Who: Sterling and Daphne When: Mid-morning Where: Kitchen
Considering an unknown drug still blurred his sights, it didn't take Sterling long to realise that the ceiling he had been staring at did not belong to the penthouse suite of any hotel owned by his family. Neither did the walls or anything contained therein. Absently wondering whether he had been kidnapped by a rival hotelier (which was extreme), he poked at his sides. His kidneys were still intact, always a bonus. Then again, who ever heard of black marketeers who put their victims up in accommodation of this standard? The I.V. was rude, though.
Exchanges over the internet -- intranet? -- left him metaphorically scratching his head. Did he take the idea of being kidnapped seriously? Quite honestly, no, because it seemed ludicrous that anyone would want to target him unless they wanted money. The genetics thing was too sci-fi dystopia for his tastes, it jarred at the point of possibly repeating it aloud -- which he'd not tried -- and went no further. Some people might have called that denial. Sterling didn't call it anything. He called himself bored. While he would readily admit that he was indeed the most interesting thing in his room, he was also hungry. Regrettably, he suspected he couldn't just call room service. Leaving his suit jacket draped over the bed, he spent a rather long moment smoothing out the creases that had rudely found themselves into his clothes. Door open, he dropped his cufflinks into his pocket and folded his sleeves to the elbow. Hardly ideal, but that would have to do.
With coffee on the mind a vague degree of attention was paid to the names on the doors he passed on the way downstairs. Over two dozen people, hadn't Cecilia said? As much as Sterling would rather he wasn't on the top floor, he was, so he ignored that minor inconvenience. It was a fairly quiet building for one that held so many--What's in there? A living room. Not the kitchen and not exactly ground-breaking; every house had one. So unless there was a coffee machine in there, Door Number Two looked rather more promising. Although he had to admit the foyer in and of itself was far from shabby. It just lacked food. Mulling over whoever was responsible for the decorating, Sterling nudged open a door that made his stomach rumble just by looking through it. Just how long had it been since he'd eaten? It was a question that crossed his mind and then disappeared as he eyed the coffee machine. In that moment he could almost have married it.