After walking out of the gallery Della stood by her car for a moment trying to collect herself and catch her breath. She had heard of the infamous Bette Porter of course, but had decided to risk falling victim to her charms (which, she thought, would not really be so bad at all) and becoming yet another one night stand, to see if all the buzz about her gallery was legitimate.

While at first her expectations had been exceeded by the artwork, she had felt that Bettes reputation was a bit undeserved. Her initial shyness and slight lack of composure were as endearing as the intelligence and ferocity Bette showed during their discussion of the art was impressive. Della did not understand how Bette could have gotten her reputation. She certainly was strikingly beautiful and, once in her own element, intoxicatingly charming; but she just didnt seem like the kind of woman who slept with a different girl every night. It wasnt until Della was alone with Bette in her office that she understood where Bettes reputation had come from. Just the simple touch of their shoulders against one another sent an electric charge through Dellas body. It had taken all of her self control not to give away the fact that her skin felt as though it was on fire or to stumble as she described her preliminary case outline. As soon as Bettes secretary returned Della checked her watch and said that she really must be going. Phone numbers were exchanged and Della promised to call Bette as soon as she had a thorough case outline done, thanked her again for the tour and the two shook hands. Again, Della felt a pulse go through her at the contact. She managed to slip out of the office and around a corner to an alcove where she could rest against a wall and make sure her suddenly wobbly knees wouldnt give out. She recouped as quickly as possible and walked out to her car.

Now as she got back into her car she went to step on the gas pedal and notice something odd. Oh *****! What am I, ***** Cinderella? She let her head slam down on the rim of her steering wheel. She sat there for a while deliberating whether or not she should return to the gallery to retrieve her shoes. Eventually she got out of her car, still cursing herself for forgetting her shoes, and hoping that she could go rescue her shoes without running into Bette and ruining the impression of confidence and togetherness which she had already struggled to keep