Between the Lines (Ajax 'Childe' Tartaglia x Fem!Reader)

( one )

Tartaglia "Childe" Ajax was most decidedly not average. After all, regular guys didn't upgrade their Ferrari SF90 Stradale to the latest model each year. Before it was even officially on the market! Jealous men and starstruck women alike would gossip. He was the man who had it all: wealth, education, pedigree, and prestige. Well, he was a man who had it all except you, but that was only a matter of time.

You catch his eye at a charity art show that his family's company—"the only real way to bank"—was hosting. He'd been bored out of his mind and after doing the bare minimum socializing, parked himself in front of the makeshift bar for a glass of whisky, "neat". A few women used this opportunity to come up to him, but his eyes nearly glazed over as he carried on a perfectly polite conversation, glancing into the periphery.

That's when he saw you. Despite your boyfriend's warnings, you'd been touching your intricately done hair—a sign of nervousness, he'd soon learn—as you studied an abstract portrait. He doesn't remember approaching you, but somehow, he's grabbed his whisky, previous company forgotten (did he even excuse himself? Hell, if he could remember, it was all a haze) and found himself standing next to you. "Penny for your thoughts?" It was effortless to turn the charm on when he found himself so immediately invested.

You jumped a little, doe eyes widening as you turned to look at him. He'd kept a respectful distance, not wanting to alarm you, but the slight warmth radiating off his body in an otherwise chilly room paired with a woody cologne affected you more than you'd bargained for. You chastised yourself immediately before giving him your most polite smile and remarking, "I was wondering about the inspiration behind this piece."

"Bullshit."

You blink, positive you've heard wrong. "E-excuse me?"

"You heard me." He gives you a lopsided smirk. "But I'm a bit of a mind reader, so let me take a guess. I'll take 'Can I get out of here now?' for $100."

Your face goes blank before Covergirl-coated lips mischievously turn up at the corners.

Thank God for years of perfecting his poker face through some 'friendly' card sharking, because he feels like a sweaty-palmed teenager all of a sudden.

"I'm feeling a little undervalued," you reply coquettishly. "First a penny, then a measly hundred."

Childe's own smirk only gets wider. "Pick a painting," he extends his arm, gesturing around the room. "Any of them, all of them, doesn't matter. On me."

"Oh?" You seem unfazed, clearly not taking him seriously. "What's the catch?"

"Fifteen minutes of your time over an espresso martini." Honestly, he's more the fifteen minutes in the lounge type, but somehow, with you, he feels like he could stare into your bright [e/c] eyes forever.

You open your mouth, ready to call him out on his clearly empty promise, but before you can get a word in, someone interrupts you.

"Dear, what are you doing over here?" Comes the nervous voice of your boyfriend. You frown a little, confused by his tone, but he escapes your questioning look and faces your companion. "Good evening, Mr. Ajax. Thank you so much for your invitation. It's a lovely event."

Your face falls immediately, all mirth gone in an instant, and it infuriates Childe immensely. Who was this guy again? Someone from Human Resources? No, he's the manager of that new branch, isn't he? Childe would normally have applauded his amazing memory, but right now he's too annoyed to care, what with this small fry calling you 'Dear'. Still, he doesn't want to ruin your impression of him, so he instead gives this mob character a genial smile. "Glad you could make it. We were just having a lovely conversation about the Doesburg," he gestures to the gold-framed painting next to the three of you, "and the artist's constructivist roots."