We could tell by the furrow between his eyes, it had not gone well.

[Coexist]

After a furtive glance around the smallish conference room for members of the press, he sat down with a thump, and kicked his Ferragamo loafers off. It was a signal we knew well, and there were quick motions to attentiveness; all leaned forward and inhaled. "Who the hell's was supposed to be in charge of arranging this damn event. I won't even go into what is wrong with it."

He ended on a bark, and the pencil-slim blonde seated to the right, and slightly behind him winced as if avoiding a blow. This might go on for the entire 18 minutes we had before re-boarding the bus, and the tight knot hardened in our collective stomachs. Bracing for the onslaught, we were quickly distracted as the brass handle to the only entrance to the room turned. The door opened and a brunette entered, attitude first, and enveloped us all in a cloud of Armani. The blonde's eyes narrowed imperceptibly before she began studying her shoes with odd intensity. As was his way in this situation the man seemed torn; disgust and desire battled openly in his eyes, in his demeanor. Settling on the softer emotion, his shoulders relaxed, and we all expelled the breath we hadn't realized we had been holding in.

Twelve. more. days...