He rolled his eyes and watched his Skype correspondent/boss/friend, Stellan Elriksen, do the same on his laptop screen. Behind Stellan, in the posh office of the Kensington flat, Magnus Trammell traipsed stark naked in a hangover haze. After dropping that one slurred line, he stumbled out of the office, probably in search of more booze to ease his hangover.“What’s he doing at your place at—” Lars peeked at his watch and figured the time difference, “—one p.m. on a Saturday afternoon? And how come he’s even awake at this time?”Stellan shrugged. “He hit the button for the wrong floor, as usual. Heard him trying to get in at ten this morning. He was so wasted, I let him crash here rather than take him up to his flat.”Magnus strolled back into the office, still unclothed and clutching a green Heineken bottle. Taking a long swallow, he perched on the back of the executive chair, peering over Stellan’s shoulder. “You’re both in need of a good shag. How the hell can you go for so long without a woman?”Lars chuckled, finding Magnus the dose of lightness both he and Stellan needed, the perfect merry complement to their posse.
