I froze- didn't know for how long- like my logic had been blacked out with the flash of the camera.
The sharp peppermint cologne, the texture of his lips and the taste and scent of coffee were all my mind was wrapped around, before the buzz of my phone.
Coming to my senses, I pushed Elliot away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. This was a Lockwood. I was supposed to feel disgusted, revolted.
Then, I surveyed our surroundings. No student was in sight, and no camera man was in sight. Of course.
After taking a snap he would've disappeared as quickly as the flash of his camera had come.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I demanded hotly.
Elliot calmly took a baseball jacket from the backseats, put it on, and zipped it up- like nothing had happened.
All the while, blood beat thick and fast in my temples. It was like I'd been drugged- my senses felt numbed, I felt dazed.
"As you can see, putting on a jacket," he replied with the slightest hint of annoyance in his voice. "You spilled- I mean poured- coffee on my shirt."
"Cut the crap." I glanced at my phone, hearing my heartbeat grow louder in my ears. Bianca was calling.
"Your father hasn't really been contacting you, has he? Well congratulations. Before the end of today, your father will probably call you with much thanks."
Elliot opened the car door, and with a pause, looked back at me with that sweet smile of his. "By the way, was that your first kiss?"
"W-what? No-"
"No problem. I'll teach you next time how to do a proper one," he said in a reassuring tone, sarcastic amusement in his eyes. "I thought I was kissing a statute."
I stared at him, flustered. "What proper-"
Before I could finish my sentence, he shut the door behind him, slinging on his bag on his shoulder.
"Player," I muttered, getting out of the car.
Elliot was waiting for me outside the car, glancing at his watch. "We'll have to walk a little fast."
"No, no. This is where we separate ways. You to your class and me to my class. My head's already sufficiently messed up because of what you said."
"Sorry to disappoint, Clare, but I'm not walking you to class. I'm walking to my class. Your first class is History with Mrs. Smith. Mine is too," he said, clearly enjoying my reaction as we walked briskly across the parking lot.
"You know my class? Wow, I applaud you for the detailed background check," I muttered, as we went up a flight of stairs.
"I guess your ex-journalist, and ex-press company CEO father didn't teach you much about observational skills," he muttered under his breath, his face breaking into a bright smile as he acknowledged the greetings of a female student passing by. "You're holding your timetable in your hand."
I didn't know whether to be creeped out or amazed by the swiftness of the change in his facial expression.
It was like a completely different face he put on. With the sunny smile, he was almost unrecognizably different.
Feeling my cheeks flush, I retorted, "Why would you look at my timetable?", feeling foolish as soon as the sentence was out of my mouth.
"I'm sorry I have eyes," he said coolly, as we walked down the corridor, slowly.
It was truly a talent, to choose words that irked me, every single time.
"Tell me. Why you're so sure it wasn't my father."
"Not telling until you help me first."
"With what? I already helped you. You kissed me in the car, probably got ready a hired papaparazi to take a photo just that time, and make sure word gets out that we're dating.
"And the news that we're dating spreads, within minutes companies and various stakeholders will start speculating Horan Holdings is not an outcast in the industry anymore thanks to Lockwood Co. exerting pressure on any company that dares to work with Horan Holdings.
"There was a new, young CEO put in place after Michael Horan was kicked out to the position of chairman, and with Lockwood's apparent forgiveness, Horan Holdings could rise to the top again. Shares will rise. People will talk, speculate.
"My father will realise what happened. It'll be easier to persuade him that publishing whatever you want him to publish at the end of the year will be for Horan Holdings's benefit and for justice, against Lockwood Co. Because he'll believe you're in love with me and want to help Horan Holdings."
Love. The word tasted funny in my mouth.
"So you do understand my strategy. But kissing, is what I did for you. Your job is to persuade your father that a Lockwood wants to take down Lockwood Co."
"What else am I supposed to do? I can't give you any help finding your biological mother's neighbour. Call the cops."
"Right. And have my father find out through his cop friends what I'm doing," said Elliot with impatience, shooting me with a are-you-serious look that for a moment I felt stupid.
"You can help me. I need to hire someone to track down where that neighbour is- whether she's buried under the ground somewhere or thrown onto some remote island."
The way he so flippantly brought up the possibility of the neighbour having been killed and buried in the dirt somewhere- by his own parents, whom he lived with. He wasn't kidding.
"Um. Okay. Then hire someone."
"I need someone good, someone who's not scared of the repurcussions of investigating a disappearance possibly linked to Lockwood Co." Elliot paused. "Someone not scared of being buried in the ground alongside my mother's neighbor. You know Ian Neil, don't you?"
"Ian?"
Sixty year old Ian Neil was editor-in-chief at Horan Holdings who had been working at the company from when he was twenty-three year old fresh out of college.
Even when Horan Holdings was cutting wages and letting employees go, Ian stayed, asserting he would breathe his last breath in his cubicle at Horan Holdings in front of his years-old Mac laptop.
"How do you know Ian?"
"I know he's like a father to you. I heard he's a very stubborn man, and a man of firm conviction. Was in jail for some time for writing a slanderous article against Lockwood Co., claiming Richard Horan was the one behind the scandal."
"Just how much digging did you do that you know that I know Ian?"
"Create an opportunity for you, me and Ian Neil to be in one place," he said, ignoring my question smoothly.
"Help me while I persuade him to investigate the disappearance of my mother's neighbour Katherine Cole. When you do, I'll tell you why I think your father's innocent."
We stopped in front of a cream coloured classroom door. Only then did I realise he'd walked us twice around the same staircase.
"Fine," I said. "Fair enough. I'll call Ian and check when he's free."
"Awesome. One more thing. For your sake and mine, let me borrow your hand for a while."
"No."
Elliot put his hand over his chest, feigning an expression of hurt. "You don't have to look so obviously disgusted. It's just for, say, thirty seconds."
With that, he took my hand, put it on his shoulder, and thrust open the classroom door.
Many pairs of eyes diverted from the teacher to us standing at the threshold of the door, then to my hand resting on his shoulder.
Class had already begun- on the whiteboard was 'Michelle Smith' scrawled in large cursives.
Fifty-odd year old looking Mrs. Michelle Smith with ruled-straight hair and dressed in a dark brown pencil skirt, looked at us with obvious annoyance on her face.
When her eyes landed on Elliot, however, her crumpled up face relaxed visibly.
"So sorry, Mrs. Smith. Clare here is new and she sprained her ankle a little. It took a while for us to come up the stairs."
Just a touch of an apologetic tone, with a mix of some sympathy towards me. This boy was a natural liar.
Almost instinctively, I relaxed my hand which had been resting stiffly on his shoulder, and mirrored his apologetic smile, while looking at Mrs. Smith.
"Oh of course, of course. You poor thing. Elliot- and-?"
"Clare, Mrs. Smith. It's my first day here-"
"Of course, of course. Elliot and Clare why don't you take a seat in the front row? So that it'll be easier for Clare to walk out of class."
When had it become 'Elliot and Clare'?
"Thank you, Mrs. Smith. Careful- slow steps, Clare," Elliot said, guiding me to the empty seat.
I found myself limping to the best of my ability, unable to believe my ears and eyes at how tender and gentle his voice and actions had suddenly become.
Boyish good looks and Oscar-worthy acting prowess- Hollywood had truly lost a potential star.
Mrs. Smith resumed class, but for the next one hour and a half, all that was in my head, were two things- Ian's phone number, and what had happened in the car.
The sharp peppermint cologne, the texture of his lips and the taste and scent of coffee-
"Clare. Clare?" Elliot's jarringly warm, kindly voice snapped me out of the unpleasant recall.
"What a first day." The owner of the red Lamborghini wearing a "Hard Rock Cafe" round neck tee under the school uniform, stood in front of Elliot and me, grinning. "Clare, right? It's Noah. Nice to meet you."
With wispy, tough blond hair cut short and a tan line stark just below the neck of his shirt, Noah looked like someone who definitely took advantage of the sun and the beach of this place.
I wouldn't be surprised if there was a surfboard in the back of his car.
"Oh. Hi, nice to meet you." Noah was friendly. I wondered if it was the same kind of friendly Elliot Lockwood was.
In the backdrop of his deep, sun-tanned skin, Noah's smiling ocean blue eyes seemed even bluer.
"Congratulations. I just saw the article. You're very photogenic, but the photo didn't do you justice."
Noah slid his phone towards me across the table, and winked. "You're much more beautiful in real life."
'Is this sign Horan Holdings is forgiven?'
The title, printed in red on the front page of a tabloid, accompanied two photos- one, of the two of us walking across the parking lot, and another, of us kissing in the car.
Blood from the rest of my body seemed to all flush up to my face. I let out a soft groan, acutely aware of the curious stares and murmurs of students cast on me as they filed out of class.
"I thought dear Elli was a priest!" A slow beam spread across Noah's face. "For him to kiss a girl- date- ah, my wish is granted. Congratulations once again, dear sister-in-law. I'll prepare my best man's speech. I'm a slow writer, I'll need some preparation."
A priest, as if. From the way he behaved in the car, I was sure that wasn't his first time. So he deceived Noah too.
"Noah," sighed Elliot, and then, facing me, smiled.
It was such a gentle, loving smile that tugged the corners of his lips and crinkled his eyes, such a smile that almost completely transformed his face, that for just a few seconds, I found myself relaxing, looking back at his face.
"See you during lunch. Your friend Bianca seems to be waiting for you."
Only when Bianca's name came from his lips, did I realise this was Elliot Lockwood.
Wow. I'd just witnessed the power of a smile. It could be deceiving, all right.
"Right," I mumbled in a daze, looking up to see Bianca waiting in front of me, a thousand questions in her eyes.
"We should make our way to class. You've hurt your ankle," Bianca added, emphasising each word syllable by syllable like someone who had learnt to pronounce them for the first time, her eyebrows raised.
Sheepishly, I stood, and leaned my hand against her offered arm. "Right."
Noah waved, leaning against the table Elliot was sitting at, popping a candy into his mouth. "See you around, Clare and-"
Without giving Noah a chance to finish, Bianca turned us around, and started walking us out of the classroom while I followed, wondering how much I should be pretending to limp.