Post by Delilah Sterling on Dec 20, 2008 15:20:15 GMT -8
Friday
Nothing too eventful happened after Nykolas dropped her off at her car.
Even though all she wanted to do was curl up in the bed the moment she got back to her motel room, she forced herself to go to the lobby, inquire about monthly rates and reserve the room for the next month.
And even when that was done, she held off from sleep long enough to call George and let him know where she was. He didn't know what was really going on, of course; as far as he knew, she was just being a spoiled brat who was doing a tour of major cities and partying up with the money she inherited from Mr. Sterling and Sterling, Inc..
George let her know that he would be depositing their pre-arranged "allowance" in her bank account on Monday, and asked her to stay safe.
Delilah thought of Nykolas and smiled despite herself.
Finally, once she hung up with George, she was able to curl up like she'd longed to do and get some sleep, knowing that Nykolas was out there looking for some clues.
Saturday
It was amazing what 14 hours of sleep could do for a person. Even better, it was dreamless sleep; no nightmares, no ethereal visits from David.
Not that she minded those, really, he just had a way of compromising the amount of rest she actually got at night.
Feeling stronger than she had in days, she showered, dressed, and went exploring.
And as she browsed the Saturday Market, visited independently owned clothing stores and bought a short-billed Castro hat that she couldn't live without, a plan began formulating in her mind.
She sent Nykolas a text message asking him if he could be ready at 9pm - she'd send the details to him in another message closer to the time.
She ate dinner at a hole-in-the-wall Cantonese restaurant and went shopping one more time; this time for something a little nicer than sweaters and jeans.
Club apparel was always a tough choice for Delilah. Despite having what she had been told was a "totally smokin' bod" - thanks, David - she didn't really like wearing anything too short, revealing, or risque.
She wanted to blend in with the club environment but, if she met any demons, she wanted to be taken seriously. Image was everything. People tended to pay less attention to women who were dressed skimpily. They were either too busy oogling, hating or stereotyping.
In the end, she settled on a sexy but reasonable pantsuit.
The only accent was a white X stitched on the belt, and it was spared from a destiny of being too plain by the slit that ran from collarbone to belt line. The slit was too thin be blatantly revealing, instead showing just the right amount of cleavage and stomach.
Of course, she had to buy shoes to go with it.
The shoes in question turned out to be a simple closed-toe sandal type with three inch stiletto heels, black and classy.
She bought makeup at the mall, and by 7:40pm she was back at the motel, getting dressed.
Saturday Night
It was equally amazing what a few layers of mascara, some thinly smudged kohl, a touch of blush and some nude lipgloss could do for a woman.
Delilah was pretty enough, with her large green eyes, button nose and full lips, but even she had to admit that makeup took her appearance to a whole new level.
She had forgotten earrings, but digging through her rucksack she found a dangly silver bracelet that tied off the look nicely.
The black pantsuit and heels made her silhouette long and lean. Hell, she thought, I actually look... well, totally smokin' hot.
By 8:30pm she had parked in the Avandrya parking lot.
A v a n d r y a
At 9pm, still waiting in line outside of the club, she sent Nykolas a text telling him where she was, and when it was finally her turn to show her ID to the bouncer and pass the dress code glance he gave her, she asked who ran the place.
He gave her a look like, I don't care how hot you think you are, stop holding up the line!, but he still answered.
"Ryuu no Futeki," he said gruffly.
She wanted to ask him if Mr. Ryuu no Futesomething was inside right now, but the look he gave over her shoulder boded no further questions, so she went on inside like a good little patron.
First things first, club-going wasn't Delilah's forte. She blended in like a patch of yellow snow in a winter wonderland.
It wasn't the clothes - though she was one of the more conservatively dressed women there, even with the slitted top - it was her carriage. Like despite the music pounding through the speakers, her body couldn't find the right rhythm to fit it.
Casting her eyes down more to make sure she didn't slip on a spilled drink or a dropped napkin, she made her way through the crowd at the bar and sidled up, waiting for the bartender to notice her.
When he finally did, she ordered a dirty martini instead of her usual Jameson's with a coke-back. While he made her martini, she leaned on her elbows over the counter to speak to him.
"I need to speak with the owner, Ryuu."
The bartender hardly even looked up at her.
"I'm authorized to handle most of the front-of-the-house problems. What can I do for you?"
"This isn't a front-of-the-house problem. This is most definitely a back-of-the-house problem."
He looked at her then, a hint of amusement and exasperation on his handsome features. "What's your name?"
"Delilah Sterling."
"Well, Miss Sterling," he said, handing her the martini glass and leaning towards her. "When he comes in, I'll let him know you're interested in speaking to him. But he's a busy man, no guarantees."
"He'll want to hear what I have to say," she insisted, but quietly, as he was already moving away to help another customer.
Sighing, Delilah stirred her martini with the toothpick speared olives and stared out at the dancefloor, lost in thought.
Nothing too eventful happened after Nykolas dropped her off at her car.
Even though all she wanted to do was curl up in the bed the moment she got back to her motel room, she forced herself to go to the lobby, inquire about monthly rates and reserve the room for the next month.
And even when that was done, she held off from sleep long enough to call George and let him know where she was. He didn't know what was really going on, of course; as far as he knew, she was just being a spoiled brat who was doing a tour of major cities and partying up with the money she inherited from Mr. Sterling and Sterling, Inc..
George let her know that he would be depositing their pre-arranged "allowance" in her bank account on Monday, and asked her to stay safe.
Delilah thought of Nykolas and smiled despite herself.
Finally, once she hung up with George, she was able to curl up like she'd longed to do and get some sleep, knowing that Nykolas was out there looking for some clues.
Saturday
It was amazing what 14 hours of sleep could do for a person. Even better, it was dreamless sleep; no nightmares, no ethereal visits from David.
Not that she minded those, really, he just had a way of compromising the amount of rest she actually got at night.
Feeling stronger than she had in days, she showered, dressed, and went exploring.
And as she browsed the Saturday Market, visited independently owned clothing stores and bought a short-billed Castro hat that she couldn't live without, a plan began formulating in her mind.
She sent Nykolas a text message asking him if he could be ready at 9pm - she'd send the details to him in another message closer to the time.
She ate dinner at a hole-in-the-wall Cantonese restaurant and went shopping one more time; this time for something a little nicer than sweaters and jeans.
Club apparel was always a tough choice for Delilah. Despite having what she had been told was a "totally smokin' bod" - thanks, David - she didn't really like wearing anything too short, revealing, or risque.
She wanted to blend in with the club environment but, if she met any demons, she wanted to be taken seriously. Image was everything. People tended to pay less attention to women who were dressed skimpily. They were either too busy oogling, hating or stereotyping.
In the end, she settled on a sexy but reasonable pantsuit.
The only accent was a white X stitched on the belt, and it was spared from a destiny of being too plain by the slit that ran from collarbone to belt line. The slit was too thin be blatantly revealing, instead showing just the right amount of cleavage and stomach.
Of course, she had to buy shoes to go with it.
The shoes in question turned out to be a simple closed-toe sandal type with three inch stiletto heels, black and classy.
She bought makeup at the mall, and by 7:40pm she was back at the motel, getting dressed.
Saturday Night
It was equally amazing what a few layers of mascara, some thinly smudged kohl, a touch of blush and some nude lipgloss could do for a woman.
Delilah was pretty enough, with her large green eyes, button nose and full lips, but even she had to admit that makeup took her appearance to a whole new level.
She had forgotten earrings, but digging through her rucksack she found a dangly silver bracelet that tied off the look nicely.
The black pantsuit and heels made her silhouette long and lean. Hell, she thought, I actually look... well, totally smokin' hot.
By 8:30pm she had parked in the Avandrya parking lot.
A v a n d r y a
At 9pm, still waiting in line outside of the club, she sent Nykolas a text telling him where she was, and when it was finally her turn to show her ID to the bouncer and pass the dress code glance he gave her, she asked who ran the place.
He gave her a look like, I don't care how hot you think you are, stop holding up the line!, but he still answered.
"Ryuu no Futeki," he said gruffly.
She wanted to ask him if Mr. Ryuu no Futesomething was inside right now, but the look he gave over her shoulder boded no further questions, so she went on inside like a good little patron.
First things first, club-going wasn't Delilah's forte. She blended in like a patch of yellow snow in a winter wonderland.
It wasn't the clothes - though she was one of the more conservatively dressed women there, even with the slitted top - it was her carriage. Like despite the music pounding through the speakers, her body couldn't find the right rhythm to fit it.
Casting her eyes down more to make sure she didn't slip on a spilled drink or a dropped napkin, she made her way through the crowd at the bar and sidled up, waiting for the bartender to notice her.
When he finally did, she ordered a dirty martini instead of her usual Jameson's with a coke-back. While he made her martini, she leaned on her elbows over the counter to speak to him.
"I need to speak with the owner, Ryuu."
The bartender hardly even looked up at her.
"I'm authorized to handle most of the front-of-the-house problems. What can I do for you?"
"This isn't a front-of-the-house problem. This is most definitely a back-of-the-house problem."
He looked at her then, a hint of amusement and exasperation on his handsome features. "What's your name?"
"Delilah Sterling."
"Well, Miss Sterling," he said, handing her the martini glass and leaning towards her. "When he comes in, I'll let him know you're interested in speaking to him. But he's a busy man, no guarantees."
"He'll want to hear what I have to say," she insisted, but quietly, as he was already moving away to help another customer.
Sighing, Delilah stirred her martini with the toothpick speared olives and stared out at the dancefloor, lost in thought.