Connie is dressed up in her spoiled, barely an adult, heiress persona–with freaking Eliot Spencer as her supposed bodyguard–when she spots a bright shock of messy blonde hair out of the corner of her eye.
“Oh fucking shit,” she curses, turning towards goddamn Eliot Spencer, so her face is hidden from what she is pretty sure is her twin brother and his mentor.
“What is it?” Eliot Spencer, what the hell, asks. If he weren’t constantly on alert, Connie would say he went on alert, but as it is his awareness just heightens instead. He moves in closer to her but doesn’t crowd her, which is greatly appreciated.
“Connie,” Ringo prompts over the comm line, when she continues to curse instead of answering, “What’s wrong?”
“Noah’s here,” she says between gritted teeth, because this sucks. This entire con might fail because her cover will be blown and it’ll be her fault.
“Who’s Noah?” Parker asks, skilled enough to simultaneously indulge her curiosity and break into the penthouse suite of a seventy story tall building.
“My brother,” she admits, hiding her grimace behind her flute of champagne. This is embarrassing and unprofessional.
“Noah? The only Noah on the guest list is…” Alec Hardison says, no doubt pulling it up on his computer in the surveillance van to check, “A Noah Gunderson, junior partner at Stuart and Hathaway law firm.”
“We have different last names,” Connie explains, and she feels stupid because this is something she should have checked before.
“Ooh, that’s him alright,” Zachary hisses through his teeth so as not to bring attention to himself as a waiter talking to thin air, no doubt spotting Noah himself, “I didn’t know he made junior partner, though, congrats to him.”
“Just last month,” Ringo says cheerfully, unhelpfully, “I sent a fruit basket with all of our names on it. God knows he needs the vitamins.”
“Ugh, you assholes can congratulate him in person when he finally spots me and kills this whole op,” Connie mutters.
“Hey, it ain’t over yet,” Eliot Spencer, oh my god, says reassuringly, and she doesn’t even flinch away when he puts a hand on her shoulder. She’s ruined the con and she’s freaking out? So embarrassing and unprofessional.
“He’s right; we can fix this,” Zachary says, grifter mind already flipping through options and strategizing. “You haven’t made contact with the mark yet, and the only person you’ve introduced yourself to as Leona is the VP and she’s already left the party. Get rid of Spencer’s tie, undo the top two buttons of his shirt, and loop your arm through his.”
“Oh god, this is why Noah hates us,” Ringo moans, easily catching on to the plan.
She follows Zachary’s instructions quickly, huddled in close so it’s not too obvious that she’s partially undressing someone in the middle of a formal party. With a casual movement, she drops the tie to the ground and kicks it beneath a table unseen, before turning around and linking her arm through his. In less than five seconds Connie turns from billionaire heiress to high class escort. Just in time, too.
“Connie?!” Her brother shrieks, the epitome of subtlety and class. Mr. Hathaway, Noah’s mentor, turns to look–and probably regrets it, what with the way his face twists at the sight of her. He’s always been extremely awkward around her.
“Well now, darling,” Eliot Spencer, she’s too busy to come up with more epithets, drawls–catching on and playing up his Texan accent–loud enough for her approaching brother to hear, “I thought your name was Rachel.”
“It is,” Connie says, insistent, as if she really were an escort under a pseudonym whose real name had just been shouted across the room, “He must be mistaking me for someone else,” and this time she glares at Noah, as if she really were angry at him for blowing her cover. Which she is, just not this cover.
“Oh,” Noah says dumbly, obviously, before unconvincingly adding, “I don’t know you at all! Sorry about that, you just looked like someone… oh, shrimp puffs!” He says, spotting a tray being carried over by a waitress, “Aren’t shrimp puffs great?”
Zachary and Ringo both sigh, out of relief and exasperation.
“I see acting skills do not run in the family,” Alec Hardison remarks dryly.
No they do not, Connie thinks as she watches her brother awkwardly try to chaperone what he thinks is his sister hired as an escort for some rich pervert. She is so sorry, Eliot Spencer.
A/N: Not an immediate continuation, but it is related to this drabble. Which would probably help make sense of the above drabble. And, again, this is me adapting my OCs from Counterpoise into Leverage.
Gotta get some stuff out of my system.