Smartly dressed people all drank from high wine glasses. Tuxedoed bodies elegantly danced or walked across the polished floor. Feet scuffed, though barely made a sound.
Perrie tugged at the cuffs of her white dress-shirt and attempted to keep the ticking out of her eyebrow. She ignored the tightness around her throat—she hated ties. Unfortunately this occasion demanded one.
Someone lifted a hand and Perrie calmly walked over to the man. He took the last drink from her tray, and then without sparing a look or a word of appreciation, turned back to his rugged companion. They chuckled amongst themselves and Perrie glared their way as she melted back out of the crowd.
Tray pressed to her side, she looked around the area for a familiar shimmering dress that accentuated a petite though able form. No brown eyes stared through the mass of the crowd. Beautiful caramel hair didn't flutter in defiance either.
Perrie chewed on her lip and tapped a finger against the cold, metal tray. She wore gloves, but hated them.
Hastily she removed them and then noticed the glass veranda door open. A chilling breeze flowed inside of the stuffy hall. Without a notice Perrie headed for it, both desperate to be rid of these stifling people and of the humid air.
A tall tan man, all lean and sinewy beneath his suit signaled for Perrie's service, but the girl merely sent him a hostile glare. He furrowed his dark eyebrows, unimpressed with her audacity, but made no scene of it and merely returned to his short brunette companion.
Perrie grinned lightly to herself and then slipped through the open doorway. She quickly shut it behind her, keeping the fresh air for herself and blocking the conversation that had buzzed through her ears.
"Mr. Malik is a wealthy business man, you know," a strong voice spoke up.
Perrie straightened instinctively, unaccustomed to the undertone of authority. However, there lied a string of amusement behind the words, which eased Perrie's unease and helped her melt into a grin.
"I dreamt about you nearly every night this week," Perrie said in response, though entirely missing the topic.
Brown eyes lifted and met blue, and Perrie felt a strong shiver rock through her body. "Oh?" Those same brown eyes that often screamed the victim, now yelled the victor—the predator that would surely hunt Perrie down.
Strangely, Perrie did not mind.
She sauntered over towards the tiny figure leaning against the cold railing, and then leaned on it backwards.
"Mr. Malik can go fuck himself," Perrie growled through a large grin.
A short wind passed over them, and despite the fact that Jade wore a dark blue dress with straps and no sleeves, her small, tan shoulders did not shake. She seemed to barely register the sensation of a cold breeze, even as her brown hair fluttered about.
"You say the most crass things, Perrie," she said. A dangerous tone filled her voice and Perrie absolutely loved it.
"I only say what Lady Thirlwall wants to hear," Perrie murmured huskily.
"Don't call me that," Jade warned bitterly. She glanced down to the glass of whisky in her hand and then, thinking quickly, took a long sip. It burned as it slid down her throat.
Even though she was standing with her legs parted, arms on the railing so that her chest fell forward, and she drank greedily from her glass, Perrie couldn't help but find herself enraptured by the pure grace the woman put into every move she made—though tonight she seemed less careful and easier to read.
