As far as Thomas was concerned, ten in the morning was far too early to be out and about. It was too early to be awake at all, but evidently the plane was on a schedule and had another flight to make from Seattle. What good was a private plane if he couldn’t control the schedule?
Well, Lara could, he supposed, but that wasn’t doing him any good just now. He’d picked up a double espresso en route to Orchid’s shop, but the cup was already empty and he was still tired. Damn. Hopefully it would pass soon. At least he hadn’t spilled anything onto himself–or worse, onto the car’s upholstery. His own clothing was practically disposable anyway, regardless of how much the white designer jeans had cost him. The shirt was a casual button-up, but it was half unbuttoned anyway, as if he just hadn’t been bothered to finish dressing himself.
Which was exactly the case.
He hadn’t bothered with his hair, either, but somehow that looked artfully disheveled rather than sloppily disheveled, but his vision had still been a bit blurred from not getting nearly enough sleep when he’d glanced vaguely at the direction of the mirror, so it hadn’t done him any good anyway.
He pulled his Bentley up alongside Orchid’s place, half across the sidewalk, hoping that she was actually here, that she hadn’t forgotten all about the trip–but how could she have? She’d been so eager to go and to get away from the drama of Chicago for a while, and he really couldn’t blame her. He was looking forward to it, too, and he wasn’t the one being stalked by a persistent Denarian.
Really, the bigger danger here was that she might not actually be awake yet herself. He didn’t know what schedule she usually kept. She didn’t seem like any more of a morning person than he was, but presumably her shop sometimes opened earlier. He really didn’t remember. He just fumbled for his phone and managed to send her a text, opting out of obnoxiously leaking on the horn in the interest of not pissing off half the street.
[text] I’m here, get your stuff and let’s go take a plane at the asscrack of dawn or whatever
“The last name is pronounced Jill-en-hall. It’s spelled with two l’s, two a’s. We have a song in my family; G-Y-Double L - EN - HAAL spells Gyllenhaal. It’s a Swedish name. It’s a family heirloom set to music.”