Then Get Ready

The circle formed the way circles always formed around embarrassment: slowly at first, then eagerly once people realized it was safe to watch.

Felicity lifted the key fob closer to Elliot's chest.

"This is my car," she said. "You could deliver packages your whole life and never afford it."

There it was. The line she had probably been saving for someone smaller.

A man in a tailored navy jacket laughed through his nose. Two women near the railing looked away but did not leave. A valet carrying a tray stopped beside a pillar, eyes lowered, jaw tight.

Elliot noticed him. A young man named Ravi, if the staff file in Elliot's office was accurate. Twenty-two. Supporting his sister through nursing school. Written up twice last month after Felicity accused him of being slow with her car, though camera logs showed he had been helping another guest carry medical equipment to a lift.

Elliot had a good memory for details people used to survive.

He looked back at Felicity.

"Your car," he repeated.

"That's right."

She pressed the fob against her palm and tilted her chin as if the deck itself had been built to frame her face.

"And if this is actually yours," she said, raising her voice for the crowd, "I will drop to my knees right here."

The laughter was louder this time because the promise made the humiliation feel like a game.

Elliot glanced at the car again. Its black paint held the sunset and Felicity's reflection, turning her dress into warped stripes across the hood. The car looked cold, sealed, patient.

He did not tell her that the fob in her hand was real but useless now. He did not tell her that the valet manager had reported it missing ten minutes earlier. He did not tell her that he had already disabled it from the club system while walking up the ramp.

He only let the silence stretch.

Felicity's eyes narrowed.

"What? No comeback?"

Elliot's dimple appeared before the smile fully did.

"Then get ready," he said.