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Flare Restaurant - City of London - London

Flare advertises itself as fine dining in an elegant atmosphere, and it's not false advertising. The foyer, the dining room and even the bar are done in creams and neutrals, teak woods and ash, with the occasional dark panel for contrast. Etched glass panels hang from the ceiling and disappear into the taupe carpeted floor; some separate the tables, some are merely decorative, reflecting the white recessed lights that shine through them from the ceiling. There are splashes of Egyptian blue color throughout to break up the possibility of monotony: sprinkled in the carpet, accenting the wood panels, decorating the tables as glass candle holders.

The foyer has an elaborate mosaic pattern of dark and light browns highlighted with blacks and darker blues swirled into the floor tiles. The seats are eggshell white leather. The accent wall has a vertical waterfall, the water streaming down etched panes of glass into the marble pool to be recycled and begin the cycle anew.

The bar holds the motif, but fetches in more colors to the palette. The recessed lights behind the bar are a mixture of blue and red, white and yellow. Colorful bottles line the bar shelf, and a huge mirror hangs at angle over the bar, reflecting the marbleized bar top and the bar area, depending on where one stands to look into the mirror. There is seating here too, and starters as well as drinks are provided in the bar.

The wait staff dresses formally: servers in crisp white shirts with Egyptian blue bow ties, and slacks (or skirts) to match. Flare does not require reservations, but they are suggested to avoid long wait times. However, given its location, clients without reservations are as common as though with and the staff is able to juggle both magnificently.


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Aidan Corrie

With words of polite departure, Aidan leaves the two sorcerers to enjoy their meal. The little witchling has already walked away, which is a bit amusing considering her request that he assist her in locating and speaking with Kim. The vampire is at no one's beck and call, and while there is a momentary debate to not look as though he's trailing behind the witch, there is no denying that he's been handed a golden opportunity that needs to be taken up immediately - and handled swiftly, but also very carefully.

"Corrie," Aidan falls into step beside her, the picture of perfect gentlemanly grace and politeness. There's a moment while he debates because the woman is such a conundrum, a loose and volatile canon at times, unpredictable and maddening, and he's truly not sure which one he is going to get. Still, it's time to be the image of cordiality and understanding; the opportunity to prove his sincerity in his pursuit.

A hand is extended toward her, and then dropped to his side, though his words are soft and apologetic. "Kim is handling the front of house right now. But, I do work here, and we can the arrangements for Miss Bardot."


"Bloody hell," Corrie utters as he surprises her falling into step beside her.

"I…" She glances back toward the table, silently nods at the vampire and motions with her free hand toward the bar. "I'll be out in a few moments. I need to… take care of something." Giving him a look, she hurries toward the loo, where she's every intention of staying at least until the tears that threaten to burst forth are under control.

After about ten minutes she emerges with slightly red eyes, and a forced smile. Her eyes trail over the bar area and she presses her shoulders back as she makes her way to a stool to wait for Aidan.

God, but she feels the fool. Played so easily by both the sorcerers.

And it's her own damned fault for trusting Rhys to begin with.


Aidan has little patience for waiting, particularly not when the waiting involves the witchling crying in the ladies toilet. He knows that this is what she is doing because he listens outside of the door for a few minutes before going off to deal with other business. Instructions are given to Lucas that the meal for Owens and Reese are to be charged to the house, but the gentlemen are to be told — if it should come up, which likely it won't — that they've been charged to Miss Kavanaugh.

With that taken care of, Aidan ventures into the office to locate the paperwork and itinerary for Miss Bardot and to clarify a few points with Kim. The woman gives him that look, the one that screams that she's knows he's up to something, but isn't going to (yet) give him the satisfaction of asking what.

By the time he reaches the bar, it's obvious to anyone with two eyes that the witch just went on a crying jag. Again, there is a moment of consideration given to how to play this, before Aidan approaches and leans against the bar. "At the risk of being slapped, insulted or otherwise completely disregarded and mistrusted in my intentions, would you care to come back to the office to discuss Miss Bardot?"

Aidan will just as easily do it at the bar, however, the offer gives Corrie the pretense of privacy and not having to face the Reese Entertainment men.

Aidan has been playing this game a long time.


"Mr. Boyle…"


"I've not eaten since noon. I was looking forward to this dinner." Else she'd obviously not have bothered to locate a designer dress on sale just to look good. She wants to rail at Aidan. To lash out at him. But truthfully, none of this is his fault.

"Provided that you don't mind me nibbling on a sandwich or an appetizer from the kitchen, we can definitely conduct business in the office." Beat. "Though truthfully there are just a few minor changes, and then I'll be done with Miss Bardot. I'll have to leave you the number of her new representative"

Realizing just how pitiful she sounds, she slides off of the stool.

"Why are you being so nice to me? I really don't deserve it, Mr. Boyle, though I do appreciate it."


The agreement came more easily than Aidan thought it was. The witch is clearly more in dire straits than Aidan previously thought. He consider it another point in the positive tally counter.

"First, stop it." Aidan shakes his head. "Stop with the Mr. Boyle. It's Aidan. You know it's Aidan, and there is really no reason for all that formality. It's quite annoying really." Beat. "Besides which, being nice to you is nothing new. I've tried to be nice to you repeatedly. You just seem to enjoy rebuffing my attempts at civility. Which is sometimes amusing. Sometimes not."

Aidan motions her ahead of him, and then falls into step beside her. It's a short walk to the office, and he's watching her with his guard up. As far as Aidan is concerned, she's a feral animal and he has no idea when she is going to panic and strike. "I think we can do better than that. I'll have a meal brought down for us." Beat. "Unless you'd rather eat alone?"


"Mr. Boyle, as I'm on business…" Beat. "Though I appreciate the informality." Corrie straightens her cardigan, trying to keep everything on the up-and-up.

"There is a vast difference between cordial and nice. You're being nice now." It's confusing, but she's not going to argue it. She needs nice now. She's craving nice.

"Yes, of course. Dinner would be lovely. I'll pay, of course. You're more than welcome to dine with me." Beat. "Do you need to dine? I apologize for earlier. I… that was all rather unexpected. I really did just wish for you to tell that story to my friend, but it's no consequence now. Perhaps after we discuss the Bardot party, you'll be willing to tell me a little more on Gwen?"


"Did you bring one of her journals? A letter perhaps?"

Needless to say, Corrie seems absolutely distracted. Not quite… there.

"You'll ensure that the men's tab will be added to my own? I did offer to pay after all."


"Contrary to popular belief, Miss Kavanaugh, I am frequently nice." Beat. "Again, you simply refuse to let yourself see it or otherwise acknowledge it." Plus, Aidan finds it amusing when he pushes Corrie's buttons and gets under her skin. The witch is not nearly as much fun when she is in this maudlin, depressed state and while he can pretend to be many things, Aidan has never particularly enjoyed playing the game of the comforter.

Though, apparently to get what he wants, that may indeed be what he will have to do.

Aidan allows the woman to ramble all the way to the office. Once there, he guides her to one of the two guest chairs in front of his desk with a hand resting lightly and politely at the small of her back. "Please have a seat." If she wishes to be the picture of professionalism, Aidan can do that as well. It certainly is preferred over having to comfort a sobbing, hysterical witch. Again, he will do it if he must, but he'd rather not.

"Yes, once our business is concluded, we can discuss Gwen," Aidan agrees because it seems the one topic that doesn't have the witchling on the verge of turning on the waterworks. He reaches across the desk and grabs the Bardot file, and leans a hip against the edge of the desk while he opens the file on the desktop in front of Corrie. "I do have something of hers that I think you'd like." Her, being Gwen of course and not Bardot.

"The meals will be taken care of," Aidan assures her, before leaning in to go over the itinerary, menu and other details of the Bardot party. Because he has already put in the dinner order, based on what Corrie recommended to the two sorcerers, he expects that it will arrive when the 'business' part of this meeting has concluded.


"Decidedly nicer than Gideon Reese at any rate," Corrie mutters under her breath. Though she's positive Aidan can be just as much of an arse, and is likely much more highly skilled at manipulation, at least he's not a complete ass about it all the time.

Carefully seating herself in the guest chair, she sets her pocketbook to the side and leans over the Bardo plans. There's a slight frown on her face as she does so, but it's more just a worried look than another potential onslaught of tears.

Automatically her hand reaches to her pocketbook to grab for her phone. She scrolls through to find the copy of Amber's plans she keeps with her, and then looks to the paperwork again. "Everything appears to be in order as of the meeting with Ms. Dae." Beat. "Though since the party is still a month off, would it be possible to rearrange a few things?"


"She's changed her mind, you see."


"Naturally, she would have," Aidan gives a low, half-bemused, half-exasperated chuckle. He's used to dealing with high maintenance clients who wish to use his restaurant or his catering services. Amber Bardot strikes him as particularly high maintenance, no matter how easy the chit is on the eyes. "It's not a problem. We do this all the time."

Pushing off the desk, Aidan walks around to sit behind it. He grabs a pad and a pen, and manages to gracefully wheel his office desk over closer to where Corrie is seated. He's not flirting or trying to intimidate her; the vampire has settled into restaurateur mode, and is being as helpful, courteous and professional as the witch has ever had the occasion to witness. With the pen poised over the pad, Aidan asks, "What do we need to change?"

It's then that there's a knock at the partially closed door - wanting to keep the restaurant noise from infringing too much on their 'business' meeting - and after a short exchange, drinks and the starters portion of the meal are delivered, placed on a rapidly cleared space on Aidan's desk. Salad, soup, bread and a white wine of a different sort that is equally as well matched for the meal that they'll be enjoying. Aidan is polite and gracious to the server and offers to Corrie when the young lady leaves, "A working dinner a'right with you?"


Amber Bardot is a high maintenance, spoiled little brat — much like most of the celebutants. Corrie is hardly fond of the girl, but she'll admit that the contract did keep her on her toes, and she's going to miss that now that she's out of it. She'll find another band to promote, another celebrity of sorts needing someone to be on the ball and keep them out of the trashy magazines, but maybe she'll just take a bit of downtime before looking for a new client.

"Are you certain, because really, everything but the food…" The knock at the door proves as a distraction, and she turns to smile at the server. A polite, "Thank you," is offered and she nods. "It's definitely fine with me, Mr. Boyle. That was my intention this evening anyhow." And quite a good deal more food than she was planning on having.


"Miss Kavanaugh," Aidan gives her a pointed look, one that clearly says that the subject isn't open for debate. This is all part of the business process. That decided, Aidan pours a glass of wine for both of them and returns his attention to Miss Bardot's changes. His attention, of course, is divided between what's going on with the planning and how to handle Corrie Kavanaugh. He has no intentions of letting her get away easily when opportunity is knocking loudly enough to be deafening, but he knows that he has to handle her carefully.

"When we're done here," Aidan suggest conversationally, "Why don't we go somewhere else and I can answer your questions about Gwen." He offers the suggestion with just the right inflection of bored indifference and hopeful wariness. It gives her the illusion of having all the power, though the name of her ancestor dangles there like bait.


Corrie sighs, and quietly spears a little of the salad. She eats for a few moments, not focusing on anything but the food. This is most certainly not the date she was expecting this evening. "Well played," she mutters. An accusation, either for Gideon or Aidan. She's not at all sure.

Then she realizes that Aidan is actually speaking to her and she blinks. "Somewhere public." Beat. "I'm sorry. I realize that shows a great deal of mistrust on my part, but considering how the evening has gone already…"

Glancing back at the plans, she notes, "She'd like to rent out the entire restaurant for the evening. Have the tables pushed to the walls. I do believe she wants a party rather than a classier sit down affair." The phone is slid across to him, with Amber's email, gushing about some Saints and Sinners to-do.


Aidan lifts a brow at the muttered word, but says nothing. As far as the public venue, Aidan merely shrugs as though he expected nothing else from her for stipulations. "Whatever you'd like. You can choose the location."

His attention turns back to Amber's plans and Aidan forgoes the pad and paper to remove the laptop from its dock and park it on the desk between them. Aidan logs on and after a few clicks and changes, he opens up the files and organization calendars and itineraries, as well as floor planning program pre-configured with the layout of Flare. "Let's start with food. Does she want a buffet or will the meal be served but with off to the sides?"

Aidan is nothing, if not thorough.


"Thank you." She really doesn't want to think about locations, or what it will look like for the two of them to be leaving together if the sorcerers are still in residence when they finish up.

Frankly, she really doesn't care either.

Corrie eats a little more of the salad while he's getting the laptop set up. When it's ready, she sets her plate to the side. "Canapes and hors d'oeuvre's brought around. Champagne, wine… whatever you can provide that's perhaps a bit more…" She mulls the word around in her mind before offering, "… decadent. Perhaps start with something light and fluffy, and end with some absolutely sinful desserts."


"Saints and Sinners?" Aidan repeats thoughtfully. "I do think that there is something we can work with that theme."

The meeting proceeds at a pleasant clip, and Aidan never dares venture out of that reign of professional courtesy. While they make arrangements and discuss them, the meal is delivered and by the time the dessert arrives, the business element is coming to a close. Aidan pours himself another glass of wine and offers a refill to Corrie.

"You've put a lot of time and effort into this party for Amber Bardot," Aidan points out, quietly. "It seems to me that you should at least be present and in attendance to see the fruits of your labor." Beat. "I understand that you're handing her off to someone else, but it's hardly fair that they should entirely enjoy what you worked so hard to set up."


It should be telling, the way Corrie eats her meal. It's picked at, rather than enjoyed as she normally would have this evening. Everything is only half eaten, but at least she is eating. Compliments to the chef of the evening are given, and when the refill of wine is offered, she looks at her glass.

There's still quite a bit in there, having only taken a few sips here or there. Really focusing on giving her client what she wants for the party.

"I put a lot of time and effort into each and every one of my clients, Mr. Boyle. They pay me well to put good spins to their antics." Which means if Corrie is in on the ground floor of the party, she can 'control' it as much as possible. There is still likely to be pictures in the magazines, though they'll lean more toward how decadently delightful the party was, and not to the fact that Amber Bardot was getting herself into trouble.

"It's simply the way the game is played. I made a gamble, and I lost. I really shouldn't have expected anything less from them, so it's my own fault." Beat. "Which reminds me, her new public relations contact is Brendan." She jots the name and number down and slides it across to him. "I've not had opportunity to meet the man yet, but I've heard he's good at what he does."


"Thank you." Aidan takes the name and number without any attempts at accidental contact, and holds it between his fingers for a moment more before finally turning and adding it to the contacts database on the laptop. When that's done, the laptop is returned to its home in the port replicator base and those blue eyes flicker over to study the witch. The look is devoid of Aidan's usual half-smarm and suggestive bedroom looks, and rather just what it seems to be - a thoughtful, reflective study.

Deciding it's time to do something to either pull her from her maudlin state, Aidan sighs and walks to the cabinet behind the desk. He removes two glasses and a bottle of scotch. Both glasses are filled and one is placed in front of Corrie. "You've had hell of a night. You need it."

Aidan slides back into his seat, leaning back with his glass of scotch held in one hand while he continues to watch the witch.


For a long time, Corrie just stares at the glass of scotch. Taking a deep breath, she counts to ten before she lifts her head. "I don't need it." Beat. "But I'll take it."

Danger. Danger, Will Robinson.

The alarm bells are going off in her head, but one drink isn't going to be enough to cause her to fall over the precipice, right? So she reaches out to take the glass, and downs the entire thing in one gulp. Eyes close as the scotch burns down her throat, and the glass is set back on the desk.


Aidan applies no pressure, no teasing, no taunting. There is nothing in his demeanor that says he particularly cares one way or another whether or not Corrie drinks the scotch. It's simply a courtesy to someone who is clearly upset, a balm to soothe the nerves, numb the pain and take a bit of the edge off. He watches her stare into the glass, taking a swallow from his own every now and then.

His eyes do widen in surprise, however briefly, when she finally turns up the glass and drinks it all back in one large gulp.

"That was … unexpected," Aidan drawls quietly. Possibly a bit bemused and proud of her as well. He takes another drink then edges the bottle toward Corrie with a push of his finger. It will be her decision whether or not she wishes to take another drink; the vampire will not put himself in a position where he might be accused of getting her drunk.

Not yet at least.

Besides, getting the witch fully sotted and taking advantage of her provides little payout. He does so like it when they come willingly, after all.

"There are certainly more … professional and classier methods to get one's point across. I rather would have expected something more . .. professional and elegant from a man of Reese's stature." Aidan taps his finger tip against the glass and shifts so that he is leaning forward, chin resting on his hand as he continues to watch the little witchling curiously. "His caustic behavior was incredibly rude and I am sorry you had to go through that. As much as you may vex me at times, Kavanaugh, I don't think you deserved that."


The sincerity of the words catches Corrie by surprise. He's no doubt playing some sort of game, but he actually means what he says. It's enough for her to grab the bottle of scotch and pour another glass. One which she'll sip at, gently.

"From Mr. Owens perhaps, and I do feel bad that our date was interrupted, but these things happen." She does not feel bad for the way she dismissed his offer to walk her out, or the way she just stalked off rather than stay for the entire meal. She knows she handled herself far better than she should have, and that's all that matters to her.

"Really, Aidan, did you honestly expect Gideon Reese to be professional and elegant? Especially after the little run-in in the Undercity? Honestly? I'm surprised he allowed his brother to show up at all."


"Date?" Aidan echoes. "Is that to say that you have romantic leanings toward Mr. Owens?" Aidan already knows the answer to his question. Corrie is not as hard to read as she would like to think she is, and he long ago figured her interest in Rhys Owens. He's just curious to see if she will finally confess it. It's doubtful, however. They are not friends. On any given day she expects him to possibly corner her in a dark alley and drain her (and it truly is a sinfully delightful thought, though not as delightful as merely having her).

This conversation is only a fleeting fancy in the passage of time, Aidan is sure. Very soon the little witch will say or do something in order to vex and frustrate him, and Aidan will wonder why he wants to claim and conquer this one when London is filled with easier and less troublesome prey. He would be wise to simply wash his hands of her, but Aidan has never been one to give up when he has started on a path.

"The Undercity was a different matter. Reese is a businessman. In a public venue, yes, I did expect something more." Aidan finishes the scotch in his glass and refills it. "Even I am capable of being a consummate professional, and I'm relatively certain that you think I am a royal arse 99% of the time."


"By the way, in case no one has told you, you do look lovely tonight." It's a genuine compliment, delivered without Aidan's smarm or him attempting to undress her with his eyes.


"I…" Corrie is about to shake her head and deny it. Instead, she sighs and nods. "I did. While I can't fault him for his brother's actions…" Shrugging, she sips from the scotch and falls into thought for a few minutes. "It's not important. I'm not going to dwell."

Dwelling means thinking of the warnings her mother gave her, the warnings her own instincts gave her… and it'll mean being down on herself when she's trying not to focus on these things.

"Make no mistake about it, he was completely professional. It is why I kept my temper." Beat. "Should he have taken Rhys aside and explained the situation so that it could be handled a little better? Yes. But he wasn't unprofessional in what he did. Just an arse."

There's a hint of a blush at the compliment and she clears her throat. "Thank you. That was the intention." Beat. "I shouldn't keep you all night with my lamenting over a failed business deal. You said you had something of Gwen's?"


"I beg to differ. It was unprofessional to put you in that position, in an open forum." It's actually more something that Aidan would do, but only when he has ulterior motives, to knock an individual down and be responsible for building them back up. Now, that is a point worth considering, and Aidan files it away for later consideration.

"Corrie, it's not a problem. I don't mind the company I'm keeping." The scotch glass is twirled, Aidan watching the amber liquid in the glass. The unspoken suggestion that she does mind the company she is keeping, hangs in the air but Aidan doesn't say it aloud. He takes a drink from the glass and then returns it to the desk.

Pushing away from the desk, Aidan walks to the small safe. It's used for important papers, not valuables or cash. Opening it, he removes an old, weathered envelope and holds it in his hands for a moment. His face is utterly unreadable, shuttered almost, before he rolls his shoulders and forces out a breath. Aidan presents the envelope to Corrie with a quiet, "I know that she was your ancestor, but I'd rather like this back."


"Let's not dwell on the professionalism of Gideon Reese any longer," Corrie says quietly. "It's beginning to give me a headache. I've no doubt he's got some reason for putting me in this position, but I'll take the weekend to regroup and I'll be fine." She can contract out to another company. Another celebutante. She won't suffer in the long run.

Hell, she could take a long vacation in Devon with her family. Spend time playing with her nieces… at least when Jean finishes the term. Maybe they can both go for a while. It's a point worth considering.

"You're dressed for an evening out. You shouldn't need to play nursemaid to me. I'll be fine." Beat. "Truly I will."

She watches as he moves to the safe, and opens it. She looks at the envelope, and then tilts her head. "A letter?" A smile comes to her face, and she's very carefully opening the letter to read it.


Aidan is happy to dismiss the subject of the sorcerers, though he might have to privately thank them later. The meeting effectively handed the witch over to him to do with as he pleases. There are so many different things that he pleases, Aidan simply doesn't know where to start.

"You are once again laboring under the delusion that I will do anything or engage in any activity that I don't wish to." Aidan does not return to the desk, but rather lounges on the couch. He stretches his legs in front of him, crossing one ankle over the other and stretches an arm across the back of the couch.

"Seems to me that you're also dressed for an evening out." Beat. "You should come with me. Take your mind off of things."


The letter is read, and then again, and then a third time.

When she finishes reading it the third time she gently folds it and places it back into the envelope. The envelope is then gingerly handed back to him. "Thank you for sharing that with me, Aidan." It's proof enough, unless there's another Gwendolyn Bishop that could have potentially had dealings with him.

Corrie frowns. "I'm dressed for dinner is all." Beat. "Why do you want my company? I've not exactly been pleasant in the past."


Aidan sits quietly while Corrie reads the letter. It gives him to reflect and figure out what his next move should be with the witch. She hasn't verbally attacked him yet, but really the night is still so very young and she's still breathing, so who's to know when an attack might come?

He takes the letter from her with a nod and returns it to the safe, tossing over his shoulder. "I have one of her journals too. A few other letters." The vampire doesn't mention the grimoire pages or the necklace, not yet. Aidan is playing a careful game and it doesn't involve showing all his cards. Most particularly when there is no payback for him; nothing that he will receive out of the deal if he turns over those grimoire pages, and especially that necklace. "I didn't want to bring it all to the restuarant. They're old, and anything could happen."

Turning back to Corrie, Aidan leans against the wall that houses the small safe. "No, you haven't. But you're being pleasant now, and I honestly thought you might like the distraction." Beat. "Certainly neither of us would be laughed at for keeping with attractive company."


"You have a journal?" Corrie's eyes positively light up at that. "I don't blame you for not wanting to bring those to the restaurant. You want to preserve them. I would like to see them some day." Beat. "If you don't mind sharing, that is." It may be her family history, but it's his past.

There is another bit of silence while Corrie finishes off the glass of scotch. She swirls the last sip around in the glass before she sets the empty to the table. "What did you have in mind?"


The light in Corrie's eyes makes Aidan smile, because he sees now a crack in the wall, a way to reach her. Or at least to slowly, slowly lull her in.

"I think we can arrange that, some day," Aidan nods. No timeline is given because it really depends on the witch and how much sway he needs over her.

He tips her a boyish, mischievous grin that goes directly to his eyes and makes them twinkle brightly. "How do you feel about dancing?"


"Really?" That he doesn't mind sharing the journal with her, especially considering how she's treated him, sort of says something — he either wants something or he may not be as horrible as she thinks he is.

"I'm not really dressed for dancing," she points out. Overdressed perhaps, but Corrie could always put on something a bit more suitable. "Though I suppose it depends where." Beat. "I'm only considering mind…"


"Really." Aidan smirks and pushes off the wall with an elegant grace. He strolls toward Corrie, but doesn't encroach on her personal space this time. He does trail his eyes appraisingly over her, those blue eyes devoid of their typical lust and licentiousness as he does so. It's clearly an appraising look, rather like he is weighing and measuring her wardrobe than trying to make her think he's imagining what she looks like without the clothes on.

"Where we're going, you're perfectly dressed." Beat. "It's not a casual dance club." Another beat. "Have you ever been to Vortex Underground?"


The look causes another blush and a clearing of her throat. "Aidan," she says warningly so that he doesn't get too carried away with that looking.

"No. Are you kidding me? Do you know how difficult it is to get into a place like that? Even Amber has her difficulties, and she can get in practically anywhere." Corrie just blinks at him and then bites her lip. "I should meet you there. There's something I need to do before we go." Beat. "Could you send a bottle of scotch to their table? Have it said that it's on the house, but I'll pay for it."


The vampire gives a patented eye roll, puffs out a breath of exasperation at her warning. "Don't flatter yourself, Kavanaugh. I've been nothing but a gentleman and I'll continue to be so. "

"Yes, but Amber is not me." Aidan says it as though such a thing should be obvious, yet somehow the playful smile is incongruous with the arrogance of the words. He tilts his head in consideration as she chews her lip and makes her request.

Aidan nods, "Consider it done." Beat. "You're not going to stand me up, are you?" Not that it will matter to Aidan because he'll simply revert back to his original plan of hunting for food and companionship for the night. Of course, it'll change his approach to the witch the next time he sees her …


"Thank you," Corrie says in regards to the bottle of scotch. She dips her fingers into her pocketbook and pulls out the appropriate amount of money, and slides it across the desk. "That should cover it."

Standing up, she tucks her ponytail over her shoulder, and shakes her head. "I wouldn't have offered to go if my intentions were to stand you up." Beat. "I need the distraction." And who knows? Maybe she'll find one at the Vortex Underground.

"I should be there in twenty minutes." She just needs to locate Rhys' vehicle and drop off a certain mica card on his hood. She won't need it any longer, seeing as now that they've got Dumnonia, she really has no reason for further business contact.

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