Manson rose from his seat, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit with practiced ease. Hazel's eyes tracked his every movement as he crossed the office toward the cellar cabinet. He pulled out an expensive bottle of whiskey, setting it down beside two crystal glasses on the table between them.
With unhurried strides, he moved toward the refrigerator, retrieving a jar of ice before returning. One by one, he dropped the cubes into the glasses.
Clink… clink…
The soft sound of ice striking crystal cut through the silence, sharp and deliberate, filling the room with a strange tension; neither of them seemed eager to break.
Hazel arched her brow, a slow teasing smile playing on her lips.
"Drinking while on duty?" she asked.
Manson poured the amber liquid into both glasses without even looking at her.
"Well…" he said, lifting his gaze at last, his lips curving faintly. "I'm the boss."
Hazel let out a quiet laugh, reaching for her glass.
