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"You have quite the commanding presence." He comes from behind her at a pace where he quickly catches up. She doesn't indulge him with even a turn of her head, but a side eyed glance reveals who it is. "Had me hanging on your every word."
"I've said what I have to say, Mr. de Courcey, and it's in your favor for the most part. What is it that you need to bother me with?"
"No business, promise. Just making conversation. I'm heading this way anyways." He says, but she knows there's nothing down this hallway for him. She walks faster. He matches.
She waves dismissively to her left, right in front of him. If she were to hit him in the face it would be his own fault for picking up the pace even further when they're already going faster than anyone would normally walk. "I know full well you're trying to pull something with me. I'd prefer to be left alone."
Walter ducks under her hand and runs in front to stop her in her tracks. She almost runs right into him. "Dinner, then?"
"What?"
"I'll leave you be for now if you let me take you to dinner tonight." He's on a mission. There's ulterior motives, there has to be, but she can't figure out what they may be. "No business. None." He tries to sell her. He's particularly good at that.
She takes a deep breath and knows she's probably going to regret her decision. "Admittedly, that might be nice. Eight o'clock, the restaurant across the street."
He smiles this dumb grin that makes her think he might actually be enamored with her. He's not. He wants something, he has to want something. "Makes me think you were waiting to be asked out."
"It's not "out". It's just dinner." She pushes past him and goes on her way. He must be satisfied, or stunned, or both, because he doesn't come after her. There'd be plenty of discussion later.
-
They're in bed with each other the next morning. One thing leading to another and such. She doesn't remember it very well but based on her being in nothing but her heels, as well as the shoe shaped bruising all over Walters back- and potentially more of him, she thinks, unable to see the rest of him while he's still fast asleep- she can assume it was a good time for everyone involved.
She checks the clock. It's seven thirty in the morning and she's already late to wake up, but seeing as she isn't in her own hotel room she didn't have access to her alarm. It's not terribly late, but she'll have to rush to get ready for the day's festivities. At the rate things are going, a more accurate term might be torture. She's feeling more positive about it than she typically would.
She doesn't tend to drink, or have casual sex, or any sex for that matter. She's busy, she's devoted to the game of chess and satisfied with that devotion. It completes her. It's all she needs.
Still, a bit of stress relief from time to time can't hurt.