Bare Her Soul (James Patrick March x reader )

Three

Though you had stuck to exploring Downtown, you had squeezed quite a bit into your first full day. You were still a little jet lagged though, and your mood was deteriorating as the day went on.

Occasionally, doubt would wiggle into your mind - the big "I'm leaving for LA to be a free woman" speech had felt good at the time...but that bravado was steadily wearing off. So you were glad to hear that the owner of the hotel would be hosting a party tonight.

Apparently he didn't do that often, and it would be a distraction for you, something different. As a guest of the hotel, you were automatically invited. In fact, your own personal invitation had arrived in the form of a small, golden envelope that afternoon. It was hand written from 'Mr James Patrick March'.

It was seven-thirty when you finished up in the shower. You didn't have anything that emulated the old-timey feel of the building, so you settled on a dress you'd bought once - but would never wear infront of your parents. It was a white slip dress with feathers lining the edge of the bust, it hung mid thigh on you but only lightly hugged your waist, preserving the modesty of the loose style.

There wasn't a minibar in your room, so you would have to enter a little nervous, but it was the confines of your comfort zone that you had ran away from afterall.

With a final glance in the mirror, and an inhale of confidence, you left for the party.

You decided to take the elevator, and you were damn glad you did. The entire groundfloor was heaving with people, and you were able to arrive quite unannounced in the midst of them all. Groups of mostly well-dressed men stood chatting in various parts of the room, muffled by the smooth jazz, with glasses of champagne in hand. It was low-lit, as usual, and the chandeliers seemed to focus on the middle of the floor, where the lobby chairs had been cleared, and a circular dance floor had been created in their place. You wove your way through the groups towards the bar, smiling when you finally spotted Liz, the only familiar face.

She hadn't noticed you yet - busy shaking up a cocktail, and you pulled out a stool at the bar.

As she handed the lady to your right her drink, and jammed the cash into the draw, you waved at her.

"I heard the owner could throw a party...but I didn't expect this" you laughed nervously, gesturing to the buzzing life behind you.

Her head shot up at your words, Cleopatra eyes finding your face immediately, and her mouth popped open into a perfect 'o'.

Liz was surprised to see you - alive.

"Yes" seemed to be all she could manage.

"Right I'm definitely ordering something strong, I wanna make sure I mingle tonight !" you grinned "can I please get a....ah- Singapore Sling."

"Coming right up" she murmered.

Liz was pouring in the cherry brandy when her gaze flickered back up to you.

"Did you...sleep well?"

"Yeah I was out stone cold, I think that martini last night hit me harder than usual, I mean, I don't really drink so..."

"Oh good" she smiled, setting the drink down infront of you, though her eyes still didn't meet yours.

"Oh no" you cringed "was I drunk? I do remember telling you my life story..."