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cutthroat business
by abby category: pre-series disclaimer: Janette don't belong to me, i'm only borrowing her; no money is being made author's note: written for medie's “Because We’re Awesome” all about the girls challenge on livejournal; prompt: [Forever Knight] Janette—business word count: 816 |
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| She’s late he thinks miserably as he reaches for the lever to raise the car’s heater, and he’s only got himself to blame. He’s a damn fool for agreeing to show his client the building after nightfall. There’s a nice commission with this place but this is far too many hoops to jump through. He can’t help but silently curse the eccentric requests of this mysterious, French accented woman. A light rapping on his window knocks him out of his revelry and he reluctantly moves to lower the window. A blast of frigid air swirls through the cabin of his Volvo and what precious warmth there once was has been lost to the Toronto night. “Mr. Collins.” It’s the voice. He promptly forgets the curses he’d earlier contemplated at the sound of his name being caressed by the silky timbre of her voice. It carried no hint of hesitant inquiry. Instead it was a statement of fact. She knew he was here. Like an inept fool he awkwardly maneuvers his way out of the car and onto the slick curbside. Who he sees before him is a vision of pale creams and stylish black couture. She studies him with eyes so crystal blue he swears he sees the ocean in them, but the light lift of her eyebrow tells him he hasn’t made the right first impression. Right now he’s too taken aback to care. Despite the cold temperatures she’s wearing a wrap that looks more for show than for warmth and the porcelain skin that peaks out appears iridescent in the moonlight. In short this lady is a knockout and he is completely smitten. The first steps into what was formally Club Fluid occur in absolute darkness. The place didn’t have any electricity. That normally wouldn’t have been a problem…for a daytime showing. His agency had placed a few floodlights on a generator earlier in the day but he struggles to find it in the thick darkness. A couple of failed attempts later the room is dotted with corners of light. His client weaves appraisingly between the towers across the main dance floor, half hidden in the shadows. Not a single corner of the club escapes her inspection. “I don’t think they put any lights back there Ms. DuCharme,” he calls out when he sees her move towards the collection of rooms in the back. “I could see fine,” she remarks succinctly upon her return to the main room. If he thought it was cold outside it’s nothing compared to the sudden drop in temperature her tone creates inside. “OK, well the building is all up to code and the previous owners installed new light fixtures.” He adds conversationally. “Yes well the previous owners had poor taste. All this will need to be redone, especially the light fixtures.” Personally he thinks they’re nice but what the hell does he know. He still has an old couch duct taped together at home. “But I do believe this place has potential,” she continues. There’s excitement in her eyes and the corner of her mouth curls into a half smile. If he wasn’t already a goner that smile would have sent him over the edge. “Great!” he exclaims, sharing in her enthusiasm. “We can draw up the papers and be ready for the signing in a few days. What about your business associates Ms. DuCharme? Am I correct in assuming you won’t be alone in this venture?” Yeah it’s chauvinistic. He knows, but these types of clubs usually have a pretty, young thing working the crowd. It gives the place a touch of class. He figured she was just the public face for the project. The minute the words leave his mouth he wishes he’d learn to keep his trap shut. He could swear he saw specks of gold dancing in her blue eyes before she blinked them away and made her way towards him—predatory like. He takes an involuntary step back before she stops him with a firm grip on his upper arm. “You see Mr. Collins, I don’t play well with others. It puts a whole new spin on the phrase ‘cutthroat business’.” He couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not and when her eyes fail to shift he decides she not. “Well, um, ok,” he begins as he extracts himself from her grasp. “Just have your lawyer contact the agency and we’ll draw up the final papers for his and your, of course, final approval.” “Thank you Mr. Collins. I’ll be sure to do that,” she remarks pleasantly. With a token handshake in farewell she turns on her heel and walks towards the ramp that services the club entrance. Suddenly the question is out of his mouth before he’s aware of it. “Ms. DuCharme! The club, what are you planning on calling it?” “The Raven,” she replies simply and disappears into the night. -30- |