Her gaze flicked around the room again, taking in the single bed, the long sofa near the foot, a lone stool, and a small set of tables and chairs by the far end.
A quiet sound left her lips. "Hmm."
She moved quickly to the wardrobe, pulled it open and paused.
"No blanket," she muttered under her breath.
Her eyes shifted to Manson. He was seated comfortably, legs crossed, completely absorbed in his phone as if the entire room didn't concern him.
Fiona shut the wardrobe and walked toward him.
"How are we supposed to sleep?" she asked evenly.
Without looking up, he replied, "What do you mean, how are we supposed to sleep?"
"There's only one bed. And no blanket either," she said, calm but firm.
"Were there supposed to be two beds?" he countered lazily.
"Where exactly are you planning to sleep?" she snapped.
"On the bed, of course."
"And where do you expect me to sleep?"
