Sighing, Clove dog-eared her page and closed her book, putting it in the crevice between the edge of the chair and her leg. “How in the world did you find me?”

“In this day and time, my dear Clove, there’s this thing called the Internet,” Cato reminded the petite brunette in front of him with a wink. She however, didn’t seem too take much interest in what he was saying, and a ghost of a scowl fell over her features.

“So you’re saying that in your free time, you search for girls that you’ve randomly met on the side of the street on the Internet? That doesn’t make you sound too good Cato; in fact it wants me to call the cops even more than I did before,” she said, pursing her lips together. Her face fell into a deadly looking grimace, which was enough to scare Cato out of his mind. Come on Cato; don’t let some girl who’s about as big as a Chihuahua terrify you.

“Even if you did call the cops on me, it wouldn’t affect me in the ways you think it would. I’ve had my fair share of running into those bastards,” he muttered under his breath. His eyes trailed back up to where hers were, just to see her piercing green eyes staring at him widely in confusion. He watched as she slowly brought her cup up to her lips, taking a sip of her coffee but never taking her eyes off him.

“Why does that not surprise me?” she mumbled under her breath before raising her voice. “What were you doing that got you the cops on your ass? Or do I even want to know?”

Cato rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling rather loudly. “A better question might be what wasn’t I doing? Not everyone’s so good and innocent in this world, Clove, surely you’d know that.”

“If you’re calling me naïve, then clearly you don’t know who you’re talking to,” Clove snapped almost instantly. “I know my fair share of fucked up people and I’ve had my moments.”

Cato raised an eyebrow. “Now I can’t see that happening. Surely Daddy keeps you on a short enough leash so that you won’t go around messing up his image with your teenage antics,” he said. Clove’s upper lip turned upwards in a snarl.

“Ever since my little stint in Vegas, I’ve been watched like a hawk by everyone. There’s not much room to fuck up when you’re Clove Ashton.”

“Do I have that much of an effect on you?” he asked. Clove looked down at him skeptically, and in response he tipped his head to the side. “You know. I’ve got you all riled up; now you can’t even speak around me…face it. You’re feeling something.” 

“I’m three seconds away from taking Anna Karenina out of my bag and giving you a minor concussion.”

“You know Ashton, the Nile isn’t just a river in Egypt,” Cato said in ever the flirty manner, wiggling his eyebrows. Clove however, wasn’t amused in the slightest.

“My name is Clove,” she said stonily. Cato nodded.

“Right; want me to call you Cloverfield or Ashton?” he retorted. He swore that he saw that tiny hand of hers dart into her bag in search for a book that could possibly kill him, but maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. She was still as a statue.

“What I want is for you to leave me alone, okay?” she said, turning on her heel and beginning to walk down the sidewalk. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t leaving. No girl ever left. But maybe Ash-Clove wasn’t like every other girl.

For God’s sake, she carried Tolstoy around like it was Chapstick.

“You’re not much of a sweet disposition, are you?”

“If this is your way of calling me a cruel, heartless bitch, then thank you.”

“Who replaced your Lucky Charm marshmallows with nails?”

“Who stuck a tree up your ass?”

“No one, because this is Manhattan, and the only trees here are fake.”

this would be emily’s awkward clato fic. it’s au, okay. deal.

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