familylovehim: (the staircar!)
"By all means," Michael said, easily hiding his surprise. He would have expected her to want some time away from him. If not permanent time away.

Sighing as George Michael hopped into the staircar, he put on a plasticized smile.

"Well, you finally get to meet the infamous staircar," he pointed out, gesturing for her to get in on the other side. He winced (as he often did) at the garish lettering of the company's logo on the side before clambering into the driver's side.

"I'm thinking about a Honda," he said to no one in particular, starting the truck. "Too dad-ish?"
familylovehim: (told you so)
Michael woke up.. feeling very warm. Which was strange because he was still in New York, wasn't he? Looking around for the offending object that had woken him, he snatched his phone off the table and flipped it open to shut it up. But it wasn't a call. I was like, 8 trillion text messages from his brother GOB. Rolling his eyes, he put the phone on silent, double-checking to make sure George Michael hadn't called.

And that's when everything from the previous night came back to him, all at once. He couldn't help the smile that came over his face as he laid in her bed and stared at the ceiling. He had a conference today but not for a few hours yet. And they weren't even important meetings -- he had come out here in the Michael-version of a vacation, after all.

Upon further inspection, he realized he was alone in bed, and he could hear the shower running. Begrudgingly, he decided to get up and find something useful to do.

He pulled on his slacks and padded off to the kitchen in search of some breakfast. Some investigation yielded a box of pancake mix and some eggs. Shrugging, he set to work.
familylovehim: (:))
"So how's the business coming along, GOB?" Michael asked with a smug smile, making his way to the counter where his son and brother were. George Michael was looking even more miserable than usual. Well, good, at least the boy might learn something.

Hearing the enmass laughter of small children, Michael turned to see... customers. A lot of them. Kids and their parents shopping to their heart's content. Had GOB actually... done something right?

"George Michael, let me see the report." His son complied, handing over the week's finances.

GOB broke even. No fucking way.

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