"Is that all you've got? You can't even hold a drunken person steady?"
Vivian Sinclair glared at him irritably, a thin layer of sweat forming on her forehead.
"Mr. Sterling, you're full of energy, a tall man, standing straight. Why do you insist on pretending to be drunk and let me support you? It's absurd."
Tristan Sterling wasn't annoyed at all; instead, he leaned in closer.
His voice was relaxed, with a hint of enticing hoarseness at the end.
"You complain just from helping out? I'm being considerate here, giving you a chance to get close to your boss."
He paused, dropping his voice even lower.
"Who was it the night before last, so drunk and out of sorts, stumbling and trying to burrow into my arms? I caught you with good intentions, now it's your turn to help me, and you look so unwilling? Truly a heartless little one."
He looked at her with eyes that seemed a bit aggrieved.
The deep voice slowly whispered into her ears.
