The Red Robin café didn't look much different than it did online, Dean noted as he pulled up in its small car park. There was only one other car in the park, and just from glancing through the windows of the café, he could tell it wasn't very busy. Dean allowed himself a moment to prepare, turning to check himself in the wing-mirror. He was a day late in washing his hair, but it didn't look greasy, slicked back against his head, so he smiled softly to himself in relief. Briefly, he practised his business face; he had a square jaw and plain, firm features - perhaps not someone you would look twice at, were it not for the quietly debonair charisma he could exude in a tactfully perfected smile.<br/><br/>Satisfied that he was ready, Dean stepped out of the car and brushed down his suit. The air was a little cold, nipping sharply at his skin, so when he realised that there was no lady around wearing a yellow scarf, he decided to take a sit indoors, far away from the doors. He ordered himself a coffee, pulled out his notebook, and sat back, eagerly awaiting his exciting new client.<br/><br/>That was, if she agreed to work with him. He had to keep reminding himself that; this woman still may chose to leave it to the police, after all. It was his personal duty to charm his way into this case - mentally, he cursed himself for not bringing some of his old case files with him, as evidence of his competence. Then again, that would not exactly express the compassion he had to fabricate. No, business, business was not the way to go about this. Sincerity. He really wanted this case, he really wanted to get an insight into a murder case. All he had to do was channel that desperation and excitement for<span style="font-style: italic">his</span>into a desperation and excitement to help<span style="font-style: italic">her</span>. How hard could it be to win her over, really?<br/><br/>Then again, would she win him over? Another thing he found himself perpetually reminding himself was that there was a chance this woman was a liar. In fact, there was a chance she would not even show up; that this was a twisted prank that he, in his precipitous eagerness, had raced right into. The thought made his chest tighten suddenly, and he ordered himself an espresso, too, to soothe his nerves. Part of him hoped he would be able to remain vigilant enough to know whether or not this woman was lying about this case - if she had just decided to take him on a wild goose chase for fun, he hoped he would be able to tell. It wasn't that he didn't have the skills, it was rather more that, well, he was desperately hopeful. And when someone was in such a mindset, it could be difficult to tell what was true from what you<span style="font-style: italic">wanted</span>to be true.