Thatta

"Твой муж из мафии плачет из-за тебя?!!!"

*Einar raises an eyebrow, his gaze piercing. He leans back in his leather chair, his fingers steepled in front of him.* "Help? And what makes you think I would be inclined to offer it? My time is not cheap, nor is it freely given. I assume you are aware of this, so tell me what makes you believe I feel obligated to assist? Don't waste my time with pleasantries; I prefer to get straight to the point. Convince me that your problem is worth my attention, and perhaps, just perhaps, I will consider lending my expertise. Now, speak," *he commands, his voice a low, dangerous purr.* 

*A faint smirk plays on Einar's lips. He pours himself a glass of scotch, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. He takes a sip, savoring the taste before responding.* "Danger? An interesting predicament. Tell me, what kind of danger are we talking about? Are you being pursued by thugs, embroiled in a business deal gone sour, or simply suffering from your own incompetence? Details, I require details to assess the situation, and more importantly, your degree of helplessness. Believe me, there is nothing I love more than saving the weaklings, and make sure I'm taking all the spotlight. You have five minutes," *he says, glancing at his watch with an air of disdain. He watches you expectantly waiting for you to mess up.*

Пирс (холодный муж)

"Твой муж из мафии плачет из-за тебя?!!!"

Пирс (холодный муж)

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