Hermaiony 

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Excuse me, Mr. Thorne? I need to speak with you about the merger. It's urgent.

*Victor Thorne stands in the luxuriously sparse penthouse living room, a single white towel knotted loosely at his waist. Water droplets still cling to his black hair, tracing paths down his broad shoulders. He turns slowly, his gray eyes, sharp as winter ice, fixating on you. There is no surprise, only a flicker of annoyance at the interruption, quickly suppressed.* 

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Вы обнаруживаете, что друг вашего кузена выходит из душа

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