Yet another entry is made, this time a blonde girl with a rather sunny smile and a relatively familiar face. He thinks about it for approximately half a minute before recalling her from a movie with Alec Baldwin. From what he can recall at that moment, she has the tendency to play sexier parts, and yet is known for being a prim and proper little Southern miss. He's not sure where from the South she comes from, but has heard somewhere or another that she is indeed from that region of the US. This is only confirmed by a slight drawl in her voice, the accent only slightly noticeable, and only in a single word of her sentence. "Looks like I'm not the last one, my flight was hella delayed, thought for sure I'd be," she explains, smirking despite the fact that nothing about her says smug or sarcastic. Her sentence, itself, is rather simple and dull- other than the accent, the young woman isn't making much of an impression on the Hollywood A-lister leaning against the wall. Still, her somewhat prudish reputation does present some manner of a challenge to the infamous player, and he does like a challenge- what's the point otherwise? Will has always been the sort who prefers the chase to actually holding the prize, partially influenced by a broken relationship between his parents and by his dislike of commitment and consistency. Although the young man isn't actually very big on quotes, there is one by the Irish Playwrite and Author Oscar Wilde that he rather likes: Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative. Though he isn't much for having his nose stuck in a book, even Will cannot deny that Wilde was a king of smartasses in his time, and cannot help but appreciate such a fact.
When Nathan speaks once more, Will is torn between being glad that he is leaving and irritated by that childishly huge smile that the klutzy actor has. It seems that he has adopted the condition of feeling that every action of a person he's decided to dislike is offensive. Still, this does not wipe the ever-present smirk from the fact of the handsome man, because he really isn't one for allowing such an expression to disappear from his face- it's like a trademark of his, the blue steel to his Zoolander, although just a tad less. . .ridiculous. When Nathan has left, Will turns towards Olivia and greets her with a nod, but doesn't feel the need to introduce himself- everyone is already aware of his identity, after all, that much is clear. Or at least, Will fancied this to be true, and it most likely was- there are a few stars in the room, but he, Chandler and Candelaria burn the brightest in terms of fame. Each in their own way, of course, but each command the attention of those around them in some form or another, this is an indisputable fact. Whether it be the noticeable personality, cutting tongue, or eye-catching good looks, which all of them had in their own ways, things about the trio had a great presence. Of course, Zara has the same demanding aura about her, but her quietness and seeming lack of personality seem to disqualify her from the rankings.
The quiet man, who had swept through the group without a word in greeting, returns downstairs with a look of importance on his face. The actor doesn't seem the type to waste words, nor the sort who would voluntarily interact with others at all, for that matter. An antisocial air seems to hang over him, though it almost seems more of a preference than a tragic fate, giving him the image of indifference and cool intellect. "It's almost three. Has anyone heard from Robert?" the actor asks, voice clipped and rather business-like. He must do fantastic in interviews, Will thinks sarcastically, though he automatically glances towards the clock and notes that it is very near to three indeed. He'd rather hoped to get the meeting over with and such, and wonders when Mann will arrive.
As these wonderings pass through his mind, Chandler passes by him and ascends the stairs, presumably to either escape the radiating atmosphere of what surely must be slightly forced cheerfulness or to change out of the little number she is currently wearing- little being a generous term for the cover-up and bikini set. Not one to deny himself the appreciation of finer things, Will's eyes follow her for a moment before returning to the group, specifically Drake. The staff worker has apparently been living in the house for a bit, probably setting things up, and so is able to lead the group up to the meeting room. As he invites people to walk in, Chandler makes a little sarcastic quip and enters with a smirk and an arrogant stride. Definitely hot, Will observes with a smirk of his own, feigning a tip of the hat to Drake before entering the room.
This is apparently her turn to surprise the man before her, as her mention of the mansion seems to take him off guard for a moment, obvious by his startled expression and the thoughtful look that follows it as he zeroes in on the best explanation for how she knows about a location supposedly kept under rather tight wraps. There is a second between the point where she decides to reveal to him why she knows about the place, if only to prevent any further misunderstandings, and when a smirk forms on the man's face. Her mouth had almost opened, but remains tightly sealed as she watches the evolution of his expression, from lost to smug and then to a frown. She only notices the frown when she glances up from writing down the instructions on the little notepaper, finishing it off with a small note in the margin. Normally, she is not one for any sort of wasteful motions, not even excess words or movements, as seen by her almost eerily stillness when she ceases writing, but the young woman does have the habit of adding helpful hints and minuscule sketches in her instructions, if only for the sake of aiding whomever it is that the note is intended for. His frown confuses Presley, who gives him a quizzical look in return, blonde bangs covering her expressive eyebrows and slightly lessening the affect of her expression.
He clears his throat then, not doing a very impressive job of making it seem realistic, though she doubts that he was going for realism in the cliche and exaggerated gesture. After all, realistic is slightly less likely to grab the attention -for most people, anyway. Everything seems to grab her attention, if only as some sort of compensation for her own inability to do so. "Y'know, it would probably be easier if you just showed me the house, seeing as you already know where it is," he addresses her, and Presley begins to put away her notebook immediately, not wasting time if the course of action is to be changed. He checks his phone whilst she does this, and announces that it is almost three o'clock. She is still looking down, shoving the notebook into her bag, and her eyes widen slightly at this news. Damn it, I really need to get a watch or something. Almost three? I should have left earlier. The place is seven minutes or so from here. . .by bike. Brilliant- absolutely fantastic. Now if only the TARDIS could just show up and drop me off a few minutes early. How long is it by foot? Fifteen? Twenty? she stifles a sigh and composes her anxious expression before looking back up at Mr. Crankshaw.
"Right. Mustn't be late. Follow me," despite the softness of her voice, the last bit seems to come off almost like an order rather than a request, and she is soon turned around and walking towards the place. Although she may be relatively sweet and such, she is also very cautious about both people and her work, and terrible at small talk to boot- it is far safer to keep the conversation brief and move quickly, for the sake of punctuality and not seeming terribly awkward. She expects him to fall into step with her, and slows until he does so, which is relatively soon. He doesn't seem to type to be slow in picking things up, at least based on their brief encounter, and this is something she appreciates. Kind and unassuming as she may be, the young woman does rather dislike it when people take a millennium and a half to realize things and react appropriately. A small pet peeve of hers, perhaps. Presley's gaze slides over to look at Mr. Crankshaw out of the corner of her eyes, trying to decide whether to introduce herself. It is probably appropriate, at best, although he has not asked and very well may not care. Deciding not to give information that may not really be wanted, she remains silent. To her, all silence is fairly comfortable, but she realizes that this may not be the case for others. Should I break it? Better wait and see, she decides in the end. The walk therefore continues.