...
"Faye, it's early in the morning, can we not talk like this?" Yves King lit a cigarette, looking at her dejectedly, "I know I messed up, picking up the call without checking who was calling. But you can't just scare me with these horrifying jokes, can you?"
Faye Owen crossed her arms, her gaze cold and piercing as she stared at him, "Go get ready."
"Are you kidding me, is this actually happening?" The muscles on Yves King's cheeks started twitching, "Faye, this joke really isn't funny."
"You have twenty minutes." Faye Owen said, her face expressionless, as cold as a female assassin.
Only then Yves King dared to confirm that this was, indeed, not a joke at all. He had to go and take a bath, shave, fix his hair with a gloomy expression. Then, he changed into a shirt and a suit, polished his shoes until they shone, and added a watch and a tie.
Dressed up like this, Yves King did have some of the charm of a mature man.
