After hanging up the phone, Travis Miller didn't immediately put his cellphone away. Instead, he stared at the call log that lasted only fifty-four seconds, his indifferent and stern face devoid of any warmth, and his deep, narrow eyes resembled a bottomless abyss.
Completely at a loss.
It wasn't that he didn't sense her burgeoning anger, nor was he unaware of her restraint and disappointment. That final "oh," he could even imagine her lying on the table, helplessly compromising yet feeling aggrieved.
His eyes moved slightly, and he finally put his phone away, turned around, and pushed open the library door.
Rowan Bennett was lounging in a chair, wearing a black knitted vest. The four-legged chair balanced precariously on two legs as he swayed, maintaining his balance.
Seeing Travis Miller walk in with a cold expression, Rowan leaned halfway across the table, looking particularly nosy.
"Is it here yet?"
Travis Miller glanced at him indifferently, "It's not her."
