The Exception to the Rules
Part 11: And So We Meet Again
Brow quirked, Chloe’s eyes travelled the enormous ballroom and took in the rather impressive sight of Metropolis’ finest collectively eating right out of Oliver’s hand.
Looking very much at home in the limelight, her pseudo-date was standing centre stage with a microphone, in the midst of delivering a ridiculously charming speech that was hitting every note his audience wanted to hear with perfect pitch. She wondered idly if he’d written the little piece of oratory gold on his own, or if he’d commissioned some no-name wordsmith to craft it especially for the occasion. Either way, it hardly mattered. Though the message itself was thoroughly moving, it was his effortlessness that was really selling each sentence.
Every where she turned, starry-eyed women from all across the age spectrum had their heads tilted to the side and sighs on their lips, each one committing every single inch of Oliver to memory. It got interesting whenever they took a moment’s time out from their day dreaming to shoot tell tale stares in her direction, trying - and failing - to be inconspicuous as they pointed their perfectly manicured fingers and overtly sized her up. As offensive as it was, she couldn’t be bothered to meet the scrutiny with anything but bored indifference. After all, she wasn’t actually his girlfriend. The blatant disapproval didn’t pack much of a punch when she took that factoid into account.
What did, however, dig under her skin and make her feel positively slimy were the leers she’d caught a few of the men toss at her. Apparently, money didn’t buy manners because whether they were old, young, ugly, or even handsome, there was a handful that really seemed to enjoy leaving their eyes on her longer than her tastes allowed. She’d always been a girl who felt most at home with boys and now, as she faced down inappropriate advances with flawless icy glares, she longed for the comfort and security of the group of males she counted amongst her dearest friends. The ones who looked her in the eyes instead of all over the rest of her. Well, except for Bart, but she still liked him.
Shaking away the gag inducing creepiness, she squared her shoulders and returned her attention to Oliver’s speech, only to immediately sense yet another unwanted visitor’s approach.
“Champagne Miss Sullivan?” A tall, sturdily built man asked, offering her one of the two glasses he held in his hands.
“Uh, thank you,” she accepted apprehensively, balancing the drink between her fingers and keeping it far away from her lips.
“Mitchell Edwards,” the man informed her, leaving the hand he had used to pass the glass outstretched. “Head of Queen Industries’ security.”
“Oh,” Chloe faltered as she took his waiting hand and shook it, hoping her fingers survived the solid grip. “Nice to meet you.”
“It’s Chloe, correct?” He checked, his smile stiff.
“Yes, it is,” she answered. “How are you enjoying the evening?”
“Well, these sorts of things aren’t exactly my strong suit,” he admitted as his weak smile turned into a slight grimace. “But it’s been rather nice so far.”
“I know the feeling,” she agreed, her manners dictating that she force a small smile of her own forward, despite the fact that she was finding it hard to relax with the man for some reason.
“So how long have you worked for Oliver?” She continued conversationally, trying to loosen up with a bit of small talk.
“All throughout his career,” Mitchell stated proudly, “helped show him the ropes when he assumed his position as CEO.”
“I’d say you did an excellent job,” she complimented as her attention drifted back to the stage and Oliver.
“He’s a quick study,” the older man concurred, following her gaze, “didn’t take long for the student to become the master.”
Chloe smiled and was about to ask Mitchell more about his role at Queen Industries when he cut her off abruptly with another question of his own.
“So how did you two meet?” He queried lightly, but his eyes were starkly assessing her from above the rim of his glass as he took a measured drink of champagne.
“We have some friends in common,” she stated carefully, something in his tone causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise slightly as her discomfort grew.
“And you’ve been dating for a while?” He continued, the words pressing, almost challenging.
“It’s still a very new relationship,” she answered immediately, her expression composed as she met his evident hostility with steady self-assurance.
“Still testing the waters, huh?” He observed interestedly.
“In a manner of speaking,” she agreed. “I have to ask Mr. Edwards…”
“Mitchell,” he corrected.
“I have t ask, Mitchell,” she amended tersely. “Do your duties always include interrogating Oliver’s girlfriends, or just the ones who make public appearances?”
He smiled stiffly at her again, clearly pleased that he had managed to rile up her backbone.
“You misunderstand me,” he explained plainly. “It’s a simple matter of curiosity. Oliver doesn’t often introduce any of his… female friends. In all honesty, I can barely remember the last time he had a date accompany him to an event.”
“Well,” Chloe responded dryly, “these sorts of things obviously aren’t excellent settings for dates.”
“True enough,” Mitchell conceded, his amused grin still fixed in place. “So what is it that you do Chloe?”
“I’m surprised you don’t already know,” she opined acidly. “Haven’t had time to run a background check on me yet?”
When he didn’t reply and just kept right on smiling, she was easily able to guess the answer.
“Must have been a slow day at the office if you spent it researching me,” she quipped icily. “What? Were you taking it easy before skipping out early to get all dolled up for this fancy party?”
“You’re quite the confident young woman,” Mitchell praised, though the compliment was infused with a certain censure. “I can see why Oliver likes you.”
“I am a treat,” she snarked as she handed her untouched drink back to him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I was just headed to the ladies room. It’s been a real pleasure.”
“Chloe,” he called, stopping her before she could depart. “I sincerely hope I haven’t offended you but, as I’m sure you can imagine, it’s important to be careful in my line of work. Oliver is worth a formidable fortune and corporate espionage isn’t just fodder for action movies.”
“Of course,” she allowed as she nodded curtly and turned again to storm away.
Fleeing to the relative quiet of an adjacent hallway, she huffed out an insulted growl and scanned her surroundings until she found the discreet signage that indicated the direction of the washrooms. Hiking her skirt up in front of her, she marched towards her destination and took the instructed right, slamming a hand roughly into the swinging door labelled ladies and sending it flying. She didn’t enter though, and instead, had to grudgingly let the door return soundlessly to its resting position before her.
She couldn’t use the bathroom in this monster of a dress. There was no way.
Grateful that her intended trip to the facilities was out of the need for some privacy and not a matter of bladder urgency, she stepped away from the door and mentally noted that she was going to draft an email to Versace, strongly suggesting that they start selling attendants with their gowns.
Heaving a sigh, she began wandering reluctantly back towards the ballroom, but paused when she noticed another small sign with an arrow pointing out the route to one of the hotel’s terraces. Figuring that the great outdoors would more than suffice in this pinch, she had her dress back in her hands and her heels tapping out a steady beat against the immaculately polished floors.
Reaching a set of chic French doors that opened onto a large balcony, she left the music and conversation filtering out of the ballroom behind and stepped into the solitude of the evening chill. Rubbing her arms against the dramatic dip in temperature, she moved to the terrace’s stone railing and discovered a beautiful view of the small patch of green space the hotel kept in order to afford its guests the luxury of a quiet sanctuary in the heart of bustling Metropolis.
Her gaze wandered approvingly over the spectacularly groomed lawn and the artful gardens that dotted it, particularly enjoying the tiny lights that glittered in the trees and provided her new refuge with just the right ambience. An image of she and Oliver strolling under those twinkling, little lights floated into her mind and she instantly let out a groan of disapproval. Stupid, overactive, imagination. It had zero common sense.
Focusing on the grass that stretched out beneath her, she decided she was going to have to adopt some sort of personal mantra that she could repeat over and over again to help ward off this Oliver infatuation she was flirting with. That, or seriously curtail the amount of time she spent with him. Given that the man had just recently become her boss of sorts, the second option didn’t seem likely and she groaned again when her heart leapt happily with that knowledge. She was just about to go back to the mantra brainstorming when she was interrupted by the sound of foot steps, her eyes glancing about apprehensively to see who had intruded upon her.
A man appeared at the garden’s entrance, walking the stone path that cut across the lower level and Chloe was immediately struck by a suspicious sense of familiarity. Leaning further over the railing, she tried to make out the stranger’s details, but all she could glean was that his generic black suit placed him firmly within the ranks of the Queen Industries’ security detail, a pretty humourless lot that she’d noticed roaming around the party, keeping everything ship shape.
Inexplicably intrigued, she watched as the stranger surveyed the silent grounds that fanned out in front of him, apparently seeking out anything or anyone that seemed amiss. After a few moments of careful consideration, he lifted a hand to his ear and spoke.
“Riley here,” he announced to the empty garden. “Section 8 is clear.”
Realizing that the bizarre recognition she had for the guard was nothing more than having seen him on patrol at some point during the evening, she sheepishly called quits on her spying. Figuring her critics inside had already noted her absence and begun judging her for it, she bid a silent good-night to her peaceful surroundings and turned to leave, however the sudden chiming of a cell phone from below instantly renewed her nosiness.
Creeping back to the edge curiously, she watched as the man removed his ear piece with one hand and fished his cell out of his jacket pocket with the other, immediately flipping the little device open to offer his caller a brusque greeting. Crouching down, she poked her head through a space between the railing’s sculptured stone supports and peeked over the balcony, trying to facilitate her deliberate eavesdropping. Unfortunately, her efforts went unrewarded as the guard’s side of the conversation was nothing more than a useless collection of jerky nods and vague grunts that didn’t give her a thing to work with.
Just then, it occurred to her that she was hanging half-way off a balcony, getting an outrageously expensive designer dress filthy, and doing it all in the name of listening in on some random security guard’s boring phone call. Other girls didn’t do this. Other girls took advantage of the opportunity to waltz around in said dress, while sipping delightedly on bubbly and dutifully playing girlfriend to the country’s third most eligible bachelor.
She was loath to admit it, but it was entirely possible that her lifelong passion for snooping had managed to warp her irreparably.
Deciding that she had to throw in the towel on the entire, misguided waste of time before someone actually saw her, she shot one last scowl at the object of her ire as he continued aimlessly pacing the stone walk, his latest lap bringing him closer to one of the dimly lit lamp posts and his face suddenly becoming clear in the dark.
It was the security guard from the warehouse, the wannabe fullback that had tackled her.
Vowing never to doubt her instincts ever again, Chloe hooked her arm around the railing and dropped her shoulder so she could pass easily through the supports to lean all the way out over the edge, feeling positively smug as she stared down at her friend from four nights ago.
She listened as he offered his caller one last affirmative noise, then brought the conversation to an end as he snapped his cell shut forcefully. Returning the phone to his jacket pocket, he tucked his ear piece back into place and let his gaze sweep over the space around him once more. Seemingly satisfied that he was still alone and having completed whatever it was that he was up to, he started sauntering off in the direction from which he came, taking his leave.
She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it, but she was overwhelmingly irritated that he was just getting away, so without thinking her actions through in a style that would have put even Bart to shame, she jumped to her feet and let out a shout.
“Hey!”
The guard’s eyes went right to her and if she’d had any lingering doubts about his identity, they would have been immediately put to rest when she had the chance to look him square in the face. Most likely recognizing her as well, he broke from the path he was following in a dead sprint and headed for the street that bordered the hotel’s property line.
Despite knowing, first and foremost, that she didn’t have a hope in hell of catching him and second, that she really wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing to him if - by some miracle - she actually did run him down, she nevertheless grabbed up her dress, burst through the terrace doors, and went flying down the hall. Her best hope was that she would make it to the street in time to catch a glimpse of him as he got away, ideally, gifting her with some sort of clue as he beat his hasty retreat.
With the skirt of her dramatic gown billowing full behind her and her impractical shoes proving treacherous against the smooth floor, she skidded determinedly around a corner at full speed, only to be swept up and spun around by a strong pair of arms.
“What the hell??” Oliver shouted as he quickly steadied his feet beneath him and brought them both to an abrupt, but thankfully upright, stop. “Where have you been and where’s the freaking fire??”
Shocked by his surprising appearance, Chloe went still and silent, staring directly into his face for a full second before her brain kick-started itself and she was back in gear.
“He’s getting away!” She shouted back, twisting out of Oliver’s grasp and instead, fixing her own grip on his arm to pull him along.
“Who?” He demanded agitatedly.
“The fullback!” She exclaimed then realized how unhelpful the nickname was. “I mean the guard from the other night!”
“What?” He hollered, his confusion stalling his movements, which seriously impeded her forward progress.
Realizing that their collision had cost her precious seconds she couldn’t afford to lose in a race that was already stacked against her, she resentfully acknowledged that her friend was now more than long gone. Heaving a frustrated sigh, she eased up on Oliver’s arm and came to a stop.
“You know,” she sniped as she whirled on him, hands braced upon her hips. “For a hero, you’re pretty slow on the uptake!”
“What… take?” he enunciated slowly as he dropped his hands heavily to her shoulders, clearly warring with the urge to give her a good shake.
Hardly intimidated by his glowering, she swatted at his hands until they slid off of her then took his arm and began walking them slowly back to the ballroom.
“C’mon, I’ll give you the play by play,” she muttered, “but for next time, if I’m running like that, there’s a legitimate reason. It’s best to just follow me first and ask questions later.”
Chapter 12 can be found here novadelphine.livejournal.com/5232.html#cutid1
Brow quirked, Chloe’s eyes travelled the enormous ballroom and took in the rather impressive sight of Metropolis’ finest collectively eating right out of Oliver’s hand.
Looking very much at home in the limelight, her pseudo-date was standing centre stage with a microphone, in the midst of delivering a ridiculously charming speech that was hitting every note his audience wanted to hear with perfect pitch. She wondered idly if he’d written the little piece of oratory gold on his own, or if he’d commissioned some no-name wordsmith to craft it especially for the occasion. Either way, it hardly mattered. Though the message itself was thoroughly moving, it was his effortlessness that was really selling each sentence.
Every where she turned, starry-eyed women from all across the age spectrum had their heads tilted to the side and sighs on their lips, each one committing every single inch of Oliver to memory. It got interesting whenever they took a moment’s time out from their day dreaming to shoot tell tale stares in her direction, trying - and failing - to be inconspicuous as they pointed their perfectly manicured fingers and overtly sized her up. As offensive as it was, she couldn’t be bothered to meet the scrutiny with anything but bored indifference. After all, she wasn’t actually his girlfriend. The blatant disapproval didn’t pack much of a punch when she took that factoid into account.
What did, however, dig under her skin and make her feel positively slimy were the leers she’d caught a few of the men toss at her. Apparently, money didn’t buy manners because whether they were old, young, ugly, or even handsome, there was a handful that really seemed to enjoy leaving their eyes on her longer than her tastes allowed. She’d always been a girl who felt most at home with boys and now, as she faced down inappropriate advances with flawless icy glares, she longed for the comfort and security of the group of males she counted amongst her dearest friends. The ones who looked her in the eyes instead of all over the rest of her. Well, except for Bart, but she still liked him.
Shaking away the gag inducing creepiness, she squared her shoulders and returned her attention to Oliver’s speech, only to immediately sense yet another unwanted visitor’s approach.
“Champagne Miss Sullivan?” A tall, sturdily built man asked, offering her one of the two glasses he held in his hands.
“Uh, thank you,” she accepted apprehensively, balancing the drink between her fingers and keeping it far away from her lips.
“Mitchell Edwards,” the man informed her, leaving the hand he had used to pass the glass outstretched. “Head of Queen Industries’ security.”
“Oh,” Chloe faltered as she took his waiting hand and shook it, hoping her fingers survived the solid grip. “Nice to meet you.”
“It’s Chloe, correct?” He checked, his smile stiff.
“Yes, it is,” she answered. “How are you enjoying the evening?”
“Well, these sorts of things aren’t exactly my strong suit,” he admitted as his weak smile turned into a slight grimace. “But it’s been rather nice so far.”
“I know the feeling,” she agreed, her manners dictating that she force a small smile of her own forward, despite the fact that she was finding it hard to relax with the man for some reason.
“So how long have you worked for Oliver?” She continued conversationally, trying to loosen up with a bit of small talk.
“All throughout his career,” Mitchell stated proudly, “helped show him the ropes when he assumed his position as CEO.”
“I’d say you did an excellent job,” she complimented as her attention drifted back to the stage and Oliver.
“He’s a quick study,” the older man concurred, following her gaze, “didn’t take long for the student to become the master.”
Chloe smiled and was about to ask Mitchell more about his role at Queen Industries when he cut her off abruptly with another question of his own.
“So how did you two meet?” He queried lightly, but his eyes were starkly assessing her from above the rim of his glass as he took a measured drink of champagne.
“We have some friends in common,” she stated carefully, something in his tone causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise slightly as her discomfort grew.
“And you’ve been dating for a while?” He continued, the words pressing, almost challenging.
“It’s still a very new relationship,” she answered immediately, her expression composed as she met his evident hostility with steady self-assurance.
“Still testing the waters, huh?” He observed interestedly.
“In a manner of speaking,” she agreed. “I have to ask Mr. Edwards…”
“Mitchell,” he corrected.
“I have t ask, Mitchell,” she amended tersely. “Do your duties always include interrogating Oliver’s girlfriends, or just the ones who make public appearances?”
He smiled stiffly at her again, clearly pleased that he had managed to rile up her backbone.
“You misunderstand me,” he explained plainly. “It’s a simple matter of curiosity. Oliver doesn’t often introduce any of his… female friends. In all honesty, I can barely remember the last time he had a date accompany him to an event.”
“Well,” Chloe responded dryly, “these sorts of things obviously aren’t excellent settings for dates.”
“True enough,” Mitchell conceded, his amused grin still fixed in place. “So what is it that you do Chloe?”
“I’m surprised you don’t already know,” she opined acidly. “Haven’t had time to run a background check on me yet?”
When he didn’t reply and just kept right on smiling, she was easily able to guess the answer.
“Must have been a slow day at the office if you spent it researching me,” she quipped icily. “What? Were you taking it easy before skipping out early to get all dolled up for this fancy party?”
“You’re quite the confident young woman,” Mitchell praised, though the compliment was infused with a certain censure. “I can see why Oliver likes you.”
“I am a treat,” she snarked as she handed her untouched drink back to him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I was just headed to the ladies room. It’s been a real pleasure.”
“Chloe,” he called, stopping her before she could depart. “I sincerely hope I haven’t offended you but, as I’m sure you can imagine, it’s important to be careful in my line of work. Oliver is worth a formidable fortune and corporate espionage isn’t just fodder for action movies.”
“Of course,” she allowed as she nodded curtly and turned again to storm away.
Fleeing to the relative quiet of an adjacent hallway, she huffed out an insulted growl and scanned her surroundings until she found the discreet signage that indicated the direction of the washrooms. Hiking her skirt up in front of her, she marched towards her destination and took the instructed right, slamming a hand roughly into the swinging door labelled ladies and sending it flying. She didn’t enter though, and instead, had to grudgingly let the door return soundlessly to its resting position before her.
She couldn’t use the bathroom in this monster of a dress. There was no way.
Grateful that her intended trip to the facilities was out of the need for some privacy and not a matter of bladder urgency, she stepped away from the door and mentally noted that she was going to draft an email to Versace, strongly suggesting that they start selling attendants with their gowns.
Heaving a sigh, she began wandering reluctantly back towards the ballroom, but paused when she noticed another small sign with an arrow pointing out the route to one of the hotel’s terraces. Figuring that the great outdoors would more than suffice in this pinch, she had her dress back in her hands and her heels tapping out a steady beat against the immaculately polished floors.
Reaching a set of chic French doors that opened onto a large balcony, she left the music and conversation filtering out of the ballroom behind and stepped into the solitude of the evening chill. Rubbing her arms against the dramatic dip in temperature, she moved to the terrace’s stone railing and discovered a beautiful view of the small patch of green space the hotel kept in order to afford its guests the luxury of a quiet sanctuary in the heart of bustling Metropolis.
Her gaze wandered approvingly over the spectacularly groomed lawn and the artful gardens that dotted it, particularly enjoying the tiny lights that glittered in the trees and provided her new refuge with just the right ambience. An image of she and Oliver strolling under those twinkling, little lights floated into her mind and she instantly let out a groan of disapproval. Stupid, overactive, imagination. It had zero common sense.
Focusing on the grass that stretched out beneath her, she decided she was going to have to adopt some sort of personal mantra that she could repeat over and over again to help ward off this Oliver infatuation she was flirting with. That, or seriously curtail the amount of time she spent with him. Given that the man had just recently become her boss of sorts, the second option didn’t seem likely and she groaned again when her heart leapt happily with that knowledge. She was just about to go back to the mantra brainstorming when she was interrupted by the sound of foot steps, her eyes glancing about apprehensively to see who had intruded upon her.
A man appeared at the garden’s entrance, walking the stone path that cut across the lower level and Chloe was immediately struck by a suspicious sense of familiarity. Leaning further over the railing, she tried to make out the stranger’s details, but all she could glean was that his generic black suit placed him firmly within the ranks of the Queen Industries’ security detail, a pretty humourless lot that she’d noticed roaming around the party, keeping everything ship shape.
Inexplicably intrigued, she watched as the stranger surveyed the silent grounds that fanned out in front of him, apparently seeking out anything or anyone that seemed amiss. After a few moments of careful consideration, he lifted a hand to his ear and spoke.
“Riley here,” he announced to the empty garden. “Section 8 is clear.”
Realizing that the bizarre recognition she had for the guard was nothing more than having seen him on patrol at some point during the evening, she sheepishly called quits on her spying. Figuring her critics inside had already noted her absence and begun judging her for it, she bid a silent good-night to her peaceful surroundings and turned to leave, however the sudden chiming of a cell phone from below instantly renewed her nosiness.
Creeping back to the edge curiously, she watched as the man removed his ear piece with one hand and fished his cell out of his jacket pocket with the other, immediately flipping the little device open to offer his caller a brusque greeting. Crouching down, she poked her head through a space between the railing’s sculptured stone supports and peeked over the balcony, trying to facilitate her deliberate eavesdropping. Unfortunately, her efforts went unrewarded as the guard’s side of the conversation was nothing more than a useless collection of jerky nods and vague grunts that didn’t give her a thing to work with.
Just then, it occurred to her that she was hanging half-way off a balcony, getting an outrageously expensive designer dress filthy, and doing it all in the name of listening in on some random security guard’s boring phone call. Other girls didn’t do this. Other girls took advantage of the opportunity to waltz around in said dress, while sipping delightedly on bubbly and dutifully playing girlfriend to the country’s third most eligible bachelor.
She was loath to admit it, but it was entirely possible that her lifelong passion for snooping had managed to warp her irreparably.
Deciding that she had to throw in the towel on the entire, misguided waste of time before someone actually saw her, she shot one last scowl at the object of her ire as he continued aimlessly pacing the stone walk, his latest lap bringing him closer to one of the dimly lit lamp posts and his face suddenly becoming clear in the dark.
It was the security guard from the warehouse, the wannabe fullback that had tackled her.
Vowing never to doubt her instincts ever again, Chloe hooked her arm around the railing and dropped her shoulder so she could pass easily through the supports to lean all the way out over the edge, feeling positively smug as she stared down at her friend from four nights ago.
She listened as he offered his caller one last affirmative noise, then brought the conversation to an end as he snapped his cell shut forcefully. Returning the phone to his jacket pocket, he tucked his ear piece back into place and let his gaze sweep over the space around him once more. Seemingly satisfied that he was still alone and having completed whatever it was that he was up to, he started sauntering off in the direction from which he came, taking his leave.
She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it, but she was overwhelmingly irritated that he was just getting away, so without thinking her actions through in a style that would have put even Bart to shame, she jumped to her feet and let out a shout.
“Hey!”
The guard’s eyes went right to her and if she’d had any lingering doubts about his identity, they would have been immediately put to rest when she had the chance to look him square in the face. Most likely recognizing her as well, he broke from the path he was following in a dead sprint and headed for the street that bordered the hotel’s property line.
Despite knowing, first and foremost, that she didn’t have a hope in hell of catching him and second, that she really wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing to him if - by some miracle - she actually did run him down, she nevertheless grabbed up her dress, burst through the terrace doors, and went flying down the hall. Her best hope was that she would make it to the street in time to catch a glimpse of him as he got away, ideally, gifting her with some sort of clue as he beat his hasty retreat.
With the skirt of her dramatic gown billowing full behind her and her impractical shoes proving treacherous against the smooth floor, she skidded determinedly around a corner at full speed, only to be swept up and spun around by a strong pair of arms.
“What the hell??” Oliver shouted as he quickly steadied his feet beneath him and brought them both to an abrupt, but thankfully upright, stop. “Where have you been and where’s the freaking fire??”
Shocked by his surprising appearance, Chloe went still and silent, staring directly into his face for a full second before her brain kick-started itself and she was back in gear.
“He’s getting away!” She shouted back, twisting out of Oliver’s grasp and instead, fixing her own grip on his arm to pull him along.
“Who?” He demanded agitatedly.
“The fullback!” She exclaimed then realized how unhelpful the nickname was. “I mean the guard from the other night!”
“What?” He hollered, his confusion stalling his movements, which seriously impeded her forward progress.
Realizing that their collision had cost her precious seconds she couldn’t afford to lose in a race that was already stacked against her, she resentfully acknowledged that her friend was now more than long gone. Heaving a frustrated sigh, she eased up on Oliver’s arm and came to a stop.
“You know,” she sniped as she whirled on him, hands braced upon her hips. “For a hero, you’re pretty slow on the uptake!”
“What… take?” he enunciated slowly as he dropped his hands heavily to her shoulders, clearly warring with the urge to give her a good shake.
Hardly intimidated by his glowering, she swatted at his hands until they slid off of her then took his arm and began walking them slowly back to the ballroom.
“C’mon, I’ll give you the play by play,” she muttered, “but for next time, if I’m running like that, there’s a legitimate reason. It’s best to just follow me first and ask questions later.”
Chapter 12 can be found here novadelphine.livejournal.com/5232.html#cutid1