“Who, like – ” she can blame the tequila for the derisive, amused snort at the thought – “Pierce?”

A hand comes up to cover her mouth, and Sharon has to suck in a deep breath through her nose to cut the warmth the liquor’s settled into her sinuses, her thoughts tripping along at a slightly-delayed rate and catching on angles and edges they usually wouldn’t, like – 

“What’s he gonna do, put his hairpiece back on at midnight on Independence Day just to dial you for a disappointed video call?”

Maria tamps down a smirk but is a tic too slow- the expression wends its way across her features until she has to duck her head. Eyebrows flutter, she rolls her lips between her teeth. 

     “Not to name names–”

The second part to Sharon’s thought catches her off-guard, her mind already chugging along through a slight, tequila-fueled fog, and she laughs. Her own hand rises quickly to smother the sound, to disguise the expression and the Director finds herself suddenly wanting another drink. Not the Best Idea.

“You know, I think he would. Absolutely. Hair or no hair. I think he’d just utilize some… strategic cropping?”


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