Work has been a nightmare and Greyden has a cold. She's not in the mood to deal with bullshit, but she has to nearly geld some jerk blocking the entrance to her apartment in New York. "Move or I'll rip your balls off, asshole." Her glare is sharp as daggers and the guy in the way doesn't even breathe as he moves out of her way.
Too annoyed to wait on the elevator, she walks up the five flights of stairs to her apartment. At the door, she realizes she can't get to her keys without putting nearly everything down. Her head makes a loud 'thump' against the door and she clenches her teeth in frustration.
An eyebrow arches at the sound of locks shifting on the other side of the door. She takes a deep breath, rocks back and lifts her head. When she opens her eyes, Michael is on the other side of the door. "Where were you ten minutes ago?" she snarls.
"You know I'm not actually allowed to help you."
"Shut up and take some of this shit before I drop it." She thrusts several items at him that he begrudgingly takes if only so he doesn't lose vital body parts. "I'm sorry, Michael," she apologizes as she pushes the door closed and shifts Greyden on her hip.
He shakes his head, waves a hand. "Don't worry about it. I know the feeling. And I do wish I could help you."
"I know." She wipes Greyden's nose, which is met with much face-making and almost crying. "I need space."
"Know that feeling too. Go on. You deserve it. I'll give you your Christmas gift when you get back."
"When I get back?"
Michael just smiles and hands over the few bags he'd been saddled with. "When you get back."
She sneers and gathers her things up again. "See ya." Then she steps through the doorway in the living room...
And into the bar.
She steps off to one side enough to not block the door and drops her stuff. With a sigh she just looks at the bar, hoping she gets it. When her bags and other non-necessary baby things disappear, she nods thanks, then looks for a very comfortable place to sit.