Lost in Purgatory

Chapter 6

A week after he started his arrangement with Felicity, Oliver woke up with a smile on his face. Then, paradoxically, he groaned, clapping a hand over his eyes. His first thought when he woke up was wondering what he was getting her for lunch today. The second, the fact that he had a job to do here, though it wasn't the job Waller had given him. Not that he really knew what that was. All he'd been told was 'infiltrate', and he was doing that. And then what? If there was one consolation, it was that Waller didn't want him to make a deal with Reiter – or at least if she did, she hadn't told him yet. Still, he had his own plan in mind, now. All those people working the fields at gunpoint, they were going free, even if he had to blackmail ARGUS to get it to happen. And now that he was leaving the camp on a daily basis, under Reiter's watchful eye, he had more opportunities than ever to contact them.

He'd started putting his plan into motion a few days ago, letting some normal sign-ins go by, to lull her into a false sense of security. And then he'd sprung a bombshell – all he'd typed that day was a demand to communicate directly with Waller, otherwise he was spilling his guts to Reiter. And then nothing, for twenty-four hours. When he signed in again, it was obvious that whoever was on the other end wasn't Waller, so he entered one phrase.

I'm out.

Then he closed the computer and strolled to Felicity, who was still eating. She looked up in surprise. It occurred to him that there was something different about her lately. This was besides the fact that her hair was really curly, something he hadn't realised before she'd started washing it regularly. She grumbled about it all the time, inserting little queries about any flat irons that might have washed up on the shore. He didn't point out that immersion in salt water wasn't usually a good thing for electrical devices; also, where was she going to plug it in? He just smiled and said that he liked her hair curly, which always made her roll her eyes and start calling him papi. But it wasn't that. She was just smiling more. The first time she'd smiled at him, or in his general direction, Conklin had been there, face twisted into a sneer. He'd moved away so he wouldn't have to listen to anything that asshole said, having learnt his lesson after the time Conklin had asked if she'd let him put it in her ass yet. He'd clenched his jaw and ground his teeth till it hurt in a desperate effort to control himself, because he knew that if he smashed Conklin's face in, as he so badly wanted to, the deal would be off. And Reiter would kill her. So he kept himself under control, and developed a selective deafness to whatever Conklin was saying.

And he'd warned Felicity to cut down on the smiling when Conklin was around. She was supposed to be resentful, and resigned, not happy. She'd shrugged and said she'd try, and then had corrected herself.

"I know, I know. Do or do not, right?"

At his blank look, she'd rolled her eyes, and called him culturally deprived. He'd hidden a smirk. Of course he'd caught the reference, but he was starting to enjoy her various eye rolls. Which was when he realised he needed to follow his own advice, though he had more of an excuse to be relaxed and happy than she had.

So he'd made his play with Waller, and now all he had to do was wait. And watch Felicity eat, which was harder than he ever expected it to be. She swallowed and licked her lips, and he bit his, trying desperately to control his instant physical reaction. It wasn't working. But she didn't seem to notice.

"Do you want some?"

She was holding out the pouch and he shook his head.

"I already ate."

"Ok, your loss."

She went back to the noodles and acted nonchalant, though she kept shooting him little glances from under her eyelashes, curious about the change in routine. He made his face deliberately blank, even as he wondered how he'd gotten so . . . into her. When he'd hatched the plan, he hadn't realised that spending time with her would end up with them building a . . . was this a friendship? He was just so insanely curious about her. Where was she from? Why had she been on that plane from Hong Kong? Would she be interested in dating an ex-billionaire playboy who'd fucked up every relationship he'd had? The thought was like being struck by lightning – or rather, being electrocuted by a madman with a grudge, something he knew all about. He'd been able to fool Conklin because he hadn't been lying – he did want her. It took him all his self-control to hold back a rueful laugh – was this his punishment for all the crap he'd pulled in the past? Now there was a woman he wanted, and she was the one he could never have. He shook off the thought, and cleared his throat.