Chapter Text
i.
The thundering bass sounds through the speakers and shimmies the row of clean glasses with every thump thump thump of the beat. The music is so loud he has to practically lean over the bar to hear the orders, and the work is sticky and thankless, but there’s a routine to it that he appreciates. He’s only behind the bar once a month—usually when someone calls out sick, like tonight—but he likes getting his hands dirty every so often and experience firsthand what they’ve built. It’s busy tonight so he and Luke, the other bartender, have barely had a second to take a breath. But there’s finally a lull in orders, so he leans against the back wall and relishes the short moment of peace.
From where he’s standing behind the walnut bar gives him an undisturbed view of the bouncing club in front of him. He can keep an eye on the dance floor, the secluded tables on the perimeter, and the balcony upstairs. It’s also the perfect spot to watch his sister make her rounds. Thea floats around the room with a smile wide on her face, effortlessly playing the part of club owner and friend. In a span of one minute, he watches her pick up an abandoned shot glass, drop it on a passing tray, kiss a woman on the cheek in greeting, and check on a VIP table.
Here, she is in her element. And even if the months of work that went into opening Verdant had ended up being a financial waste—(they weren’t)—watching her grow into the role would have been worth it in itself.
She’s been killing it lately and he couldn’t be prouder. Verdant is not his sole focus, but it is her's—and it shows. In just under two years, they’ve turned a profit, the VIP tables are routinely booked eight weeks out, and the line is wrapped around the building every night. Technically they are equal partners in the club, but the more he’s watched her take the reins and steer it towards success, the more confident he is with his decision to give her more ownership share. As he watches Thea wander her way over to him, he makes a mental note to meet with his financial advisor to get the paperwork started.
“It’s packed tonight!” she says excitedly, sounding a little out of breath as she drops some empty glasses before him. “That DJ really brought in a big crowd.”
Oliver fights a grin at that, because they both know it’s a lie. The kid was too cheap to bring in a following this big, so it’s got nothing to do with him and everything to do with Thea’s excellent marketing and service. But if his sister is going to play coy tonight, so will he.
Smirking, he nods and schools his voice, “Yeah, that must be it,” he says, and the flush that appears on Thea’s cheeks tells him she’s heard right through him. Rolling her eyes with a smile, she fires off a quick drink order, swaying to the music as he makes them, and then is off to the VIP section again.
Even without a big fanbase, the new DJ she booked is actually pretty good—the fact that he can figure that out is saying something—and he’s sure they’ll bring him back. It seems like his set has a good mix of techno, pop, and everything in between. The kid had even connected his equipment to the club’s lighting system, so the room changes colors and flashes differently to every song. Oliver doesn’t mind the colored ones, but he does mind the strobe lights, and so when the giant beams start rapidly turning on and off, he takes it as his cue.
With a quick tap to Luke’s shoulder, he holds up his hand. “Back in five,” he mouths, wishing he was already in the upstairs office. Strobe lights have always made him anxious, but it’s worsened in the past few years. They are choppy and overwhelming and make everything feel like it’s going in slow motion. There’s a dream-like quality to them that isn’t actually dreamy at all; it just makes him feel like he’s missed a few seconds and needs to catch up with the rest of the world.
So when he hooks around the bar to walk through the dance floor and spots a blonde woman rushing towards him, he actually thinks he’s imagining her. But with every beam of light that flashes through the darkened room, she appears a little closer... and the last thing that registers in his mind is how gorgeous she is, before her lips are on his.
Oliver is so stunned that it takes a long moment for him to do anything other than stand there. It doesn’t even occur to him that this is weird—that a random woman suddenly kissing him is an odd thing—because the way her mouth is moving against his feels anything but strange.
Her lips are soft but confident, pressed against his in a way that tells him she hasn’t made a mistake; so when her arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer, he takes it as permission to respond in kind.
Gripping her lower back, he trails her lips with his tongue, coaxing them to part, and when she does, he swears he feels her hum against him. It’s probably the vibrating room they’re standing in, but the more insistent her lips become, the more the thundering club around them seems to fade away.
The kiss is desperate and greedy, and awakens something in his chest he can’t quite name. All he knows is that he likes the feeling, so he chases it with fervor.
It feels like both hours and seconds have passed, and when she finally pulls away, he finds himself unconsciously—ridiculously—gripping the fabric of her dress to keep her in place. Looking down, she’s close enough where they still share a breath, but not far enough away for him to really look at her.
The kiss had melted away his anxiety, but the strobe lights continue to torture him. This time in a different way, since he is only given quick hints of what she looks like before going dark again. Yet even through the little peeks he’s given, he knows without a doubt she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.
Before he can open his mouth, she lifts up to press a few final kisses on his mouth and jawline. It breaks the spell a little; and it’s as if the DJ can sense the shift, because the moment her heels touch the ground, the song changes and the flashing lights are replaced by a stream of violet.
He finds the color fits her perfectly.
The uninterrupted light allows him to really look at her for the first time, and if he thought she was beautiful before, it doesn’t compare to what she looks like now. He has never felt so gut-punched, so deeply affected, so completely captivated before—and he doesn’t even know her name.
She startles a little at the sight of him, as if she can’t figure out how she got here, wrapped in his arms, even if she’s the one who kissed him. But rather than looking uneasy or scared, she instead looks just as struck, and so when he feels her relax against him again, he simply tilts his head in silent question.
Her eyes sparkle up at him. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says, failing at hiding his smile. The music is still noisy, but from how close they are to each other, and their spot away from the main speaker, they can hear each other perfectly.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, a little loudly—strangely loud—reaching up to thumb away the lipstick she must have left. And then she’s twisting in his arms to face the same direction that he is, towards the entrance and balcony staircase. He reaches out to stop her, suddenly afraid she’s going to leave without another word, but she surprises him by taking one of his hands and staying close to his side.
Oliver’s eyes follow every move she makes, utterly entranced by this mysterious woman, but he quickly notices she is not as distracted as he is. Instead, her attention is focused on a man a few feet from them—someone he is just now noticing.
A man who look incredibly pissed off.
He doesn’t know what’s going on, but the way the guy is shooting daggers towards her doesn’t sit well.
“Can I help you?” Oliver asks, raising his voice over the music.
His mystery girl answers instead. “He’s a creep and wouldn’t stop following me or begging me to dance, even after I told him I have a boyfriend.” She gestures at Oliver, a little wildly, with her free hand to prove her point. “See, buddy! This is my very, super-duper not fake boyfriend, who is absolutely not a cover-up to tell you to get lost. He’s very very real.” She pokes his chest a little to emphasize her words.
Oliver feels a spark of fury flare and instinctually takes a step towards the guy in question, but she holds him back and keeps talking.
“Not only is he actually really real, but he’s also way hotter and sexier and handsom...er than you’ll ever be. Yup. Handsomer. That’s totally a word. Right?” she asks, looking up at him.
And it’s when they lock eyes, does she must suddenly realize what she’s said, because she shuts her mouth and blushes furiously, looking embarrassed for the first time since they met. And though heat floods through him at her words—which, by the way she said them, were unwittingly sincere—he feels more rage against the asshole who’d put her in this position in the first place.
Playing his part, he pulls her closer, wordlessly noting the way she fits perfectly against his side, and sends an angry glare at the jerk. He lowers his voice. “I suggest you leave. Now.”
“Or what?” the guy challenges.
“Or I’ll throw you out of this club so fast, you won’t know your own name.”
“Whatever,” the guy scoffs, shaking his head. He turns away from them to leave, but at the last second, decides to stupidly press his luck. It’s still really loud, but they both don’t miss the, “Bitch,” that he mumbles under his breath, before Oliver erupts.
In one motion he unfolds himself from the blonde beside him and hooks an arm around the guy’s neck. The fact that his drunk, spoiled, peeing-on-cop teen days are far behind him—and that he’s the owner of the place—forces him to not make a scene. But he still drags the guy outside, not gently, and pushes him towards the direction of the parking lot. It’s only when the jerk decks him does Oliver wish he actually got a punch in, but the bouncers pull the guy off before he gets the chance. “I better not see you here again,” he growls, giving their head of security, Joe, a look that says, take care of this.
His head is absolutely pounding, and he purposely avoids looking at the line of club-goers waiting to go inside. It’s futile to hope they don’t own cell phones, and the quick succession of flashes that go off when he turns around proves it: he’d definitely had an audience.
For the first time in awhile, he actually doesn’t care. And he could give a shit about the respectable shiner he’ll have tomorrow, or his bleeding lip. All he can think about is getting back in the club.
When he turns to head back inside, the world spins a little, and he feels a hand reach out to steady him.
“Woah, easy there, sir,” the bouncer says, keeping his palm on Oliver’s shoulder.
“I’m fine,” he says gruffly, continuing towards the entrance. The music is hell on earth when he steps inside and, for the second time tonight, he spots a woman rushing towards him.
But at this woman, he groans.
“Ollie, what the hell just happened? I heard some guy punched you?”
“Not now, Thea.”
“Wai—Ollie!”
In the ninety seconds since he’s been gone, it seems like 100 other bodies have made their way inside. The dance floor is so packed people can barely dance. His eyes bounce from person to person as he weaves through the crowd, focusing only on the blondes he passes, while deftly avoiding any other women that hopefully approach him.
After his fourth circle through the dance floor, Thea pulls him to the perimeter. “Ollie, you're starting to look like a creep,” she says, which he responds quickly with a glare. The only creep in here tonight has already been ejected. “Who are you looking for?”
His eyes unconsciously flit around the crowd once more, even though he knows she's gone.
“No one,” he sighs, leaning over to kiss her temple. “I’m gonna head home. My head is killing me. Can you tell Luke to close?” He only waits for her to nod before turning for the exit, not in the mood to answer any questions.
Mainly because he is only interested in one:
Who the hell was she?
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tbc