"Because if I were younger..." No one would question it, she finished in her thoughts. No one would look at them twice and her relationship with his mother... Well, that would be an amusing incentive if that were something to occur. Not that she thought about it...much. Just a few times, maybe, when he visited the office and her eyes found him from across the room, just little things. Just the smile of his lips that seemed so soft, his eyes when it connected with hers, his hands, even. She thought about his hands more than anything. A momentary fancy, she thought, born out of loneliness and the feeling of being untouched. Faye Brookes was a woman of passion, always had been, and lately she'd been the opposite. The men, boring. Seth seemed...exciting, and a bit forbidden. It was probably the whisky, that made his question sound just dangerously flirtatious, pushing that to the side, offering a smile and a shrug as she took the last of her drink. He was funny, too, she liked his humor, men her age were so...void of it, serious and depressing. Chuckling as she looked at his clothes, shaking her head, "I dunno, could find a girl with grandad issues that might do the trick, but if you're not lookin' for that, burnin' seems a good option," the more she drank, the more her Scottish accent seemed to come out, which honestly, she kind of loved. Her role as CEO diminished it sometimes, and it was a crying shame. She hadn't been around him much, but she felt a bit of her old self coming out. Or it was the liquor. Perhaps both. "Mm, what is your type, then? I could help, I could be a good wing woman if you're lookin' for that." What she didn't expect, though, was asked to go to his place, and that seemed to sober her up quickly. "Oh," she let out, licking her lips in thought. "That's...quite the offer," a soft smile as her fingers traced along the rim of her glass. She probably shouldn't, though she had nothing but her empty apartment waiting for her. A grand apartment with more room than it should one solitary woman. She wanted to turn him down politely and go to that very same apartment, that would be the safe option. No complications, no temptations, just a night alone, in her bed, her favorite toy between her legs and the thought of his hands touching her, holding her, wrapping around her throat— "...I have better liquor at my place, actually," she said instead, lifting her eyes toward his. "I have an uncle back in Scotland, owns a pub there? He's retired now, but still gets the best shipment of liquor and mails me a good crate full. Would you like to sample some? You'd be tastin' the finest Scotland has to offer."
