Jules laughed. It was a weak exhale which staggered through his nostrils, accompanied with a smile so dry and thin like a cheap cigar. Both were phony; after all, it was never [i]funny[/i] to him how seriously and sincerely she enslaved herself to her labors. But he had to make light of it, trusting that neither of them was in the mood for a lecture.

"[color=#8d97bf]Hey, let's take it easy,[/color]" he beamed. "[color=#8d97bf]Kick your shoes off, have a Bloody Mary. We can worry about tomorrow's interviews [i]tomorrow[/i].[/color]" A vodka beverage with antioxidants and a sharp fruit flavor; perfect for the weight-watcher, Jules knew. He'd go for two fingers of something brown, which she would insist had more calories in it. Vodka and gin were for clean people, and indeed, those who wanted to hide their harsher flavors behind more pleasant ones. Jules had a knack for liking to punish himself, so he'd acquired the tastes.

He stepped out of the vehicle and, closing the door, fished worriedly through his pockets. "[color=#8d97bf]Uh oh—oh. Oh, thank Christ.[/color]" For a brief moment he had lost his keycard in the many nooks and crannies of his clothing, which was too bright and breezy for the damp air biting at their bones, with a sharpness like that of the chrome and glass of the skyscrapers this wind whistled between. He reached for his suitcase, and when she came round to his side of the vehicle, he gave her the door key.