Technical Assistance

Chapter 10: End User Feedback

Felicity makes her way over to the refreshment table without too much fuss or idle conversation—both of which are very good things. She can't remember why she agreed to accompany him to this benefit, but then she remembers it's because he asked and she can't deny him anything. She doesn't have any money to spare to give to the City Necessary Resource Initiative, though she does agree it is a good cause. Her presence here is absolutely meaningless.

She does admit that being here has its perks; the idle rich do know their wines. She was surprised to see several nice bottles of reds sitting at the bar, and, when she takes a sip, she's surprised to find it's a very nice vintage of Rothschild. She's not exactly a wine connoisseur, but she does know a nice red when she's drinking it, and she's definitely drinking it. Now she just stands in front of the hors d'oeuvres and watches the crowd mingle.

Felicity is perfectly content to be standing there, viewing the crowd from a distance. She's never really been an extrovert; she's always been best when observing the crowd, not standing in it. Sometimes she's called shy, but she doesn't think that's quite right. She definitely has a voice—especially when it wants to run away with her—but she just doesn't want to be the center of attention. Her date tonight, on the other hand, has that lovely Type-A personality she's heard about all her life, and he's perfectly content to be mingling with the crowd and rubbing elbows with the billionaires and other important people.

She's so engrossed in her thoughts that she nearly jumps out of her skin when a familiar voice says from beside her, "Hey, baby, what's your sign?" She rolls her eyes casually; of course he'd pick now to show up.

She doesn't even look at him before saying, "No trespassing—private property." She finally looks over at Tommy Merlyn, smiling slightly, suddenly glad for the distraction from her depressing life. "You know, I'd think that a billionaire could afford to buy better lines." She nudges his shoulder slightly. "You're losing your touch, Merlyn."

"Nah," he says, returning the shoulder nudge, "I just wanted to see how you'd respond." He winks. "And, if you're curious, that was about what I expected. Actually, I'm pretty thrilled that you didn't pour your drink on me."

Felicity rolls her eyes. "That would be a waste of a beautiful wine," she says honestly, and he chuckles. "But that's good to know. Because—no offense, Merlyn, but I'm not interested. Ever." She crosses her arms for good measure, but her intended stern glance falls a little short with the smile on her face.

"You know, Smoaky, if we weren't such good friends, that might actually hurt my feelings. That's the second time you've turned me down in as many conversations," he replies cheerfully. He looks around. "So, where's Ollie? Besides perpetually late as always, I mean."

Felicity offers him a confused frown. It's a weird question, but, then again, this is Tommy she's talking to. "How should I know?"

It's his turn to look confused. "Didn't you two—?" He trails off, making a motion between the two of them. When she still doesn't respond, he continues, "I thought he invited you." He says it so honestly that she knows he isn't messing with her; he genuinely thinks that someone like Oliver Queen would invite her to be his date for the night.

"No," she replies slowly. "Why would Oliver invite me, of all people?" She motions to herself and the blue cocktail dress that is surprisingly out-of-place among the sea of black dresses and ties. "I mean, have you met me, Merlyn? I'm not the kind of girl you invite to shindigs like these. I have a horrible open-mouth-insert-foot syndrome, and I have this crippling, debilitating disease where I make references to nerdy television." She shakes her head. "I am not the perfect débutante that the billionaire takes to the charity ball—unless I'm the charity case."