“Oh Oliver,” Felicity sighs to herself as she sits under his desk tinkering with some of the wires. She knows she should be patient with him, and that five years on an island should be a reasonable enough reason for his practice with technology to be on the rustier side, but still. She’s less than impressed with the way he handles his machines.
If on the other hand he treated it like he treats his body, she shakes her head, scolding herself for allowing her mind to drift in that direction. She needs to focus on the wiring.
A few minutes later she hears Oliver’s voice coming in from outside his office. He doesn’t sound like the Oliver she knows, he sounds like his playboy CEO other half. Felicity swears softly, knowing that the only reason that persona would be present is if he was with someone.
“Please go to the conference room,” she prays silently from under his desk, because how the hell would she explain to his visitor her reason for being there? She could always tell the truth, but Oliver’s reputation precedes him, and she just knows for a fact that no one would believe the truth.
The footsteps come closer, the second set come in the form of heels clicking against the marble tiles, and she’s fairly certain who those particular shoes belong to.
“Where is your assistant?” asks Isabel Rochev sounding less than impressed with her disappearance.
“She’s probably out running an errand,” Oliver covers, although he himself clearly has no idea Felicity assumes, because if he knew she was under his desk, he probably would not be leading Isabel towards it.
“Some assistant,” Isabel mutters. Felicity makes a face.
“Ms. Smoak is remarkable at her job,” Oliver replies.
Felicity can hear the sound of a chair being scraped across the ground, which means that Oliver, the gentleman that he is, is pulling her chair.
It also means that she’s probably seconds from being discovered.
She presses herself as far back as she can, her legs folded beside her, since it’s pretty much the only position her fitted dress will allow her to sit in. The desk is massive, but it has so many drawers and nooks that the area that Felicity has squeezed herself into is fairly small.
She cringes in embarrassment the moment that Oliver spots her. He stops suddenly, a look of surprise passing over his eyes for barely a moment before it’s gone. He’s still smiling but his lips are pressed together tightly.
“On other thought,” Oliver says ignoring her, “Maybe we should move this into the conference room?”
“I’m perfectly fine here, Mr Queen,” Isabel replies curtly, “It’s just the two of us so your desk should suffice.”
“As you wish,” Oliver replies his smile tightening even more as he takes a seat in his chair, but he doesn’t move to push it in.
“I don’t bite,” Isabel says dryly, most likely noticing the distance between Oliver and his desk. Even Felicity is overcome with the need to roll her eyes. She glares at him, which he catches when his eyes meet hers for a split second. Slowly he moves forward. Felicity pushes herself as far back as she can go, but it is almost impossible for them to avoid touch each other.
His knee brushes up against her shoulder, while his other leg rests on the other side of the desk in order to give her the most space possible. It also means that his legs are splayed open, and from her spot under the desk, she can’t help but to take a glance or two.
Twenty minutes later Isabel Rochev is still talking her face off, and Felicity is bored. She shifts slightly and lets her arm rest on Oliver’s knee as she chews her nail absent-mindedly.
A movement by Oliver captures her attention. He moves his hand under the table, and in it, is his cell phone. She smiles to herself as she takes it from him. It’s stupid, but she’s ridiculously pleased that he can sense her boredom from under his desk.
After putting the phone on silent, she opens his apps and pulls up Candy Crush. She dismayed to find him stuck on level 35, when on her own phone, she’s well into the 200’s.
She rests her chin on Oliver’s knee and gets to work. However, it can only distract her for so long. Her bum feels numb and both her feet are asleep, but Isabel Rochev marches on about their financial statements, oblivious to Felicity’s discomfort.
Unable to help herself, she pokes at Oliver’s calf, something she’s always wanted to do, and is unsurprised to find it as hard as a rock. Not even an ounce of fat on that thing. She pokes at it a few more times until Oliver’s foot lightly nudges her own in warning.
She smiles despite herself. Her hand however seems to have a life of its own before it starts running up and down his calf. When he doesn’t immediately stop her, her hands travels northward, her fingers skimming his pant covered thigh, inching slowly upwards until his hand reaches down to stills hers before she has a chance to go further.
“Ms. Rochev,” Oliver says in a voice that is huskier than he had probably anticipated, “As fascinating as this all is, I do have another appointment soon.”
“Very well, Mr. Queen,” She sighs. The tell-tale sound of the chair scraping backwards indicates that she is finally leaving.
“Assistant not back yet?” She asks with clear distain, probably noticing that Felicity’s desk is still empty.
“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” Oliver replies easily, getting up to follow her out.
It isn’t until that Felcity hears the elevator doors closing that she crawls out from under the desk. She stretches herself out, which feels like paradise after being stuck under a desk for nearly an hour.
Oliver leans against the door looking amused.
“I was trying to fix your computer,” Felicity says in her own defence.
“Is that why you also started to feel me up?” Oliver asks, a ghost of a smile playing upon his lips.
“I was bored,” Felicity replies weakly. “Don’t you have another appointment now or something?” Felicity mutters as she tries to get past him but he blocks her way.
“Well that depends entirely on you,” Oliver replies, “Do you have dinner plans Ms. Smoak?” He asks with one of his rare smiles.