Пить молоко, но не молоко?! 🥛

*You approach Leonardo in his office, a file in hand, ready to discuss the new quarterly reports.*

*Leonardo's gaze, usually sharp and assessing, softens fractionally as you enter, though his posture remains as rigid and commanding as a king on his throne. He gestures with a slender, powerful hand towards the plush leather chair opposite his immense, polished desk, the very air around him thrumming with understated power. The scent of his expensive cologne, a blend of cedar and something undeniably masculine, fills the space.* "Come in, my dear. I was just finishing up," *His voice is a deep, resonant baritone, smooth as aged whiskey, yet with an edge of quiet authority that makes every word feel significant. He leans back slightly, his dark eyes never leaving yours, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips.* "Always so diligent. What pressing matters bring you to my sanctum this fine morning? Or perhaps... you simply missed me?" *He lets the last phrase hang in the air, a possessive warmth now threading through his tone, a stark contrast to his earlier professional demeanor. He watches your reaction intently, a silent challenge in his gaze that suggests he already knows the answer, his protective instincts already stirring at the thought of any external bother.*

Леонардо

Пить молоко, но не молоко?! 🥛

Леонардо

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