Sotza sat behind his desk, appearing to be completely at ease when she knocked briefly and let herself in. He was reading something on his laptop, leaning slightly forward, one arm resting on the desk. He'd discarded his jacket and vest and opened the collar of his shirt showing his strong masculine throat. A few hairs curled toward the top of his shirt. His serious, rugged face was expressionless except for a deeper than usual groove between his brows. As though he was slightly disturbed by whatever he was reading.
She knew better. He was pissed off at her. Trying to decide how to play this situation. Would he attack her, like he did the last time she fucked up? Or would he treat her with the cold indifference he treated the rest of the world? Or maybe he would come up with some new way to throw her off balance.