Shawn pounded heavily on the door, but it seemed to have to effect, as Claire's music was blaring so loudly, she couldn't possibly have heard. Seeing there was nothing for it, he turned the knob and stuck his head around the door. The music was even more deafening inside, and Claire stood with her back to him in front of her closet wrapped in a towel, her tangled blonde hair clinging damply to her face. She hopped from foot to foot and bobbed her head emphatically to the beat as she puzzled over her wardrobe choices for the morning.
"I could file a noise complaint." He said, smiling.
She whipped around, and seeing him in her doorway, narrowed her blue eyes. "Like you could hear this all the way up in your penthouse." She turned the volume dial down on the stereo, bringing the din to a manageable level. "So what, are you trying to catch me naked again?"
He smiled crookedly, unsure whether to be flustered. "No, ah, just bearing a message. Joan is out sick so we're going to need you to work the floor this afternoon."
She pursed her lips. "Okay." She moved to shut the door, but he stopped her with his arm.
"Hey, are you listening to a record?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but technology's come a long way since you've been gone."
She scoffed. "Yeah well, I can't get the bass right at all on those things. Too many buttons and not the right ones if you ask me. Besides, it just sounds better like this. Sid Vicious had a bass for a reason, and I like to feel it. Now if there's nothing else – "
"Nope, just – hey, what's that?" As she moved to close the door, he noticed an angry purple bruise on her shoulder blade.
"It's nothing. I'll be on the floor at two." She closed the door before he could protest any further.
The bruise, which she now probed gingerly with her fingers, was of course the result of Jordan's experimentation of the previous night, and it was only one of several that were forming all over her body. Luckily, and probably calculatingly, Jordan had avoided aiming any of his projectiles at her face, so she figured that with the right pantsuit, no one would be the wiser. Of course she had no idea how she would get through an afternoon of working the Center's reception floor, giving visitors tours and answering their inane questions, while her joints ached so badly she feared they would just give up entirely. Still, there was nothing for it. Jordan had made it perfectly clear to her where she stood at the Center. She was there to perform a function, and should she fail, she could be thrown out on the street without a second thought. Despite his questionable methods, Jordan Collier had given her life back to her, putting her through rapid detox and helping her get her feet back underneath her. He was her savior. Even as she thought it, she shuddered.