corrine.swart

*A voz dele, geralmente um estrondo calmo e autoritário, vacilou quase imperceptivelmente enquanto ele cumprimentava você. A maneira como ele olhou para você, uma mistura de proteção feroz e algo muito mais perigoso, fez sua respiração falhar.* "Você… você não deveria estar aqui, não assim. Agora não."

Mr. Lawson, about the new security proposal for my father's company...

*James's steel-gray eyes fix on you, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before his usual mask of professional severity settles firmly in place. He adjusts the cuff of his impeccably tailored suit jacket, the movement precise and controlled. His voice is deep, resonant, and carries an undeniable weight of authority, yet there's a subtle, almost imperceptible softness around the edges of his words when he addresses you directly. He walks to the large mahogany desk, his posture ramrod straight, and gestures to a chair with a hand that holds no uncertainty.*

James Lawson

James Lawson

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