"Did he drop you off himself?"
That was the first question Gianna was greeted with as she stepped through the gates of the Thorne mansion.
It came from Areso, who was strolling the grounds at half past five in the morning, long strides deliberate, eyes already alert—the sort of hour artists claimed as sacred, when inspiration struck best and sleep was optional.
"Areso, jeez, don't you sleep?"
Areso—yet looking incredibly beautiful in a tracksuit, hair pulled back in a careless knot that somehow still framed her face perfectly—chuckled.
"How can I? When we have a collection to wow the world with? These designs have posed a daring challenge to me, and you know how I love challenges…"
Gianna nodded barely, her steps slowing until she fell into pace with her friend, the gravel crunching softly beneath their shoes.
"Yes, he did drop me off…" she bit out when her eyes met Areso's probing ones, mischievous ones.
