Zero to Sixty

When the bell rings, it takes everything within Oliver not to sigh in relief. Tara's red lips form a pout, but he's already rising from his chair to move on to the next table, barely murmuring an audible goodbye. There's no question this is the worst thing he's ever done—and he spent five years in absolute hell after his father's yacht went down in the North China Sea. Well-intentioned or not, Oliver reminds himself to never agree to anything Thea asks again.

Especially not speed dating.

At first, he thought it had seemed better than the other alternatives. Meeting a new woman every five minutes for two hours seemed simple; if one wasn't ideal, he could quickly move on to the next. But after seventeen banal women asking prying or inappropriate questions, Oliver is beginning to rethink his logic. If he had refused, he could be putting arrows in criminals right now.

At least, he supposes, there are only seven more left before the night is over and he can report his attempt at socialization to his beloved sister.

He arrives at the next table on his card at the same time as yet another blonde with red lipstick—his fifth matching that description tonight. In the sea of revealing dresses and not-quite-contained cleavage, she manages to be a novelty anyway. Her sleeveless, red dress flounces around her knees, the only embellishment a small, flirty cutout at her breastbone. After staring down at her card with a frown, she points to the number in the middle of the table and nods once, her ponytail flouncing as she adjusts her glasses.

With a growing sense of dread and fake smile, Oliver moves to stand next to her, keeping a respectable distance between them. "Hi, I'm Oliver," he tells her, though his upbeat tone falls flat.

She gapes at him for a moment, and, just when he thinks it's about to begin again, she rolls her eyes. "I know who you are," she responds in a soft voice with some gravel at the edges, an octave lower than he expects. "Your face has been on the tabloids for ages—I haven't been living under a rock." Her head tilts to the side, her ponytail swaying. "No offense, but this isn't your scene, is it?"

After a moment of floundering at her fresh dialogue and the way her blue eyes sparkle with kindness, he finally admits to her, "I had no choice in the matter."

To his surprise, her eyes light up further. "Hey, me, too," is her response. He waits for a name—their pause a heartbeat too long. Her cheeks fill with unexpected color. "Oh, yeah—I'm Felicity."

He offers her his hand. "Nice to meet you, Felicity."

She stares down at his offered hand as though it's a dead fish, and, just as he's about to rescind the offer, she takes it. "Oh, a handshake." Her hand is soft in his, her purple fingernails contrasting oddly with the back of his hand. "That's... different." Her tone attempts brightness, but falls short.

Oliver grimaces. "Apparently I'm out of practice."

To his surprise, Felicity immediately waves away his almost-apology. "No, I like it," she assures him with a small smile. It seems genuine, as do her words. "It establishes us as equals." In a lower voice, she adds, "It's definitely the nicest greeting I've gotten tonight. One guy tried to hug me." She cringes at the memory. Oliver's lips press together to keep a laugh from escaping as she waves a hand through the air flippantly. "I mean, I'm a hugger, but I like to actually know someone for more than thirty seconds first."

With a smile that's more honest than he's been with anyone since he returned home, he pulls out her chair. "Have a seat."

When her eyes widen, Oliver thinks he might have crossed an unspoken boundary—he's already had two women lecture him about independence and how they didn't need men to do things for him—but then she shakes her head. "Wow, pulling the chair out for me?" she asks. Before he can defend himself, she adds, "That's a nice touch." Felicity slides onto the chair, smoothing the hem of her skirt beneath her. "They say chivalry is dead." Her voice lilts as she teases him, a sound he doesn't think he'd mind hearing more of.