| [ |
mood |
| |
 accomplished |
] |
Although he'd considered doing something with the paintings he'd inherited from his father for several years, every attempt Oliver had made had led him to places he'd rather not visit emotion-wise. Despite the passage of years, the scars had never truly healed. Maybe they never would.
But he'd heard the name of someone who could probably help him with what he wanted. He'd only heard of Bethany Richards in passing, in connection to some dealings at Wolfram and Hart, but apparently she was quite influential in certain circles. He'd set up a meeting through her assistant Ralphael, and now he was sipping a glass of wine as he waited for her to arrive. Business over lunch, and if she agreed to help him with this, it would take the burden off of his shoulders.
Bethany was getting back into the swings of things, Ralphael had been a lifesaver but it had always been that way with him. When she had needed him, he had been there. He had handled the business side of things as she had run off to save Victoria but it was about time she got back into her saddle as it were. She was now stepping out of her car, her heels settling against the tarmac beneath her feet as she rose out of the convertible itself.
She stood for a moment as she adjusted the clothes she had chosen to wear for this meeting, a form fitting black suit that had been designed by one of the finest tailors and his fine craftsmanship could be seen in the stitching and in the lining of the jacket she wore. Blonde hair had been left to fall free around her shoulders and there was a slight wave to the hair itself. Her neck was hidden beneath a thick silver choker so the bruising was barely visible to the naked eye, a person would have to look very closely in order to spy the bruising beneath both choker and makeup.
Brown eyes cast themselves down towards her watch and a slim eyebrow arched, "Right on time." She gave a small rather smug smile before continuing into the restaurant to find her way towards the seat the young man would be sat at. It wasn't long until she was settled beside the table itself, "Oliver Jerzyck?" She questioned, accent making his name sound crisp.
Oliver sat up a little straighter in his chair at the sound of his name, feeling weirdly sloppy in comparison to Bethany's well put-together appearance. But at least he wasn't drunk in the middle of the day for a change. "Yes. Ms. Richards?"
As if on cue, the waiter arrived with two menus, and he accepted one. "I'm glad you decided to meet with me," he said, vaguely distracted. "Your assistant wasn't able to provide an actual time when you'd be available, so I simply told him that it could be at your convenience."
( First Name Basis )
( Accountants And Finances )
"Usually does," She answered as she let her lips slide into a cocky bordering on arrogant smile.
Her hand withdrew from his and she began her stride away from the table, feet moving gracefully across carpeted floor and heels making for a statuesque height.
The last thing that could be seen of Bethany Richards was the blonde hair that disappeared out of the door.
|
calm
restless