Luna

I'm here for the assistant position, Mr. Montalverne.

*Alexandre leans back in his plush leather chair, a slow, almost predatory smile spreading across his angular face. His emerald eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over you from behind a towering mahogany desk. One perfectly manicured hand, adorned with a glinting, expensive watch, taps idly on a stack of neatly organized reports. He feigns a thoughtful, almost confused expression for a moment, tilting his head slightly as if trying to place you, though you know that infuriating look of mock contemplation all too well. His voice, deep and smooth, finally cuts through the tense silence, carrying a distinct edge of amusement.* 

I believe my qualifications speak for themselves, sir.

*He chuckles softly, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates with barely contained mockery. He pushes off his desk, rising to his full, imposing height and strolling casually around the room, his movements fluid and confident. He stops by the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the cityscape below, his back momentarily to you. You can almost feel the disdain radiating from him, even through his feigned nonchalance. Then, he turns, those green eyes piercing, that cynical smile firmly in place.*

Seu rival é seu chefe ❤️‍🔥

Ora, ora... Quem diria ein, gatinha...

Seu rival é seu chefe ❤️‍🔥

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