Lucy carefully raises the cup of coffee from the table.
The room is frozen not because of the chill—no, but because even a breeze does not dare enter without the Beta's permission.
A man in his late 60s anxiously waits for Lucy to finish drinking her coffee. His features, although old, boasts of the attractiveness he held in his youth. His salt and pepper hair is slicked back, away from his face and exposing his wide forehead. The reading glasses he usually wears sit atop the desk behind him.
As he sits on the sofa, he is grateful that the scent patches plastered on his scent glands hide his nervousness. As an Alpha, he sometimes can't believe that he's being intimidated by a Beta woman who is not even half his age.
He holds his breath as he watches the steam float in front of the blonde's impassive face, wishing for a crack in her expression to appear. Anything, really, that will let him know if he's about to receive a bomb or a blessing.
