<em>Ingrid, at the Waffle House</em><br/><br/>She'd gotten a room and hadn't had time to sate the appetite burning in her lower abdomen, though she planned to as soon as she got out of there.  Whether Morgan was willing or not, knew it or not, or whatever, she was going to tie him to her bed or… something.  She couldn't get the need to attack him out of her mind, not even as she chowed down on her scattered, smothered, double covered, chunked, diced, and whatever else she had in her hashbrowns.  Mushrooms. Didn't they call it capped?<br/><br/>As Aline began to speak, she looked up and shook her head, there was no way that Aline was blaming herself for this.  "Why they hell don't we get to stick around? We can always start over. Fuck that, Aline, I'm sticking around. I know that we can make this a great company, like it was.  A building is just that, like Anthony said, a building and material possessions are always replaceable. We have memories and we've all had good times. And you've never been one to give  up before. Why now? It's just physical shit.  He wants to," she said, pointing her fork toward her very luscious assistant. "I want to. You've got a photographer and an assistant right there.  I'm sure that plenty of them want to stay."  If Aline picked now to start a pity party, Ingrid would just kick her ass.<br/>