Dream A Little Bigger, Darling

Mr. Eames got DeLaney checked into the hotel and up to the room he was staying in. After making sure she was able to get settled, he excused himself from the room, taking long strides down to the end of the hallway, phone in hand. Bringing the phone to his ear, he glanced down the hall toward his room cautiously, waiting for an answer.
"Hello?" the familiar voice answered on the third ring.
"Hello, Arthur," Mr. Eames greeted in an almost singsong tone. The man on the other end let out a sigh.
"What do you want, Eames?" Arthur asked, irritation evident in his voice.
"I seem to be having a bit of a problem," Mr. Eames started.
"Are you asking me for help?" Arthur exclaimed, surprised. "Mr. Eames, what have you gotten yourself into?"
"No, I'm not asking for your help. Now, if you would stop making assumptions, Arthur, I would like to fill you in on something," Eames said. He paused for a moment, and Arthur's lack of response prodded Eames to continue. "A young woman from America tracked me down and came to Mombasa to pay me a visit. Before you say anything, she came on matters of business. She wants to be taught to be in this business and she wants me to teach her. Only me. The problem is, I don't think I could even if I wanted to," he explained in a slightly hushed voice.
"You want me to train her?" Arthur's voice sounded after another pause.
"Again with the assumptions. I only want you to meet her, you may have better luck talking her out of this," Eames said.
"Too much for you to handle?" Arthur teased. Mr. Eames could hear the smirk in his voice.
"Oh, I'm sure I can handle her quite well, Arthur," the Englishman exclaimed in a joking manner. "Just not when it comes to this."
"So you do need my help," Arthur said in the same cheeky tone. Eames considered it for a short moment.
"Piss off, Arthur. Now, where are you staying?"
"I'm in Berlin for a few more days to finish a job, then I'm off to Paris again," Arthur answered.
"To see Ariadne, I assume? Tell me, have you managed to woo the lady, yet?" Eames teased.
"I'll see you in Paris, Mr. Eames, goodbye," Arthur said in an exasperated tone. Mr. Eames returned to the room to find DeLaney rummaging through her suitcase in nothing but a towel. He paused in the doorway for a short moment, casting a fleeting glance at a water droplet slipping down her shoulder blade before looking away and shutting the door.
"Miss Ferris, do you blatantly ignore all the rules of being in the presence of men you don't know? Such as being conservative, for instance," he commented, sitting down in a chair. He made a
point of keeping his eyes on hers when she turned to face him.
"Is my use of a towel to cover myself not conservative enough for you, Mr. Eames?" she questioned, sarcasm hanging heavy in her voice. The man elected to ignore her sarcastic remark.
"We're going to stay in Mombasa for a few days and then it's off to Paris," he informed her. She crossed the room and entered the bathroom as he spoke, leaving the door open a crack in order for her to hear him.
"Paris? What's in Paris?" she asked. Through the crack in the door, Mr. Eames could see her reflection in the mirror and he couldn't help but let his gaze linger, prepared to look away in case she turned around. She dropped the towel, exposing the smooth, porcelain skin of her back and the irritatingly appealing curves of her sides. The mirror stopped right at the small of her back, and his brows furrowed ever so slightly at the mild disappointment of that fact. He had to pull a small, round item out of his pocket quickly, rubbing it between his fingers to assure himself he was still in reality. He was only able to tear his eyes away when DeLaney pulled a shirt over her head. She exited the bathroom, pulling her damp, light brown hair out of the back of her shirt.
"Did you hear me?" she asked, leaning against the bathroom doorway and looking down at Mr. Eames. He snapped his eyes to hers, giving his head a quick shake. "I asked you what was in Paris," she repeated.
"A colleague of mine. I would like you to meet him," he said, slipping the poker chip back into his pocket. "Going to sleep already? It's still early," he asked, gesturing to the old t-shirt and shorts she was sporting.
"Getting here was very tiring. Yes, I'm going to sleep. Don't worry about waking me up, I'm a heavy sleeper," DeLaney said, crossing the room and hopping into her bed. "Goodnight, Mr. Eames," she said before rolling over onto her stomach.

All DeLaney wanted to do over the few days she spent in Mombasa was explore. Her excuse for her enthusiasm of exploring was the fact that she had never seen anything outside of the states, and she was going to get as much as she could out of Mombasa during their stay. Mr. Eames quickly realized she wasn't going to treat him as a man she just met. She made it known that she didn't believe in being guarded when it came to strangers.
"First impressions are supposed to show someone the person you are, and everyone's always so worried about making a good impression and then they don't act like themselves. Well, I don't get the point of it. I've never made good impressions, I've always made realistic ones," she said in response to one of Mr. Eames' statements about her peculiar antics. They were in a market place that afternoon, sitting on an old, rickety bench under a less than shady tree while they ate the lunch they bought from one of the vendors.
After days of Eames letting DeLaney drag him around the city, it was time to head to the air port for Paris. It was Mr. Eames' turn to drag DeLaney about. He literally had to pull her out of the bed, the grown woman instantly turning into a fussy toddler at being woken up at such an early hour.
"DeLaney, you knew about this, now get up," he said, sounding much like an irritated parent. Neither one of the pair were very polite to each other in the mornings, for neither one of them were morning people, and the earlier they rose, the ruder they were. This fact led Eames to toss the comforter aside, wrap his fingers around one of her ankles, and pull her down the surface of the bed, releasing her only when she was hanging half way off the bed. She clumsily fell fully off of the bed with a dull thud and glared up at Eames. "Now get ready to go, I'm going check us out," he said, shutting the door behind him. She was nearly ready to leave by the time he got back to the room. When she finished slipping her shoe onto her foot, she looked up to see the man holding two cups of coffee. He held one out to her. "Ready?" he said, bringing his cup to his lips.
"Ready," she said, lugging her suit case off of the bed and following him out of the door.