golden

five: fifty percent

We should be friends.

The words stuck in him like glue. Try as he might, he wasn't able to clean them out. No amount of scrubbing his insides would get rid of those bittersweet bullets. Each recollection brought a swifter, sharper, darker piece of pain.

To be her friend, still allowed to bask in her honey glow was better than to have met her the two times and that be that. It sure as shit wounded his ego and sent him spiraling into self-doubt- hadn't he been courteous enough, gracious, unexpectant- why the fuck wasn't he good enough?

He'd only seen her once in the week since that glorious horror show of a picnic. It hadn't been planned, a happenstance run-in as he was on his way to work and her leaving a nondescript lesson and heading to an even more vague dinner. Was her aloofness and general unattainability the product of her already being spoken for? Hell, was that Gregory guy her man? Nah, surely not. He'd been too free-willing with her, allowed Harry to consume all her time that first night. Any man rationing her would have known better. Not to mention, she didn't seem the type to step out.

He saw it in her eyes. She was a fierce lover.

Thinking back to that first night, his mind dazzled by her proximity and the glitter of all her jewels, he remembered the shine her eyes held and how her smile grew any time she was given the chance to dote on her career. That had to be it. Her drive, ambition, passion, and power all honed in on that one thing. Every ounce of her being dedicated to achieving her dream.

He respected it.

He hated it.

Harry could be relentless. Implacable. Unstoppable until he attained what he wanted. The problem was, he wasn't wholly sure what he wanted from her. Limited time and experience with her left him at fault and loss of direction. For sure, his goal went past the boundary of friendship. But what exactly, he couldn't say. He hadn't been exposed to her long enough to know anything more than to be without her was agony and to be with her was torture. The infection of Elizabeth Dandridge beginning to spread from his head to his heart. He was sick with her. Whatever that meant.

He knew. Deep down, he knew and couldn't accept it. That the hammer of his heart against his chest was the product of burgeoning feelings. The insatiable need to be the cause of her smile, that silvered laugh, only came from one place.

Infatuation.

Harry could be relentless on this mission. But he knew better. A shameless pursuit would only drive her further away. To know her, be near her, assess if her heart bled the way his did, he would have to be safe. Cautious.

He would have to be her friend.

~~~~~

If one more person tried to hand her a script, she was going to scream. Or maybe faint. People responded better to women fainting than they did women screaming. Fainting was more docile, quieter, definitely more ladylike. That would have to be the route. If someone attempted to covertly slip a script into her hand as they walked by, her eyes would roll back and she would- gracefully, of course,- fall to the floor. What a scene it would be.

They should stick that in their movie and call it a day.

"You look displeased."

Having always prided herself in the ability to shade her emotions with expressions of passivity, Elizabeth was stunned at Gregory's observance. For, to say she was in a foul mood was a massive understatement. The entire film crew appeared to be under the curse of believing she didn't know her lines. Or the movie at all for that matter.

Despite her sour feelings, she turned to her co-star with a placate smile. If she appeared as anything less than jovial, they would deem her difficult and she very well couldn't have that. "Me? Never." She laughed, shaking her head. "Only a little tired. I hate to admit but I slipped out of the habit of early mornings and late nights."