had that… the babes would be powerless to resist me!”
“I think you’re giving the suit a bit too much credit,” Oliver chuckled.
“No way! That tux is pure Bond,” Bart proclaimed, “and I’m talking Daniel Craig Bond, not Pierce Brosnan Bond.”
“What’s wrong with Brosnan?” AC mumbled through a mouth full of food as he and Victor strolled out of the kitchen to join the conversation. “He was good.”
“Goldeneye was okay,” Bart allowed, “but Brosnan’s cheese-factor got way outta hand by the end of his run.”
“Connery was the best Bond,” Oliver interjected as he leaned a shoulder into the wall and tucked his hands into his pants pockets, the pose - coupled with the tux - proving downright debonair.
Bart looked at him with pure pity.
“Connery?” The young man questioned distastefully. “God you’re old.”
“I’m a purist,” Oliver corrected.
“Yeah,” Bart agreed, “an old one.”
“It’s called maturity,” Oliver drawled. “You might want to try it sometime. It goes better with the tux.”
“Is that your way of saying I’m getting a tux?” Bart asked hopefully.
“No,” Oliver grinned.
“You bought Chloe a new outfit!” Bart protested. “And judging by the size of it, it’s probably a freakin expensive one! A tux can’t be that much.”
“Chloe has a reason for needing the outfit,” Oliver stated plainly as he lifted his arm and glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, is she ready yet? We need to get going.”
“I have a reason,” Bart muttered as he ignored Oliver’s question.
“She’s still primping,” Victor supplied, laughing at Bart’s sullen disposition. “And I strongly advise against going in there to try and hurry her up. AC gave her a time check half-an-hour ago and got a shoe thrown at him for his troubles.”
“Four-inch heel!” AC confirmed animatedly. “I coulda lost an eye!”
Oliver’s brow furrowed suspiciously.
“Please tell me you didn’t walk in on her when she was naked.”
“Of course not!” AC defended. “I’m not some kinda perv. I knocked very politely.”
“He made fun of the hot rollers in her hair,” Bart tattled with a grin, the memory of Chloe’s fury helping him through his disappointment over his refused request for a tux.
“She looked hilarious,” AC offered by way of explanation. “The things women do to themselves…”
“You know, the fact that none of you have girlfriends really boggles the mind,” Oliver deadpanned as he pushed away from the wall and sauntered towards the hallway that lead to the guest room.
“Chloe!” He called out. “Time’s up! Let’s get a move on before I’m late for my own event!”
“I can’t wear this!” She hollered from within the second bedroom, her voice faint behind the closed door, but the aggravation it contained unmistakable.
“Too bad!” Oliver answered back with a smirk. “All my tuxes are too big for you, so there isn’t any other outfit in this penthouse that’s black tie appropriate! You’re stuck with the dress!”
Moving to stand with his teammates, Oliver listened for any signs of life coming from the guest room. The seconds ticked by and he was about to go marching in after her when he heard the sound of the door clicking open, followed by a soft, rustling noise that had all four of them waiting in curious anticipation.
Holding both arms securely across her chest and blushing profusely, Chloe seemed to float into the living room, a vision in dusty rose. The dress boasted an intricate, strapless bodice that wove itself about her tiny figure elegantly, satiny material hugging tight to every curve before melting into a skirt of thick, billowing fabric and feathers. All in all, the girl and the gown were the very definition of grand, exquisite, and jaw-dropping, all rolled into one.
“Damn,” Bart breathed out, long and slow.
Visibly squirming beneath their collective gazes, Chloe tightened the grip she had around the dress and frowned.
“I can’t wear this,” she repeated stubbornly. “It molts.”
To illustrate her point, she swung her hips back and forth delicately and the resulting swish of the full skirt caused specks of the little, adorning feathers to drift up around her.
“Woo! Shake it!” AC whooped delightedly, earning a withering glare from the lady.
“It’s just new,” Oliver assured her. “By the time we get to the gala, it’ll be fine.”
“Oliver, it has feathers. Feathers!” Chloe sulked. “I look ridiculous!”
“No, you look unbelievable,” Bart corrected dreamily, his eyes fixated on her.
“See,” Oliver smirked. “Rave reviews.”
“Victor?” Chloe pleaded, hoping to find one supportive ally in the crowd.
“Sorry Watchtower,” Victor shrugged. “But that’s one hell of a dress.”
“Easy for you to say,” Chloe grumbled, hauling the bodice up higher and keeping her arms wrapped firmly around it. “You’re not the one who has to walk in it. I’m going to trip!”
“You’re not going trip,” Oliver groused. “Honestly, you are the only woman I know who can find a problem when a room full of guys are telling you that you look beautiful! Now take your arms down and quit covering yourself up!”
“I’m not covering up,” Chloe shot back. “I’m holding up!”
She sighed mightily, freeing up one of her hands and pointing to her own back.
“There’s nothing but buttons and hooks and - possibly - a hidden zipper, back there,” she complained.
“I can’t get it done up.”
Oliver’s hand instantly smacked down onto Bart’s shoulder and held him in place, knowing exactly what the young man was going to do before Bart even knew it himself.
“Nice catch,” AC complimented, truly impressed.
“Sit,” Oliver instructed seriously, his heavy hand pushing his teammate to the couch.
Bart’s face was all indignant innocence.
“I was only going to help!” He protested.
“Help yourself to a feel is more like,” Victor laughed, his comment actually getting a blush out of the usually unflappable Bart.
“No!” Bart argued before pausing to reflect. “Well, maybe a little.”
“Stay,” Oliver ordered, releasing Bart’s shoulder and crossing the room towards Chloe.
Mindful of the extravagant skirt, he came to a stop behind her and reached out to gather the sides of the bodice together, his precise hands setting to work at securing all the various closures that ran down the piece of couture. Standing perfectly still, Chloe could feel her blush deepen and her breathing doing funny things as his fingers danced against her bare skin, her eyes dropping to stare at the floor because suddenly, things just felt far too intimate.
“There,” Oliver announced as her slid the final satin button into place and ran his hands along her sides to smooth out the material. “All set.”
Hoping the gulp of air she’d swallowed down when his hands had reached her hips had been imperceptible, Chloe let her arms finally relax and took a few measured steps out of his reach, testing the added weight and circumference of the voluminous skirt before turning carefully to face Oliver.
“I still think I’m going to trip,” she mumbled anxiously.
“I’ll catch you,” he promised with a grin
Despite her fretting, she found herself returning his smile, her eyes sweeping over him and taking note of his appearance.
“You look nice,” she praised, trying to keep her tone light. The fact that he looked good in a tux was a no-brainer on paper, but to see it - up close and personal - was pretty damn striking.
“Very James Bond,” she observed.
“See!” Bart exclaimed. “It’s working already!”
“What’s working?” Chloe asked curiously as three of the men chuckled and one grumbled unhappily.
“The tux inspired a debate over the best Bond,” Oliver explained, glossing over Bart’s theories about the suit and its effect on women.
“Well, you gotta go with the man who set the standard,” Chloe shrugged. “Sean Connery’s always going to be the real Bond.”
With the exception of Bart, who tossed his hands in the air dismissively, the chuckling in the room grew.
“Is it worth my time to try and figure out what’s so funny?” She asked them all simply.
“Even if it was, it doesn’t matter cause we have to go,” Oliver answered.
“Right, I’ll go grab my stuff,” she nodded, shooting the boys a peculiar look as she navigated the gown back to the guest room.
“So,” Oliver began, clapping his hands together and facing his team. “Are you guys all set for your little trip out to the warehouse?”
“Been over every detail and got the mission all worked out,” Victor replied automatically. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”
“You’ve reviewed all the building plans?” Oliver checked.
“Twice,” AC informed him. “We’re gonna be able to bust in there blind folded.”
“And you know what you’re looking for, right?” Oliver continued. “We don’t need anymore supply lists. Just keep it to anything related to the Wynlie Group.”
“Geez, Dad,” Bart heckled with an eye roll. “We’ve done this kinda stuff once or twice before. We know what we’re doing.”
“I know, I know,” Oliver muttered. “Just making sure.”
“Will you guys get outta here already?” AC scolded as Chloe came back into the room with a shawl draped over her arm and a small clutch in her hand. “Go have fun!”
“What part of this night do you figure is going to be fun exactly?” Chloe asked dryly. “The paparazzi vultures who’ll be trying to blind us or the scintillating company of Metropolis’ self-appointed aristocracy?”
“Just try to have fun,” AC smiled. “Despite what you think, it won’t kill you.”
“That remains to be seen,” Chloe snarked, taking Oliver’s offered arm and letting him lead her towards the elevator.
“Remember Chloelicious,” Bart piped up. “If 007 there starts getting handsy again, no means no!”
Stepping into the elevator and spinning to face the young man, Chloe shot Bart a smile and Oliver leaned out to pin him with a glare.
“That’s a warning for your dates, little man,” he mocked. “Not mine.”
“Pseudo-date!” Bart corrected loudly, just before the doors closed and blocked him off.
“Punk,” Oliver muttered as he reached out and tapped the appropriate button.
“So,” Chloe mused beside him. “What was with the inside joke I wasn’t privy to?”
“Oh, Bart just accused me of being old because I said Connery was the best Bond,” he explained. “He wasn’t pleased when his precious Chloe agreed with me.”
“Old?” she laughed. “Right, cause you’re ancient.”
“In Bart’s mind, anyone who can legally drink is old,” he observed lightly.
“Well then, I’m surprised he bothers with me,” she quipped, smiling.
“I’m sure he makes an exception for you,” he noted.
“Lucky me.”
Reaching down to arrange her dress, she noticed that they were headed to the building’s parking garage rather than the main level.
“Got a plan to give the paparazzi the slip?” She inquired knowingly.
“The garage is secure and the limo’s windows are tinted,” he stated. “This way we can hold off on any camera flashes until we get there.”
Chloe’s nose scrunched at yet another reminder that she was about to be put on display for the world, but knowing that Oliver wasn’t looking forward to the feeding frenzy either, she wisely kept her belly-aching to herself.
“What? No bike tonight?” She snarked instead.
“Didn’t want to chance a return of your awful helmet head,” he joked back, remembering what her last turn on his motorcycle had done to her blonde hair.
“Jerk,” she admonished, slapping his arm in retribution.
“Hey now!” He grinned. “You admitted your hair was a disaster that night!”
“Yeah, yeah,” she groused as she reached up and began fussing absently with her curls.
“Don’t go getting all self-conscious,” he chided gently as he took her busily preening hand in his own and pulled it away. “It’s nice now.”
Looking down at the halo of blonde that framed her face, he felt his smile soften.
“Doesn’t look half-bad, actually,” he added.
“Oh thanks,” she grouched. “There’s some real encouragement as I head off to get my photograph taken by the national media.”
“You know you look gorgeous,” he told her simply.
She eyed him sceptically.
“Even with the feathers?” She checked, looking up to meet his gaze.
“Especially with the feathers,” he confirmed, his smile widening when she squeezed the hand that hadn’t let go of hers.
The elevator came to a smooth halt and the resulting chime alerted them to the fact that they’d reached the garage. Still holding her smaller hand in his own, Oliver began making his way through the opening doors, but stopped when he felt her tug on his grip. Turning to face her questioningly, he found her staring at the floor before them.
“It’s dirty,” she noted plainly.
“It’s a garage,” he pointed out, his brow furrowing in amused confusion.
Sliding her hand from his, she gathered up the front of her dress carefully, mindful of the delicate feathers that so enjoyed flying loose, then darted a look behind at the sweeping material that was following her around.
“Little help here?” She requested, one of her feet kicking meaningfully from beneath the dress’ train.
“Aren’t you the high maintenance date,” he chuckled as he put an arm up to stop the elevator door from closing and moved back into the small space to pick up the back of the gown.
“I’m just trying to protect your investment,” she informed him tartly as she lead the way out of the conveyor, towards the idling black limo that was waiting for them.
“Makes no difference to me if it gets mucked up,” he told her, swinging the part of the skirt he was holding playfully. “It’s your dress now.”
She shot him an astonished look over her shoulder.
“I can’t accept this,” she murmured.
“Of course you can,” he countered. “Besides, what am I going to do with it? It’s hardly my size.”
“Or colour,” she quipped.
“Exactly,” he said as they reached the vehicle and he tipped his head to the driver holding the door open for them.
“Good evening Paul.”
“Mr. Queen,” the man smiled in greeting before addressing Chloe, “Miss.”
“Hello, how are you?” She asked politely.
“Very well, thank you,” the driver replied kindly. “May I say, you look positively lovely.”
“You may,” she grinned.
Turning to the limo, Chloe eased herself in gingerly, muttering a grateful thank you to both Oliver and Paul as they assisted her in accomplishing the task of getting all of her gown safely into place. Once she was situated more or less comfortably, Oliver climbed in beside her and the door was slammed closed behind him. Almost immediately, she felt the expensive limo purr beneath her and begin gliding out of the security of the garage and onto the streets of Metropolis.
“While I don’t think I could stomach the actual price tag for this thing,” Chloe told him, picking up their conversation as she motioned to the confection of a gown that puffed about her. “I couldn’t help but notice that it really did have a little Versace label. Please tell me you didn’t spend a down payment on it.”
“Down payment for what?” He asked glibly.
“Car? House?” She offered.
“I didn’t spend what I couldn’t afford,” he replied diplomatically.
“See, that’s what makes me nervous,” she stated. “What you can afford tends to blow my poor little pocket book to smithereens.”
“It’s not as if I’m about to ask you to ante up for it,” he sighed.
“I know that,” she mumbled. “It’s just that it’s too generous.”
“Well, would it make you feel better if we just auctioned it off at the end of the night,” he proposed dryly. “We could get you up on stage to model it during the bidding.”
She glared at him.
“I’ll drop it,” she sniped unhappily.
“Good,” he said as he patted her knee through the mountains of fabric covering it.
“If it helps,” he continued, “you can think of it as part of your cover. A nice, fancy gown to help you blend in with all the elitists.”
At his words, she sat up stiffly, a sudden nervousness taking her over.
“What is it now?” He groaned, hoping she wasn’t about to rag him out for suggesting she needed help fitting in. “You look like something’s about to bite you.”
“I’m fine,” she replied quickly, though she didn’t look fine in the slightest.
“Please don’t make me guess,” he complained. “The dress discussion was plenty tiresome and we still have the whole night to go.”
“I just…” She paused as she thought about what she wanted to say, her hands gripping at her purse anxiously.
“Yes?” He prodded.
“Is there anything I should know about?” She questioned vaguely.
He looked at her peculiarly.
“Like, etiquette wise?” She clarified awkwardly.
“Not really,” he laughed. “I mean, you seem to have a pretty good handle on basic social graces and seeing as there won’t be any secret handshakes or code words tonight, I think you’ll be okay.”
“I’m being serious here,” she hissed.
“So am I,” Oliver protested as he looked at her curiously. “I know you’ve been to big events like this before. Why the sudden Pygmalion complex?”
“Well, yes I’ve been a guest at stuff like this,” she groused, “but I’ve never been the host’s date, or pseudo-date, or whatever.”
He frowned at her and it only made her sigh irritably.
“It’s just that there’s going to be all the photographers and guests,” she blurted out, the words hurried. “Between this conversation starter of a dress and being on your arm, everyone’s going to be looking at me and I don’t want to do anything embarrassing. For me, or you.”
Finished, she drew in a breath and stared at him, waiting uneasily for his response.
“You’re afraid my guests won’t like you,” he teased. “That’s adorable.”
“Do not patronize me when I’m panicky,” she warned lowly. “It won’t end well for you.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he smirked, all at once aware of how very charming he found her.
Her expectant gaze still locked on him, he tucked away his mirth in favour of trying to loosen the worried knots she was twisting herself into.
“Be you and you’ll be perfectly fine,” he assured her. “Besides, I’ll be with you the whole time.”
“I thought you had to work these sorts of functions,” she smiled softly, his support a balm on her nerves. “They’re not good date settings, remember?”
“Well, this is a pseudo-date,” he smiled back.
The limo suddenly pulled to a stop and they both looked out the windows to find that they had arrived.
“Seriously?” She whined before sighing heavily, wondering were her time to mentally prepare had gone.
“Good to go?” He checked.
Steeling herself, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and issued him a curt nod.
“Remember not to trip getting out of the car,” he added.
“Way to jinx me,” she snarked as her eyes darted around the limo’s interior, seeking something out.
“The trim on the bar’s mahogany,” he told her helpfully, grinning knowingly.
She reached over to rap the fine wood sharply and then slid along the seat, gesturing for him to get moving.
“C’mon,” she urged. “Before I change my mind and ditch you.”
“Like you’d get far in that gown,” he laughed as the door opened and he swung his long legs out, exiting the vehicle with fluid grace.
Ignoring her pounding heart, she collected the front of her skirt as best she could and forced her feet out of the limo and onto the pavement. With part of the dress gripped in her right hand, she reached back with her left to gather up some more of the material and began moving carefully, her eyes staying glued to the gown so she could save it each time it worked itself into a potentially horrible snag. She was just about to clear the door when Oliver reached down and with one smooth movement, removed her - in all her feathery glory - from the vehicle.
“Figured that would be easiest,” he smiled as he steadied her on her feet. “I’m starting to think you might be right about that gown having a mind of its own.”
“I tried to tell you,” she sniffed, but her answering smile betrayed her.
Right away, she could feel and see the cameras beginning to flash faster and faster, the buzz among the photographers quickly ascending to a roar at their appearance.
“All set Sidekick?” Oliver whispered against her ear as his arm slid along her lower back to wrap around her waist, his hand coming to rest firmly upon her hip.
Her own arm winding about him, she tucked herself into his side and let her free hand reach down to hold the one that he had settled on the swell of her hip.
“Lead the way Mr. Queen,” she breathed as they turned together and smiled for the barrage.
Chapter 10 can be found here novadelphine.livejournal.com/4468.html#cutid1
and...
Author's Note: Okay, so the dress became such a hot topic (haha!) that I just had to include pictures to show people which one I picked! I knew going in that I wanted something that was just totally over the top and this one went to the front of the pack right away. And yes, I know I went overkill with the pictures, but I couldn't help it. The skirt is just mind-boggling to me!
What I wouldn't give for a reason to wear a dress like this... wouldn't hurt if I had the money to buy a dress like this either...