Morningstar Manor

This morning they'd both been craving more than just the regular coffee they had in the flat so Deacon had headed down to the Mocha to get them both something caffinated and sweet. While waiting in line he'd spotted Amarie chatting with a friend and overheard a bit of their conversation.

"He was flirting with you?"

"Yes! And he was so old!"

"How old?"

"Like....like forty!"

Deacon had cringed and gotten their coffees then headed back up to the apartment, frowning a bit. He was still frowning when he walked in and handed Charlie his mocha.

The restaurant had been closed, although the sign said re-opening soon. For a moment, and only for a moment, Gregori had considered health scares, and then instantly dismissed them as something the Emily he knew would not tolerate. Plus, he vaguely recalled her mentioning something about the restaurant closing for a month, which was how she'd been able to enter the competition. He'd smiled, that meant she should be at home, and he knew where that was.

A taxi had deposited him outside the Manor doors, and he'd looked up, it certainly fitted the image he had of the place, and with an almost imperceptible straightening of his shoulders he marched up to the doors and into the Lobby. He barely glanced at the architecture or decor, his attention fixed on the security desk and the man behind it as he strode towards it. "Good afternoon, I wish to speak to Emily Brandon, I am Gregori Rushenko, old friend from CIA. You will call please?"

It might have been that he was a little nervous, or the fact that he was more interested now in the opulence and grandeur of the lobby itself, or even that he'd only been introduced the once, for like three minutes and that several weeks ago now, but truly, he didn't recognise the man behind the desk.

Deacon had talked to both Nick and Jack and neither was available anytime soon to hit the town. He'd been about to decide to just go on his own when another name popped into his head. He had to look up the number and then dialed and got voicemail.

"Hey, Niles, it's Deacon. You got any plans this week or weekend? I've been takin' care of a sick kid and a sick Charlie and he's decided I need a night out for my services. And that's always more fun with two. Lemme know if you want to join."

At the end of a long day the last thing she wanted was to have to sort through a mass of junk mail but that was exactly what Andy was doing.

"Jerry," she complained. "Why can't you weed it out?" she said. "I've got a spam filter on my emails, you could be my spam filter down here. Go on - I'd make it worth your while... You want me to what? Get outta town!"

The morning of her day off had been spent working on test cakes for Spencer and Roxy's wedding, and taking photos of the cat lapping whipped cream. Then she had received a surprise guest - Gregori Rushenko all the way from California! He really had not been kidding about staying in contact and coming to visit her. The real surprise had been, however, why he had come to see her. Afterwards, that meeting heavy in her mind, Emily had then went on the weekly dance class with Vincenzo.

When Vincenzo had asked about Gregori, the explanation had gotten stuck in her throat in a strangling sensation. Emily had not told him why he had come by. She didn't really know why - she just couldn't. All she had said was that Greg was in the City on business and had come see her. She hadn't been exactly lying.
( What had Gregori really wanted? )

Elspeth had loosened the button on her blouse and kicked her shoes off underneath the desk and closed the office door, keeping it quiet so as not to give away that she was still inside...but she was. Late night, working hard, keeping everything up to date so tomorrow she could wake from too-few hours of sleep and do it all again.

But it was better than going home alone right now, which is what she'd be doing.

She sifted through papers, her fingers whispering over applications and letters of recommendation.

Gavin was drinking slowly but surely, and pondering the state of life.

He was in love with his brother's wife; he knew this for sure.

He was possibly crazy; that had never been in dispute.

His brother was an asshole -- that he'd never questioned, but he loved his brother, too.

Heavy sigh.

Another drink.

Anastasia had always done the laundry, but when he started coming home with questionable stains on his trousers, Trevor had taken to doing his own dirty wash. He'd told her it was to give her a break so she had more time for painting.

Most of him actually meant it, that was the thing.

Now he tossed armfuls of clothes into a washer, his face set in concentration.