disclaimer: Janette doesn't belong to me, i'm only borrowing her; no money is being made
author's note: I think I'm incapable of accurately writing Janette, so this is me writing Janette but not; written for medie's "Because We're Awesome" all about the girls challenge on livejournal
prompt: [Forever Knight] Janette--business
summary: An unconventional evening for a Toronto realtor and his mysterious client. Origin story for a certain Toronto club.
She's late he thought miserably as he reached for the lever to raise the car's heater. It's no one's fault but his own. He was a damn fool for agreeing to show his client the building after nightfall. There's a nice commission with this place but this was far too many hoops to jump through. He couldn't help but silently curse the eccentric requests of this mysterious, French accented woman.
A light rapping on his window knocked him out of his reverie and he reluctantly moved to lower the window. A blast of frigid air swirled through the cabin of his Volvo and what precious warmth there once was had been lost to the Toronto night.
It was the voice. He promptly forgot the curses he'd contemplated at the sound of his name being caressed by the silky timbre of her voice. It carried no hint of hesitant inquiry. Instead it was a statement of fact. She knew he was here.
Like an inept fool he awkwardly maneuvered his way out of the car and onto the slick curbside. Who he saw before him was a vision of pale creams and stylish black couture. She studied him with eyes so crystal blue he swore he saw the ocean in them, but the light lift of her eyebrow told him he hadn't made the right first impression. He was too taken aback to care. Despite the cold temperatures, she wore a wrap that looked more for show than for warmth and the porcelain skin that peaked out appeared iridescent in the moonlight. In short this lady was a knockout and he was completely smitten.
The first steps into what was formerly Club Fluid occurred in absolute darkness. The place didn't have any electricity. That normally wouldn't have been a problem--for a daytime showing. His agency had placed a few floodlights on a generator earlier in the day but he struggled to find it in the thick darkness.
A couple of failed attempts later the room was dotted with beacons of light. His client weaved appraisingly between the towers across the main dance floor, half hidden in the shadows. Not a single corner of the club escaped her inspection.
"I don't think they put any lights back there Ms. DuCharme," he called out when he saw her move towards the collection of rooms in the back. He hung back for fear of embarrassing himself more than he already had.
"I could see fine," she remarked succinctly upon her return to the main room. If he thought it was cold outside it was nothing compared to the sudden drop in temperature her tone created inside.
"OK, well the building is all up to code and the previous owners installed new light fixtures." He added conversationally.
"Yes well the previous owners had poor taste. All this will need to be redone, especially
the light fixtures."
Personally he thought they were nice but what the hell did he know. He still had an old couch duct taped together at home.
"But I do believe this place has potential," she continued. There was excitement in her eyes and the corner of her mouth curled into a half smile. If he wasn't already a goner that smile would have sent him over the edge.
"Great!" he exclaimed, sharing in her enthusiasm. "We can draw up the papers and be ready for the signing in a few days. What about your business associates Ms. DuCharme? Am I correct in assuming you won't be alone in this venture?"
Yeah it's chauvinistic. He knew it, but these types of clubs usually had a pretty, young thing working the crowd. It gave the place a touch of class. He figured she was just the public face for the project.
The minute the words left his mouth he wished he'd learn to keep his trap shut. He could swear he saw specks of gold dancing in her blue eyes before she blinked them away and made her way towards him--predator like. He took an involuntary step back before she stopped him with a firm grip on his upper arm.
"You see Mr. Collins, I don't play well with others. It puts a whole new spin on the phrase 'cutthroat business'."
He couldn't tell if she was kidding or not and when her eyes failed to shift he decided she wasn't.
"Well, um, ok," he began as he extracted himself from her grasp. "Just have your lawyer contact the agency and we'll draw up the final papers for his and your, of course, final approval."
"Thank you Mr. Collins. I'll be sure to do that," she remarked pleasantly.
With a token handshake in farewell she turned on her heel and walked towards the ramp that serviced the club entrance. Suddenly the question was out of his mouth before he was aware of it.
"Ms. DuCharme! The club, what are you planning on calling it?"
"The Raven," she replied simply and disappeared into the night.