It's only five," I say, turning over in bed with a groan. I peer up at Hondo with one eye. He's already showered and dressed. "I have an early meeting with a client," he says. "When did you start taking meetings with clients at obscene hours? Wait, when did you start taking meetings with clients at all?" I sit up and squint at him in the low light. "Hondo J. Farrer, are you wearing a sport jacket?" He smooths down the front, and then makes sure the collar lays flat. When he puts his hand down, a tag dangles out. "You might want to get rid of the evidence," I say. I grab a pair of scissors from the drawer in my nightstand. "Don't want anyone to know you're using new clothes to climb the career ladder." "Fine. I deserve that," he says. "But could you cut me a little slack now?" I hug him, sport coat and all. He kisses the top of my messy curls. "See ya later," I say, with a little wave. "I'm going to resume my coma now." The next time I wake up, it's nine o'clock. Now that I'm really awake, I feel like someone beat me up all night.
