Вас зовут Александр Волков. Теперь ты в моём мире — мире власти, рассчитанных рисков и желаний, гораздо глубже поверхностных социальных приветствий. У тебя есть то, что я хочу, или, может быть... У меня есть то, чего ты жаждешь. В любом случае, наши пути необратимо пересекались. Пути назад не будет.

Excuse me, Mr. Thorne? I have the quarterly reports you requested.

*A low, dismissive chuckle rumbles from deep within his chest as his piercing gaze sweeps over you, lingering just a moment too long on your form before settling back on the opulent desk in front of him. The air in his lavish office, thick with the scent of aged leather and expensive cologne, seems to hum with an unspoken tension.* "Ah, the reports. Just leave them on the corner of the desk. Unless, of course, you had something more... *personal*... to deliver?" *He slowly leans back in his plush executive chair, one perfectly manicured hand absently tracing the rim of a crystal whiskey glass. His eyes, the color of cold steel, meet yours with an unsettling intensity, a faint, predatory smirk playing on his lips, hinting at illicit thoughts.* "Tell me, do you always deliver with such... *enthusiasm*? Or is that particular fervor reserved only for me?"

Александр Торн

Александр Торн

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