Distraction and Observation (Manifesto)

[Nesrin Aziz]

[[continued from here]]

The lady in red was surprised when Eddie placed his hand over her drink. Then suspicion curled a little cold warning in her stomach as he offered his instead. Nesrin didn’t survive through her trust. If she’d been trying to manipulate someone into her confidences, protecting them from some unknown threat would be an easy way to do it – it was exactly what she’d just done with Wicked. The flash of worry in her liquid-dark eyes was entirely genuine as she watched him move the glass away, because the alternative was just as concerning. But all she said was: "Thank you, Eddie. Why would someone do that?"

Sincerity. A little innocence. He looked like the sort of man to appreciate manners and genuine gratitude, though maybe a little of that was just the delightful British accent colouring her impression of him as a gentleman. Truth was she didn’t know if what he said about the drink was true or not, but she knew she was going to go along with it.

Because despite what Nesrin had let the Jackal's representative think about the wealth of her resources, she was very much alone. Not that she was without her own methods of self-protection, but the way the Emissary had shrugged her touch off made her more wary than usual about being caught off guard. Especially now. She’d wanted a contingency should this planned meeting go south in a physical way, and though Eddie was in no way imposing – in her heels, they were more or less eye to eye – she’d watched him a while before boldly asking for that dance. Their closeness then had more than confirmed he was built under that twee suit, but it was the old-school charm which cinched her attention.

She threaded her fingers through his to lead him away. If someone really had tried to spike her drink, she was keen to disappear. Manifesto was a busy club, but the bar suddenly felt terribly open.

“What do you do for work? And does it come with a white horse?” It was a sultry tease, and she smiled when she said it, glancing him up and down anew. Her pace had slowed, and she’d turned to him, but though her fingers loosened she didn’t let go of his hand. They were away from the dancefloor, and the bar had disappeared behind a mass of rich and beautiful clubbers. She glanced every now and then at the people milling around them, the scotch glass cradled against her chest, clearly a little unsettled.

After a moment she leaned closer to him, enough to share a whisper. “You’re supposed to be the pleasure part, Eddie, not the business. But I’m glad you’re here.” She smiled and pressed the drink to her lips. Afterwards she bit them and offered out the glass. “You’re not going to make a girl drink alone, are you?”