Chapter Text
“Christ!” Her very hot tea sloped down her front. The wall-like creature she had just walked into apologised. His voice made her head snap up.
Fuck. Looking down at her was the stupidly tall and handsome Mr. Darcy. There was little more than surprise on his face.
“What are you doing here?” She wished her voice wasn’t as accusatory but her chest was hurting and her shirt was wet, and somehow William had not managed to get even the slightest bit rumpled by walking into her.
Although, his neck and cheeks had turned pink. He ruffled his hair sheepishly.
“I-erm- well this is one of my buildings…” Right. William Darcy was richer than Midas. She had noticed the logo on the side of the building, now that she thought about it, a logo-- emblem? Crest?-- that had been on one of the envelopes at Netherfield during her stay there. He was watching her cautiously.
She cursed her luck. Of course she had just taken a new contract which would force her to be in his building often for the next few weeks. He was still watching her, she realized he was waiting for her reply.
“Oh, I see.” She managed, she began fishing in her purse for something to dry herself with.
Her shirt was sticking against her skin, the soggy fabric was stained beyond saving.
She pulled out some tissues from her purse and attempted to dry herself off. He glanced down and grimaced.
“Sorry.” She shrugged in response. The dislike that usually arose within her when they met had long ago evaporated. The awkwardness of seeing him at all, after the disaster in Kent, however, was palpable. She was almost pleased that she had an excuse not to look him in the eye.
“Do you have a meeting now?” He asked as she continued to dab at her shirt fruitlessly.
“Hmm? Yes.” What would her clients think? She was sure that the owners of Gardener & co. would be more than happy to see her in a tea stained shirt.
“If you have five minutes, my sister leaves some things in my car in case things like this happen.” She looked up sharply. A change of shirt would be wonderful, even if it didn’t quite fit.
“Really?” He nodded.
“Our mother’s fault, she was always meticulously prepared for every situation.” She met his eye. He seemed sincere.
The thought of William Darcy helping her was surreal. But she only had fifteen minutes…
“Yes, alright. That would be lovely.”
The elevator ride was one of the most awkward of her life. They made absolutely no attempt at small talk and, with just they two there, the old jazz love song felt inappropriate.
His car was very clean. The trunk held little except, as he showed her, an extra suit, and a simple ensemble that must belong to his sister.
The shirt was slightly crinkled, but it was awfully better than her own.
“When should I give this back?” She watched as he closed the trunk. He glanced back at her.
“Tomorrow, if you’re free. We could meet in the coffee shop downstairs. I think I owe you a drink.”
“Sure.” She answered before thinking.
She really should have thought it through, she realised when her meeting ended and she smoothed the slightly over large shirt.
It almost sounded like she had a date with William Darcy.
It dawned on her the next day, on the elevator down from the 10th floor, that she had dressed in her favourite work clothes. Her hands were sweating. She had to remind herself several times that it wasn’t a date.
She tightened her grip on the bag in which she had put the freshly laundered shirt. She had even pressed it.
Darcy was more casually dressed than she had ever seen him. His suit coat was draped neatly over his chair and his shirt sleeves had been rolled up to reveal his forearms.
Elizabeth idly wondered why men didn’t sport the fashion as often as they could. She had never been able to understand the science behind the exposed forearm, but it was a fact. All men became at least sixteen percent more attractive, and in William Darcy’s case… well the effect was more pleasing than she would ever be at liberty to admit. She wiped her hands on her skirt.
His nose was buried in a book, she couldn't see the title.
When he saw her, only a few moments later, he stood and smiled warmly.
She didn't really know what to do, so she smiled back.
She slid the bag-- of the cheap and plastic variety-- onto the table between them.
"Thank you, and thank your sister too. I hope she doesn't mind that I borrowed her clothes."
"She doesn't mind, really." He paused, tugged at his watch. He was nervous, she had only seen him do that once before. She pushed the memory aside-- she refused to blush.
"Can I offer you coffee? Or lunch?"
She was hungry.
"I'm fine." She lied, her stomach gurgled traitorously. Her face warmed up.
William lifted a single brow. The corner of his lips were twitching up in amusement.
“Please, I know you’re busy. And I owe you, at the very least, a tea.”
She laughed, “You’ve already more than made up for it.” She gestured lamely at the bag.
He shrugged.
Something about his eyes conveyed to her what his words could not, what they would not. They held within them a genuine wish to please and to make amends.
She knew it went deeper than a spilt tea. It was for Kent. It was an offer to begin again.
Returning home that evening, she found that William Darcy was stubbornly lingering in her thoughts.
She found, when she really considered it, that she didn’t mind at all.