It was a little awkward sharing the elevator with Sophie, because she thought Sophie might be angry about the milkshake. Also, it had been a really bad throw. It must really suck to have bad aim.
Sophie took off her jacket and blouse and, while the elevator descended, mopped the worst of the milkshake off using the blouse. On the ninth floor, the the elevator stopped.
Alec wasn't really sure what set Sophie off; nothing seemed really different when she came in, sorting through her mail. Nate was drinking, but just at maintenance levels, a whiskey that would last him most of the morning. Parker was sparring with Eliot -- or not really, mostly dancing around him, aiming quick little jabs at his hands while he blocked her, some kinda game they sometimes played that he couldn't figure out how to score -- and Sophie had to flatten herself against the wall to squeeze past.
They all have their rules.
The next day, as Eliot slouched in the door late, Parker popped up and waved something under his nose: "Look!"
It was her phone, showing a photo of three cats in what he presumed was some sort of insanely expensive cat-box. It was upholstered, and crammed with teeny cat-size gymnastics challenges, and Hardison's hand could also be seen in the photo, making one of the cats wave a paw.
Parker recruits Eliot for a side job. Comedy and horror ensue.
