The events of Saturday had left James feeling very out of sorts. Even after it all had passed, James couldn't shake the gentle unease that pervaded her conscious mind. She hadn't been herself. The way she'd nearly fainted in the theatrics of the stairwell, or how she'd gotten so dismissively catty over the forum with the young woman in 701.
Well, what did she expect? Going on about being a princess like it made --
There was a slow, tired lowering of velveteen lashes over that tangent of thought as she stepped into 501 and nudged the door closed with the tapered spike of her heel. She didn't think it strange that she'd started wearing heels again. While she always wore them in times of work, James could always remember a deadly impatience to step out of them as soon as possible. But now -- well, she liked what they did for her legs. So what, couldn't she change her mind about little things like that? Was it a crime? So what if she sometimes got catty? So what if she threw fits and dishes and mascara wands? So what?
James must have trekked across the note three or four times in the dark. Dropping her purse onto the glorious, red brocade of her couch. Peeling herself from the buttons of her coat. It wasn't until the lights were on that she saw the envelope and tentatively picked it up.
Despite harrowing on with her so whats and her petulance, the tiny cursive words made James' bottom lip quiver. She smiled, pressing the card to her chest and sat down at her laptop immediately.