thatdarncat (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} thatdarncat) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} silverage, |
She was perched gingerly on the edge of the fountain, trying not to look pretty and chipper instead of as miserable as she felt. Large black hat, small black dress, the highest heeled black shoes she owned - what in God's name was she thinking? She avoided fanning herself with her hand, and instead skimmed her fingers along the surface of the water in the fountain. A black outfit in June. Honestly.
With a finger sliding across her forehead to wipe away sweat (a move she hoped at least looked graceful), she scanned the crowd for men she recognized from the newspaper or from work. Or anyone who looked like they had liquid assets, really.
"Hmm. Handsome. Ooh, very handsome - ooh, mechanic, damn. Nice watch - upper middle class. Nice shoes. Racer. He looks famili-...is that-?"
And there he was. One of the richest - well, probably the richest man she had ever seen in person, at least since she had seen Bruce Wayne that one time. And what was he wearing? She supposed it was no surprise - it's not like he could wear a suit during a race.
No matter what clothes he wore, this was big. This could be her meal ticket from here on out. She smoothed her dress and crossed her legs. Placing her hand behind her head, she raised her chin, Audrey Hepburn on her mind.
"Let him come to you," she thought, resisting the urge to chuckle with her own sudden nervousness, "Oh God above, let him come to you,"