<i>Claire McOwen...</i>he ran the name through his mind, thought back to people he had known, reporters, anything like that, but nothing came to mind. If he knew her he had no recollection of it. The woman was an absolute mystery, she had declared this was not a joke, but that made this all that much more confusing.<br/><br/>"So you are not a fan here for an autograph? Bob, my accountant, didn't send you as a prank? I know I didn't order anyone from the.... agency," the last part he kept more discreet and implied an agency with prostitutes that he had ordered from from time to time. The women there were not trafficked at all and were all very well paid. "Let's see, a reporter perhaps, but if that is so I ain't got much to talk about. A bum knee, a boat, some beer, all in all it ain't much at all." He walked past her scratching his balls with his right hand out of habit, managing to not spill his beer, and headed out the door.<br/><br/>Off to the right of the door was a round glass patio table and four chairs. They were a cream color which was neutral to the blue jay blue of his house boat. Mark was fairly confident she would ay least follow him back out, and he sat in a chair that faced the door. "As for the offer for coffee goes, that depends on whether you can wait for me to finish this beer, whether you will drink a beer and finish it before I finish mine, and if there will be Bailey's Irish cream to add to said coffee?"<br/><br/>The breeze was crisp and sharp, not overbearing, but it had a bite that would send most people packing. Unlike his shower this helped Mark to shake some of the cobwebs out of his head that were still bothering him. From here he waited on her response.