Reid

He glared at the time on his dash as he waited for Elise to come downstairs from her apartment.

7:20.

It was 7:20, and at this rate, they'd be late for the dinner reservations he'd made. Then, finally, just as he was about to pull out his phone and call the irksome woman, the front door to her rather sketchy apartment complex opened, and the woman in question stepped into the light of a flickering streetlamp. For a moment, Reid questioned whether this person wearing a fitted black suit that hugged her curves in all the right ways, was the same rumpled reporter who'd been grating on his nerves since he'd met her. Then, after he'd rolled down the window and waved at her and she'd approached, he saw her tangled dark curls and make-up-less complexion and realized that this was definitely Elise Bates.

The reporter stared at his car dubiously before sighing and throwing open the passenger door then sliding in and dumping her backpack on the floorboard. A backpack. For a dinner date.

A date that wasn't a date, he meant.

Oblivious to her backpack faux pas, Elise relaxed next to him as if she was the picture of comfort.

"Why'd you drive such a nice car? Seems a bit excessive."

"Nice cars are never excessive." Reid smirked and patted the dash of his Jaguar F-Type. When he realized Elise hadn't yet put on her seatbelt, he glared. "I'm not pulling away until you put on your seatbelt."

The woman huffed but did as he'd ordered. Feeling that at least he wouldn't be responsible for her injuries if they got into an accident, Reid pulled away, heading away from the godforsaken parts of the city and into the city center where the best shopping and restaurants were.

"Do you know how creepy it was being picked up by you. You look like the rich playboy picking up your next booty call."

Reid snorted and applied the brakes as some asshat in front of him decided to try and run a red light then, at the last minute, chickened out. "I assure you, my dear Ms. Bates, you've got nothing to worry about in that department."

In the corner of his eye, he watched her smirk triumphantly in the low light cast by the headlights of a passing truck. "So, you are gay! I knew it."

"I'm not gay. I'm bi." Reid countered as the light changed and he accelerated forward. "You're just not my type."

The woman laughed and adjusted her seatbelt, tucking the part near her neck behind herself in a way that would do nothing to protect her should they get into some kind of accident. He was wondering if it was worth the argument if he'd told her to fix her damn seatblet as she asked. 

"I'm everyone's type. Now, where the hell are we going?"

"Food." Reid replied, keeping his eyes on the road as he navigated the evening traffic.

"'Food'," Elise mocked him before continuing. "No, I mean where are we going, and why are we having to go to dinner to meet about my... findings?"

"Because I'm hungry?" Reid shrugged, reveling in the change of scenery as they entered the upscale part of the city.

Surprisingly, Elise simply quieted and stared out the window at the glittering storefronts before continuing in a much softer voice. "Do you often take people on business dinner dates?"

"This isn't a date. People would kill for a date with me."

"Ass," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear it.

He grinned as he pulled up to the valet parking in front of the restaurant. "Let's go."

Elise looked at the marquis above the restaurant, her mouth opening then closing in surprise. "This is too expensive."

"You don't even know how much it costs." He teased while watching her climb out of the vehicle, struggling for a moment to get up from the low seat and giving him a good view of her ass in the process. He cleared his throat when he realized he'd been staring. He shouldn't have been staring, but the off-the-rack suit she was wearing fit her a little too well, hugging her curves in all the right places.

Once he'd tossed the keys to the valet and rejoined her on the sidewalk, she whispered while staring in awe at the lights of the restaurant. "It looks expensive. It smells expensive."

Reid rolled his eyes and led her to the door where they were greeted by the maître d', whom Reid had met on a few prior occasions. The man shook his hand and welcomed him in a robust way that toed the line between adoration and ass-kissing. Then, when the man looked toward Elise, his expression darkened.

"Welcome again, Mr. Brennan, and welcome to your companion Ms..."

Elise, seemingly unaware of the judgmental turn the man's attitude had taken, smiled in a way that was oddly polite... and innocent. "Elise Bates, independent reporter."

When she held out her hand for him to shake, the man stared dubiously for a moment at her untrimmed nails and the backpack hanging off her shoulder before he obliged. Something about the man's reaction irked Reid, and he was involuntarily placing his hand near the small of Elise's back as the guy led them to the private table in the back well away from the prying eyes of the public.

Even still, he noticed Elise's discomfort as she caught the eyes of the restaurant patrons on them, people recognizing Reid Brenan and wondering who the young woman he was going out in public with could be. Eventually, they were both seated, and their server was politely strolling over to the bar where he was grabbing them a bottle of alcohol on the house.

Elise stared down at the menu before her with a sweetly befuddled frown he tried not to find endearing. "This is French."

"It's a French restaurant," Reid said with a shrug as he noticed their server returning with a bottle of champagne and someone following behind with an ice bucket.

Elise continued to pout as she leaned across the table towards him, her dark hair falling in wild curls across her face as she whispered conspiratorially. "I can't read French."

He smirked, surprising her by leaning across the table as well, bringing his face inches from hers. She froze, her muscles stiffening as she felt the heat roiling off his body. He was near enough to the woman that he could kiss the soft curve of her ear if he wanted to as the intoxicating aroma of cheap shampoo mixed with her natural body chemicals struck his awareness.

Grinning wider when she leaned more fully into him, he whispered, "Just point to what's most expensive. That's what I used to do."

With that, he plopped back into his chair, leaving her to blink at him for a few moments before she released a tense rush of air and sat back as well.

"Champagne on the house." The server said before presenting the champagne for Reid's inspection then popping open the bottle and pouring them both a glass.

Elise watched transfixed as the drink bubbled in front of her. Then, when the conversation turned to their orders, Reid grinned and allowed Elise a few delicious-to-watch moments of awkward fumbling before he pointedly interjected and ordered for both himself and Elise in flawless French, leaving the woman to glare angrily at him as the two of them were left alone once more.

"You speak French."

"As well as a few other languages. Part and parcel of the trade, I'm afraid. Some of the older texts I have to read are in Haitian creole or old German or—" Reid bit his tongue, cursing himself for having revealed so much about the truth of his business.

Other than a quirking of her brow, Elise seemed not to question why the CEO of a multinational cosmetics company would need to know French or Creole or German. With a huff, she turned and dug through her backpack, which he'd just now noticed she'd slung over the back of her chair like she was in some sort of coffee shop rather than the best French restaurant in the city. She produced what looked like a stack of receipts, on the back of which were hastily scrawled notes.

"Okie dokie, Reid. Let's get started on this business date."

"Not a date." He snorted into his champagne glass before sighing as she spread her receipt notes out in front of her on the perfect white tablecloth. 

Elise seemed not to notice him as she ducked her head and devoted her attention to trying to arrange her notes in the proper order. How could someone so brilliant be so disorganized?