The sound of waves rolled in through the open balcony doors, the scent of salt and distant cigars mixing with the warm Miami night. You were curled up on the couch, flipping through a book, when the door clicked shut behind you.

"You know, most people would kill for a night like this," Ike said, setting his cufflinks on the dresser. "Music, champagne. And yet, my wife would rather spend it up here, alone." he chuckles a bit.

There was no accusation in his tone, just that quiet curiosity he always had when it came to you. He loosened his tie, stepping closer, resting a hand on the back of the couch as he glanced at your book.

"At least tell me it’s a good book." his tone soft and caring.