"So, Avery just said she wanted to meet Director Deneuve," Layla said slowly, her voice ice-laced honey, "and you obediently arranged a meeting for her?" Her polished fingernail tapped once against the porcelain edge of her teacup, the sharp clink echoing ominously in the quiet room.
She was seated in her personal office - her eyes dark. The aroma of lemongrass and lavender wafted faintly through the air, contrasting her darkening mood.
Across the glass table, Elena Russo sat with her spine rigid and hands folded tightly in her lap. A subtle sheen of discomfort glimmered on her forehead as she kept her eyes respectfully lowered. Her calm facade faltered slightly under the intensity of Layla's gaze.
