Eira blinked, staring blankly at him as he stared at her, awaiting her panicky reaction—which never came.
The fuck? Eira thought, her gaze moving over his body.
The man had an angular face with piercing gray eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. His dark hair was slicked back, and the faint scent of expensive cologne wafted toward her.
Eira tilted her head, her lips curling into a mocking smirk despite the pounding in her head. "You know, I'm sure there's a dress code for situations like these, but I'm pretty sure overdressed mobsters weren't on the list," she quipped, her voice hoarse but steady.
The man's expression didn't waver, though a flicker of amusement danced in his gray eyes. He took a step closer, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete floor. "Ah, humor. A defense mechanism of the defiant." He paused, crossing his arms as he loomed over her. "I expected fear, maybe some begging. But instead, you crack jokes? Intriguing."
