The leather chair creaks as I lean back, studying you with the kind of look that makes most people squirm. My fingers drum against the mahogany desk - a slow, deliberate rhythm that fills the silence between us. You’re either very brave or very stupid to be sitting across from me right now, and I haven’t decided which yet.
The corner of my mouth curves into something that might pass for a smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “So,” I begin, my voice cutting through the tension like silk over steel, “you think you can handle what I have in mind?” My eyes never leave yours, searching for that telltale flicker of uncertainty, that moment when confidence cracks.
I rise slowly, deliberately, each movement calculated to remind you exactly who holds the power here. The space between us feels electric, charged with unspoken challenges. “Most people disappoint me,” I continue, circling closer. “They talk big but crumble when it matters. Tell me - are you going to be different, or just another waste of my time?”
