[ota] time will tell....

[wouldbetrump]

Clive had spent the morning in his office, not behind his desk but...rather in front of his dry erase board. It was covered in a web of links and possible solutions to various inter-suit issues that peppered their troubles.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he licked his lips a moment.

Leaving his offices, he didn't pause to speak to many. No, no...The King of Spades was intent on tending to his business of the day as quickly as possible, it seemed. But what that business was might well have been up for debate.

Comments

[falsepretences]

He glanced up when Clive paused in the doorway of his office, his brows raising when he saw his expression. Well, Jordan thought, likely not a summons for dinner this time, and he set his pen aside as he flipped the folder on his desk closed.

He waited until Clive closed the door before speaking, though; there were some old habits that never died.

"Is something wrong?"

[bitchwithabite]

It'd been...far too long since they spoke. It was probably not the time for it, but Clive was going to have to face this one way or another. He was going to have to acknowledge it, one way or another.

Pulling her hair to one side, Amy fell into step with him, to his right and just a little behind him. "You're busy. I know. But we need to talk, and I'm hopin' we can do that now, or damn soon." And she could only hope that he wasn't going to push her away.

[maidenthespade]

He finds her in office, long legs stretched out to side of desk, head tilted back and seemingly staring into midair. To those who don't know her, it might appear as though Katya shirks duties or may even have dozed off. Those who do realize she is more comfortable ordering her thoughts in head than on paper or machine.

She calls it security. When in good mood and with those she trusts as much she ever trusts anyone, she will own to paranoia and laugh at own foibles.

Now, though, her gaze snaps to Clive, showing she is not as lost in thought as she may seem. "You look like man on mission," she tells him, face lighting. "Tell me it is to whisk me away from all this and I will kiss your feet, though perhaps only metaphorically."

[intolerantly]

Heels were loud on the stone floor, signifying an incoming hurricane. Ivona rounded the corner just as Clive stepped from his office, spying her target and approaching without care for formality or decorum.

"Did you not receive my message?" she began without preamble, hand on a hip. "Or is your new secretary simply that lax?"