Obviously, his features were striking. He cut an impressive figure, and he emanated a sort of brood drew the eye, and so as she walked toward the building, she hadn't missed him, but had gone out of her way not to gape. One of her clients who lived in Newport Beach was having an all-day barbecue-cum-pool party. The event was far from over, but Cat had slipped off to pick up some Vicodin from home. She felt a migraine coming on, and acquiring it from the client or one of his friends would give the wrong impression. Well, maybe not the wrong one, but not the one she wanted to give.
And so she was back at Pax, trying to beat the pounding in her head to her apartment; if she took the pills in time, she'd be all right -- better than ever, in fact -- but there he was, Elias Sandoa, who apparently had decided to act as though he didn't know her.
It was strange when he didn't talk to her. Her greeting had been polite enough, but after the way she'd responded to his rather grand gesture, she imagined he might still be stinging. That he couldn't respond to a simple greeting made her bristle inwardly a bit more than she cared to admit, but outwardly, she maintained her cool and walked, heels quietly clacking on the tile, to her mailbox. When he smiled at her, her own expression reflected her reaction in an arched brow as she looked at him over her mail. It was as though he were seeing her for the first time -- not just today, but ever.
Then she realized he was.
Still, he'd ignored her greeting at the door, though he'd obviously been distracted... again, she felt a sting of annoyance, but it was subverted by the affect of his smile, and the realization that he'd not intended any insult.
Of course, what he intended once he did realize who she was remained to be seen.
"Elias," she said, her voice smooth, even, and cordial. "How are you?"