06-20-2018, 03:34 PM
He feels someone behind him milliseconds before the plate is knocked into his lap. Catching it is easy enough, even though he manages to get duck sauce all over his thumb. Ivar is expecting a clumsy silver-haired patron of Casia Inc, but his hand pauses halfway to his mouth (previously intent on lick the dipping sauce off to avoid wasting it) as he realizes that the figure leaning across the arm of the chair to help catch the plate possesses a set of breasts that definitely don’t belong on a sixty-year-old woman. His brown eyes flick up to her face to find that she is looking at him with recognition.
That is no longer uncommon; being recognized by strangers has lost its novelty in the last six months. Still, the strangers aren’t usually gorgeous young women in nearly-transparent dresses, and Ivar finds her surprise endearing. Even if he had suspected she’d planned the accident (and he doesn’t) he wouldn’t have minded. There are worse things than a little duck sauce, which he casually sucks from his thumb before telling her:
“No harm done.”
He isn’t expecting the invitation, but he likes the bold way her small hand rests on his forearm. Swinging his feet around the beers on the floor, Ivar leaves them behind without a second thought. Parties like these always have an excess of food and drinks. In fact, there’s a low round table of Jack and Cokes right near the elevator entrance. Waiting for the pale haired girl to call the elevator, Ivar crouches down and reaches beneath the dropcloth on the table. His hand finds the server’s storage of full bottles that he had known would be there (he’s attended enough of these parties to have observed the caterer’s habits, after all).
He turns back at the sound of the elevator, and is unscrewing the top of the bottle when his attention is caught by a figure in a dark dress. He glances back at the first girl, but she doesn’t seem to have noticed the second girl, whose long fall of lavender hair is familiar even from behind.
“Kylin?” He says, reaching out a hand for her shoulder. Her skin is warm beneath it, just as he remembers. He hasn’t seen the girl since their first encounter at a party not much different than this one. They’d been about to disappear together into a dark coat closet when he’d gotten a phone call from his lab and had to rush off. He’s regretted not getting her phone number, and Google hadn’t been much help. Casia Inc was rather protective of their privacy, and as Ivar glances back at the opening elevator, he realizes that his rescuer shares the same striking features that (along with their extreme wealth) have made the Casia family so famous.
“We’re going…somewhere,” he tells her, sliding his hand down her arm as though he means to take her hand, but leaving the decision to do so up to her. “Where is it we’re going?” He asks the first woman, grateful that Kylin is slightly behind him and cannot see that way he traces the neat figure that her dress does nothing to hide.
That is no longer uncommon; being recognized by strangers has lost its novelty in the last six months. Still, the strangers aren’t usually gorgeous young women in nearly-transparent dresses, and Ivar finds her surprise endearing. Even if he had suspected she’d planned the accident (and he doesn’t) he wouldn’t have minded. There are worse things than a little duck sauce, which he casually sucks from his thumb before telling her:
“No harm done.”
He isn’t expecting the invitation, but he likes the bold way her small hand rests on his forearm. Swinging his feet around the beers on the floor, Ivar leaves them behind without a second thought. Parties like these always have an excess of food and drinks. In fact, there’s a low round table of Jack and Cokes right near the elevator entrance. Waiting for the pale haired girl to call the elevator, Ivar crouches down and reaches beneath the dropcloth on the table. His hand finds the server’s storage of full bottles that he had known would be there (he’s attended enough of these parties to have observed the caterer’s habits, after all).
He turns back at the sound of the elevator, and is unscrewing the top of the bottle when his attention is caught by a figure in a dark dress. He glances back at the first girl, but she doesn’t seem to have noticed the second girl, whose long fall of lavender hair is familiar even from behind.
“Kylin?” He says, reaching out a hand for her shoulder. Her skin is warm beneath it, just as he remembers. He hasn’t seen the girl since their first encounter at a party not much different than this one. They’d been about to disappear together into a dark coat closet when he’d gotten a phone call from his lab and had to rush off. He’s regretted not getting her phone number, and Google hadn’t been much help. Casia Inc was rather protective of their privacy, and as Ivar glances back at the opening elevator, he realizes that his rescuer shares the same striking features that (along with their extreme wealth) have made the Casia family so famous.
“We’re going…somewhere,” he tells her, sliding his hand down her arm as though he means to take her hand, but leaving the decision to do so up to her. “Where is it we’re going?” He asks the first woman, grateful that Kylin is slightly behind him and cannot see that way he traces the neat figure that her dress does nothing to hide.