“I am right, you know. 'Hot women' is not a race.”
“You’re not the only one who’s right, honey. It’s not a race, no - it’s a demographic. A demographic that I represent.”
“Well…that’s subjective. Science is not subjective!”
“I do beg to differ there. I’m beautiful no matter whether or not anyone else thinks so. That’s not subjective. That is a fact. Science runs on fact. It is a fact that I am a hot woman, because it’s a fact about me, and I’m the one declaring it.”
“I’m fairly certain that’s not proper procedure for the establishment of scientifically authentic fact, Angela.”
“So what is, Brennan? Is there an authority to whom I have to send a request in writing? Is it purely by numbers? What’s the cutoff - how many people have to agree with me for that to be a fact?”
“No, I’m curious. I’m legitimately curious.”
“You’re being irrational and difficult, that’s what you are.”
“I’m trying to get you to think with an open mind, sweetie. It’s not my responsibility to make sure you’re always comfortable with that.”
There’s a new flower pot in Angela’s office when she steps into it in the morning.
Bright pink, red markings, narrow, flat leaves. Amaryllis belladonna.
Splendid beauty. Worth beyond beauty.
Leave it to Brennan not to be subtle.
She’d even left a note.
“I personally consider you captivatingly beautiful. I regret that I offended you. - Brennan”
It wasn’t a proper apology, but it’d do for now.