She slid into his office like a sword into a sheath – sleek, sharp and dangerous. The cut of her suit spoke of wealth, but her eyes spoke only anger. He picked up a pen from his desk and rolled it between thumb and forefinger, waiting, letting her set the tone of this encounter. She leaned forward, placing her hands on his desk, one made a fist, expensive leather glove clenched tightly around expensive leather clutch purse. She drew in a breath–
Drey Noir. Live your story.