Work Text
“I thought I told you to wait a minute, Eames!”“I’m sorry, Arthur, honestly,” Eames bites back the urge to curse viciously as the Fiat in the next lane swoops over and cuts him off. As it is, he has to slam on the brakes to avoid rear-ending the bastard. “I’m late for a meeting as it is; I was in such a rush I just wasn’t listening.”Arthur growls into the phone, and Eames feels badly, he really does. At the same time, though, he’s going to be torn into as it is; the Browning account is, in no uncertain terms, a big deal.“Well, my papers for the Westland Heights sale are in the back seat -”“I would happy turn around, darling, but I’m completely boxed in and the next exit is -” he groans, seeing the sign in the distance. “I’ll never make it.”Arthur sighs, “When is your car going to be back from the shop, exactly?”“They’re still waiting on some part or the other.”“You just had to get an import.”“I’m sorry,” Eames says, again, though with no small amount of sarcasm. He loves his car, and he damn well earned it, exotic or otherwise. “Listen, when I get to the office, I’ll just scan the papers and send them to you.”“Yeah, okay. I’ll think of some excuse to push the meeting back a few hours. They’re in the orange folder - it should be marked.” Arthur pauses, then adds, “I’m sorry I was so -”Eames smiles, despite himself. “Don’t worry about it.”It’s nearly forty minutes before Eames reaches the office. He pulls into his parking spot a bit too fast, and hears Arthur’s attaché hit the floor in the back seat. When he turns around, it’s spilled Arthur’s files onto the dusty floormat, along with a tiny, velvet box.Part of Eames knows he shouldn’t look; it’s bad form, and spoils more than a bit of the surprise. The trouble is that Eames has little to no self-control; and so even though he knows - or at least suspects (hopes?) - what’s inside, he picks it up, and opens it.Then, he gets on the phone and calls up to his office.“Ariadne! How lovely to hear your voice. Be a love and make up some excuse for me. I won’t be able to make the Browning meeting. I’m very sure. Terribly important. An emergency, really. Of course. Right. I owe you one. Two, even.”Eight minutes later as he’s pulling onto the freeway headed back home, he sets the open box on the dash, the gold band shining brightly in the early morning sun.