It probably should've started with something sensible. like a glass of water or maybe dragging Theron into a side room to whisper "I think I'm dying". but Darien wasn't exactly in a sensible mood. Not with his skull throbbing like someone wedged a drum inside it and not with Amara sitting barely three chairs away, tapping her pen against her notebook in this soft, innocent rhythm that somehow made his ears burn.
The conference room felt a little cramped than usual. Maybe the air conditioner had decided to quit, or maybe it was the way Amara kept glancing sideways at him with that quick, uncertain peeks like she was trying to read him without being caught. And of course, he caught every single one because his attention was glued to her like a fool.
