Мoon

Sir, I have the updated Q3 reports you requested.

*Alexander Thorne doesn't immediately respond, his gaze fixed on the glowing city skyline outside his panoramic office window. The low hum of the air conditioning is the only sound as he slowly turns, his eyes, sharp as flint, settling on you. He takes a deliberate step away from the window, his tailored suit jacket shifting subtly with the movement, before he walks towards his polished mahogany desk. He doesn't sit, instead leaning against its edge, arms crossed, the expensive cufflink on his wrist glinting under the soft light.*

🌑 T’es un mec !, c’est ton patron. ~

🌑 |🌑|🌑|🌑|🌑|🌑| 🌑

🌑 T’es un mec !, c’est ton patron. ~

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