Disclaimer: I swear on Lex's sexy self that I own nothing
Author's Note: Apologies to Bran because I keep forgetting to put the rating in the subject. Sorry, dear! This part four in the never-ending, 'Craving You' series; Chloe's POV
Dedicated to: Prolific Peggy because she came up with the basic title for the series. (I just tweaked it a bit. :-) )
******
Is That The Best You Can Do?
*Why is Lex calling me?* is the first thought that runs through my head after I pick up the shrilly ringing phone. Blessing our portable receiver, I carry it up to my recently cleaned room. On the other end of the line, I can hear Lex breathing. "Hello, Mister Luthor," I say finally, ending his torment. (At least I hope my extended silence has tormented him; that'll make me feel special.)
"Miss Sullivan," he continues, ignoring pleasantries (Would it KILL him to ask how I am? Well, I wasn't going to ask him, either, so...anyway). "If you aren't busy this afternoon, I'd like to meet you for coffee; discuss your theories."
I pause, drop onto the edge of my unmade bed. My dark blue comforter is nearly on the floor, but I don't notice. "What if I have plans this afternoon, Mister Luthor?" I put extra emphasis on the name this time; to irk him, and to cover up the fact that I have just used one of the most obvious lines in the world --anyone who uses what I just said, as a response to that particular question, obviously has nothing at all to do, but doesn't want the other person to know. Wow, I'm even babbling to myself. Shut up, Chloe.
He chuckles, and I hear a chair squeak. I imagine his feet are resting on top of his desk; I don't know where that image comes from. "What if I say that you must cancel those plans and spend time in my company?"
"I'd say," I shoot back instantly, "that you're a pompous, pretentious rich boy who's relied on his money to win people over for a little too long."
In reply, Lex whistles under his breath; low and deep. "You're something, Chloe Sullivan," he observes casually; though it's said more to himself than to me, I say something else, anyway.
"Is that the best you can do?" I wonder, a bit playfully.
I can almost see his smirk. "I was going to tell you that you're a painfully honest, bold, fiery, perceptive woman whom I wouldn't mind getting to know, but I don't want you to think that I like you in any capacity."
Hmm. "Did you call to set up an interview, or to flirt quite obviously with your best friend's best friend? If you called for the latter reason, you could have saved your breath and skipped the BS about wanting to meet me for coffee tonight." I said that all in one breath; I'm not even sure why I said.
Lex is quiet for a solid minute and a half. "Pushy, aren't we?" he finally says rhetorically.
"Yes," I agree simply.
"So, if were to tell you to meet me at the Beanery in twenty minutes, then hang up, you'd completely ignore me, wouldn't you?" he wonders, voice undercut with curiosity.
I consider this. "Yup."
"I refuse to beg," the pompous billionaire announces out of the blue, though the way he utters the words implies that he *wants* me to make him beg.
I shrug. "That's nice; I had no intention of making you do so." And this is true.
"Please have coffee with me tonight, Chloe." You didn't see *that* one coming a mile away!
I chuckle. "What's in it for me?"
"The pleasure of my company, and free coffee," he says immediately, like the words have been on the tip of his tongue all day.
The latter does sound nice... "Is that the best you can do?" I ask, for the second time that afternoon.
"I'll throw in a biscotti or ten."
I grin to myself; he's good. "Twenty minutes. If you're late, I'm not waiting."
******
As soon as I get there, a bit flushed from running (even though I should make him wait…), I see him sitting patiently at a table, staring out the window. Two large cups of coffee and a plate of varioys pastries are in front of him, seemingly untouched.
He rises to greet me, shakes my hand; my eyes stay locked with his as I pump his hand firmly (interesting phrasing, girl), the way I was taught. I don’t trust people with confident handshakes, since I always wonder why they’re so sure of themselves, but I trust Lex, somehow. I don’t care if he doesn’t trust me.
We sit, I thank him for the refreshments; he nods and watches me chomp on a piece of chocolate-covered biscotti. Once I gulp down some of my beverage (I discover it’s a caramel latte; I have to wonder how he knows that’s what I like) we get down to business.
The details of our discussion are dull to anyone who isn’t there, but we talk for hours about the meteors, his experiences, Clark, our childhoods…the conveersation goes anywhere and everywhere. I begin to like him; not enough to call him a friend, but he isn’t a bad guy.
“It’s been a pleasure, Miss Sullivan,” Lex remarks once our chat reaches a lull. I notice that the sky has grown dark, and stars are beginning to twinkle; thank goodness I left Dad a note.
“I’m buying the coffee next time,” is all I say, smirking.
His half empty cup is in his hand (I finished mine hours ago, but he talked more than I did), as he stands. I get up as well, and reach to shake his hand again. He leans over and kisses my lips; a bit more than a chaste peck, but still vvery friendly in scope. I’m stunned when he pulls back, however, because I’ve only had one other kiss in my life (Clark, in his loft, but that was one-sided). Lex’s was entirely surprising, but sorta nice.
“Is that the best you can do?” I ask rhetorically, smiling lightly as I swivel on my heel and head to the door. I turn as I open the front door (trying to make it look like I’m doing it naturally, not because I want to see him); Lex is standing by the table, an odd look on his handsome face.