For a Friday, Lallie's schedule wasn't as busy as it usually was. She wasn't walking back and forth between places, stuck in two-hour-long meetings. Her only job for the day was this: an in-person delivery (understandable given its importance); it was a quick transaction-- if you blinked you might have missed it. Whilst she waited for the receiver, sitting alone at a bench in front of St. Patrick's Cathedral -- one might think she was simply observing the view which, yes, even she would admit was stunning --, it so happened that someone unexpected invaded the sight. Unexpected, but not exactly unwanted. Serena Vorshevsky, mob boss, entering the cathedral. 

And she thought she'd seen everything.

As soon as the deed was done -- which, again, was too quick for most to catch on to --, Lallie instead of simply going home, chose to follow Vorshevsky's steps, and step into the cathedral herself. 

Now, the last time she was seen in a religious setting was when her mother forced her. Lallie wasn't even what she went by, then. It was a strange sensation, but it was made less so as she knew she wasn't there to get on her knees, beg for the impossible, or talk to someone who isn't truly there. She was there for business.

The place was empty; Friday isn't really when churches are the most popular, she figured. And yet, with the countless rows of empty benches, it was by Serena Vorshevsky's side that she decided to sit. 

“I must admit,” she said, her eyes focused on somewhere far ahead; the windows, the cross, the candles. “I never took you for a religious person.” 

“How about I give you a chance to rephrase that?” 

“Move.” 

nextceo:

Sebastian didn’t stiffen nor did he curse when Lallie’s voice rang clear as day behind him. Perhaps he’d meant her to hear his complaints, as they were just empty, but it was nothing to him now. Lallie had a presence that begged to be paid attention to, and even Sebastian was affected by her charms, if only just a little subtly. “My apologies,” he murmured, though his gaze remains steady and focused, not flickering in the slightest. It’s the least he can do for offending her in her own office. “And, since you brought it up, I’ll have that dealt with as soon as I am back in the office. No doubt if you don’t enjoy it, chances are nobody else does.”

Offering Lallie a warmer, more sincere smile, Sebastian shifted in his seat before lacing his fingers together. “I could never shoot you, Lallie; I think we’re both in agreement that you’d rearrange my face if I ever did, and I’m quite fond of how I look.” All was said with a humored expression, but it wasn’t like his words didn’t hold weight. Anyone knew that if they messed with Lallie, they messed with the worst. Sebastian had to be on her good side at all times.

“Which brings me to my image. I’m sure you’re well aware of the recent occurrences with one of my girls ending up on the side of a road.” His face twisted sourly, the disgust written clear on his face. He didn’t care if one of his girls were murdered, but he certainly cared how it was taken care of. A sloppy body found in an embankment was not the type of murder he was interested in. “The problem is that I’m not happy. We have no clear proof of who had purchased her — and we need to find them before the police do.”

"At least you're aware of that.” Lallie smiled. “Let’s hope we never reach that point. I’m sure your boyish charm does help business in some way.”

"I've heard of it," she said, her voice almost entirely detached from the issue at hand. The news had first been brought to her by Nicolau in passing, but she was as disinterested in it then as she was now. "The way you're talking, one might even think you give a shit." Though she knew well people like Sebastian were always good at pretending. "It sounds like it was a mistake on your part to not keep decent record of your... sales. Besides, what's it to us anyway? If he had already purchased her, then, well, she did belong to him and he could do whatever he wanted. Killing her is on that list and, I'm sure it's not the first time it's happened.” It was the harsh naked truth. But then again if the man in front of her had any regard for the human condition, he would not head the operation himself. There were a select few people within this business that were forced to perform their tasks; he was not one of them. “Maybe the first time it's been done in a way that you notice."

pietrocaruso:

Pietro was about to comment on how great a gift it was, but was silenced at her next words. He couldn’t help but shake his head, slowly and painfully and contemplatively. A pen’s a pen. “I’ll have to argue with you on that one, and I’m not one to argue much with women,” he started, and thought of the best ways in which to express just how much a pen was not just a pen. 

Maybe, he thought, he was acting bit too pretentious, and yet, as a teenager, and long before he had enough money to buy top quality pens, he had developed an enthusiasm for them. “Pens are not all the same. A great pen is something that should be appreciated. There’s a very subtle alchemy in these types of pens.” There was much more to say, but Pietro knew he would exhaust himself–and she didn’t look particularly interested. “I’ll handwrite you a book about it.” 

“I like to think so. I also like the thought of being thanked senza sarcasm. How can you repay me? A good question. Any suggestions? I’ve been doing all the thinking so far. Please knock yourself out.” 

"Color me flattered," she said, more to herself than Pietro, as he went on with his monologue. Despite looking disinterested -- which, she was --, Lallie was still listening, nodding after every other sentence. 

When he paused for breath, she jumped in, "Am I allowed to disagree?" The answer would probably be a negative one, and yet she kept going: "Yes, it's beautiful. But it's still just a pen. It's like with buildings; you know a building is a good building if it stays upright and doesn't crumble when people start living in it. You know a pen is a decent pen when it writes. This one does. So it's a good pen; all the rest is just... decoration." 

"Please," she laughed, half mockery and half disbelief. "I wouldn't want you wasting the ink of your 25,000 dollar pen on me." At this point, Lallie was afraid that if she did not refuse his offer, a ten page handwritten letter would really end up showing up at her doorstep. "Besides, your speech was enough. I shall no longer trash-talk pens. Happy?"

"If you didn't want sarcasm, you'd be better off talking to any other woman you wouldn't argue with." His words, not hers. "Yes. Thinking about pens. What a magnificent mind you have." Meanwhile, Lallie's routine entailed of thinking and over-thinking strategies and how to keep this whole empire -- which both of them benefit from -- from collapsing. And then she was guilty for not making office supplies a priority. "Here, keep the fucking pen," she tossed it at Pietro for him to catch. "I'm sure you'll take better care of it and whoever gave it to me is dead anyways."

flamesofhaides:

It was with a pointed, yet good humored, glare that the Ronan excused the blonde’s remark, which was quickly followed by his characteristically wolfish grin. “Touché,” he replied with a nod, making a mental note to perhaps work on his receptiveness to bon mots.

Letting out a laugh, Haides nodded in defeat, knowing that had he wished to have a satisfactory meal, he should have chosen the location. “Quite the optimist, aren’t you?” His words were followed by a coy smirk, which he washed away with a sip of his now replenished wine. “I must say that the service nearly makes up for the chef’s attempt at my life,” he admitted, raising his glass in admiration for how quickly they had managed to refill it.

Her candor brought yet another smile to his wine stained lips, which soon turned into a full fledged grin at the mention of his beloved. “How isn’t Nora is a better question — she’s everything all at once, that one,” he mused, glancing at the watch she had gifted him over the holidays. “She’s wonderful though. Her final semester at Columbia law is a few months from completion, and she manages to excel in her classes, which means I haven’t had to put a hit on any tyrannous professors.” The jest was rooted in truth as once, after many bottles of Dom Perignon, Nora had made the Ronan promise that were her grades to slip, he’d slip the responsible party something a bit stronger than Xanax — not that it mattered, but he had settled on succinylcholine. 

“And how have you been?” 

"They're leaving us alone," she said. "At least, that's the kind of service I like." It was, at least, the best scenario for business meetings such as these. Of course, any public setting was hardly the ideal when it came to the matters they wished to discuss, but they both had done this far too many times to not know what to be on the look out for. That is, for Lallie to be on the look out for. She wasn’t convinced Haides was willing to pay attention to anything other than his steak. 

"And they said romance is dead.” Lallie drank from her glass, glad that the wine, at least, was up to Haides’ standards. It was up for debate if she could make it through this conversation without it. "Good for her. I remember on my fourth year I was one criminology test away from murdering everyone in that university." Also, her pregnancy might have something to do with her even-more-than-usual fiery mood. "Is she even gonna practice?"

Lallie offered an understanding smile, "You don't have to pretend to care."

nicolaudeleon:

– “Okay, then.” Nicolau smiled brightly, an image he saved only for her. He reveled in these secrets of theirs. “Dinner first, mischief after,” he conceded, steering them in the direction of Lallie’s aforementioned pizza. It was a little ironic, how much he was willing to do for her. Among his employees and throughout his network, Nicolau was known as the man who couldn’t be moved, but Lallie could have tipped him over as if he were nothing but a feather. 

The tone grew darker as they continued to walk. He knew she was right, but for the first time in a long time, Nicolau didn’t know what to say. He wanted to reassure her the age-old you don’t have to worry about me, but they’d agreed lying was a waste of both of their time many years ago. Besides, if Lallie weren’t there to worry about Nicolau, and he her, who would? They relied on each other far too heavily to sugar-coat the truth, to pretend like their jobs were not real dangers every day. Lallie was one of the few people Nicolau allowed himself to be honest with– on second thought, she was the only person with whom he provided complete honesty– and he had yet to break that promise to her.

The dangerous truth was, Nicolau relished his power. He’d worked hard to get where he was, and despite Lalie’s words (which stung, he couldn’t deny) he was more than just a drug dealer.  He was much more– he was the drug dealer, the best in New York City. Whispered about in street corners not unlike the one they were strolling through, in underground bars, and in eighty-third floor offices. Lallie never forced him to decide which he loved more. While he told himself, like a mantra, that he never would, he had a feeling that the answer would be hers. Lallie in one hand, his empire in the other, he would watch it crumble at his feet.

Which was why Nicolau could not bring himself to give her half-hearted reassurances. It would have been an injustice, both to her and to the truth he tried so nobly to protect. The other side of the coin, however, was dark and depressing. Were they going to discuss death, out here in the open like this? And anyway, he’d put his affairs in order years ago. His mother and Lallie and their son were set to live comfortably were he to die, but this was hardly the place or the time to discuss death. His death. (In truth, he hadn’t thought of it much at all outside of a legal standpoint.) 

Death didn’t scare him. No, he’d seen enough of it, inflicted enough of it, to know it to be either inevitable or deserved, but he did fear what he would leave behind. His work. His son. Her.

“You’re going to worry no matter what I do.” It was as neutral a statement as he could muster. “But you’re right. Nothing out in the open, at least.” He smiled, feeding into his own illusion that such a promise would satisfy her. “Only for you, would I choose weakness,” he added. His tone was light. It was not an accusation so much as it was an observation. It was certainly not one he regretted. 

“How is the new man of the house?” Nicolau inquired, not hiding the twinge of sarcasm in his voice. “Serena Vorshevsky does not seem as fooled by him as others do.”

"Alright," Lallie sighed. She was either truly defeated, or playing at it. "Will you make sure I eat everything on my plate or something?"

She knew all too well what Nicolau’s path to power had been like; after all, she’d been there for most of it. It was a shame Lallie couldn’t remember exactly when the kid selling drugs himself at college parties had become the one they all feared and answered to, a thousand minions under his control. But surely he did. Surely he still relied on the memory, all those years later. It was a change so smooth and so meant-to-be, that when it happened, it was as though things had always been that way. Any changes to his so perfectly crafted system would be an insult to his decade-long handiwork.

Despite witnessing it all, Lallie couldn’t say she would ever understand how he felt. Whatever was the shortest way to success, or the most effective, was what she’d do that day. If in a week that changed, she changed along with it. Her routine was always one necessary act that followed the other; the word passion, which she so closely associated with Nicolau, had no place in it. Lallie’s life, in hindsight, could easily be summed up by the phrase doing what you have to do. Anything else was simply foreign.

Even if his ways so vastly varied from hers, that didn’t mean she didn’t respect them. Perhaps risking his life wasn’t something Lallie would easily comply with or do herself, but it was the kind of boldness she admired.

"I'm not questioning your power," she felt like she needed to clarify. "Or how others perceive you. I know that you can handle your shit, so that makes me not worry as much. It’s just I can’t ignore everything that might happen ever since Vincent. No one saw it coming.” 

Lallie looked up at him then, a faint smile still on her lips, a result of his words. “That’s being smart, not being weak,” she told him. “I'm not gonna stop you if you want to keep doing things your way, you know that. If I didn't trust you I wouldn't still be here.”

At Haides, she shrugged. “Doing his job, I can't lie about that, but not without a snarky comment every other minute. He has one hell of a nice guy façade, though.” A monstruous change from their previous boss, who wore his bad rep and violent antics with pride. “Serena Vorshevsky?” She raised a brow at that. The news that the russian mob boss was now in New York were old ones; in the week that it happened, at least twenty people had come to Lallie to tell her so; eager for those brownie points, no doubt. However, there had been no other updates since. “You talked to her?”

"I just asked if you were waiting for Haides," she offered. They hadn’t had much more than a couple vague interactions in the past, but she was still able to recognize Nora from a mile away. Whether or not Nora would still remember who Lallie was was another matter entirely. "He's not really gonna be around today."

Though she heard a voice directed rather distinctly in her direction, it took a moment for Nora to register the conversation. Turning her narrowed gaze away from the passersby she had been mindlessly observing, she clarified, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” expression kind, despite her disdain for listening to others repeat themselves.

"It was a gift.” From Vincent, actually, whom Pietro surely had met at one point or another. But that detail was hardly necessary. "I pretended to love it when I got it, but if I'm honest I haven't got the slightest idea what makes it special." Lallie shrugged. "A pen's a pen, I guess."

"My hero," she scoffed, but took the money back anyways. "Well, thank you for so bravely protecting my five dollars. How will I ever repay you?" 

“Excuse me, you dropped your money back there. Here. Fell straight out of your pocket when you bent down to pick up your pen. A very nice pen, by the way. Do you mind telling me where it’s from? I’d like to invest in one. But here, here, your money… Kid next to me must have been twelve or thirteen and the little man looked ecstatic about your dough until I told him to fuck off and get a job. In a nice way, of course, because I don’t wish to contribute to the corruption of the youth.”

nicolaudeleon:

– ”I know.” Nicolau’s thoughts drifted foolishly to their son, who, at ten years old, was growing far more curious than his father’s desire to protect him could reach. Rafael often wondered about his mother: what she did, what she was like, and, most often, why she was never around. It was her desire for the, in her own words, dark alleys and bullet wounds that kept them apart. Unlike Nicolau, Lallie never wanted Rafael, and while he never resented her for it, the concept was much harder to explain to a child.

Lallie was an enigma to Rafael, a figure always just out of reach, and Nicolau knew that feeling would only strengthen with time. (He feared it was partly his fault. He still did not know whether or not he should discuss Lallie with his son, or ignore the subject completely. Both felt like an injustice, the former to Rafael and the latter to Lallie herself.)

“Sometimes a walk is just a walk, Lallie,” said Nicolau, repeating his earlier thoughts, “but we can cut through an alley if that will make you feel better.” He smiled, though his mind was still on his son. Their son, the invisible force that linked the pair of them together. “I was waiting for a meeting that never came,” he added, answering her question and thus shattering the illusion. “What were you doing?”

She nodded vaguely, "I know. All I'm saying is I can't remember the last time I had just a walk. We can," Lallie played around with the idea, a smirk shyly creeping onto her lips. "But then we'd have to misbehave. You can't just go into the shadows and play nice. There are rules, you know."

What meeting Nicolau talked about, she didn't know. Business, for the most part, was hardly a subject they discussed in detail. But as she allowed herself to think about it, the mood grew gloomier along with her thoughts.

"Nothing says 'drug dealer' like a dark alley meeting, huh?" Lallie said, her words underlined with humour as they often were, however her tone had taken a darker turn. "Though maybe next time it'd be a better idea not to go alone? Or, just send someone else? You have people for that. You can't just get comfortable because you're the boss. In fact, that just shines a larger target on your back." If Vincent's death had told her anything, it was that no one was safe. He, who was constantly surrounded by people he trusted. He, who hadn't had a real threat in years. He, who seemingly had nothing to worry about. Dead anyway.

But this was where he differed from Nicolau; there was never someone reminding Vincent of whatever danger he might be in, or worrying about it, for that matter. His wife was forever gone, and it was debatable whether or not his son cared enough to spare a thought in his favor. That left only Lallie; but it had long since been proven that her advice was as disposable as most things were to the man. This was where they differed. Her words, here, were not just lost in the wind.

Despite the change in mood, Lallie didn't move an inch away. If that, she might have gotten instinctively closer, as if it would make any difference. "I can't believe I'm having to tell you that you have to be safe."

"Getting back from one," she breathed. "Apparently Haides can take you out to dinner but can't drop you off at home. Probably went off to fuck his girlfriend or on a quest to rid the world of coriander. His priorities would amaze you."

flamesofhaides:

The words of his second prompted the man to roll his eyes rather theatrically, shooting his companion a rather pointed glare. “Weakness,” he scoffed, shaking his head at the ludicrous nature of the term. “You of all people should know that weakness is not a word that should be associated with Ronans.” It was true — his father had taught him from a young age that the family had no room for such frailty, a lesson that had been hard learnt but well worth the time.

“Distaste, perhaps,” he admitted, shrugging sheepishly as he glanced at the menu that had been placed in front of him by a rather petrified server. 

With a rather disgruntled sigh, Haides turned to the server. “Bring me the same steak — rare, of course — but perhaps peppercorn instead of what must have been a rejected Czech & Speake submission.” Before the waiter could reply, the man had returned his attention to Lallie, having clearly ignored her suggestion. “If there is a single drop of coriander in that dish, I will personally make sure that the only place this so called chef can find work is in Justin Bieber’s kitchen.”

Taking the wine with a smile, he brought the crystal to his lips and took a rather hearty sip, the red liquid staining his lips. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he mused, offering his second-in-command a smirk. Clearing his throat, he placed his elbows where his plate had been and leaned towards the blonde, his empty glass waiting to be refilled by the poor waiter. “And how are you? Shall we make small talk until my food arrives, or would you rather risk talking shop with a ravenous Ronan?”

"Neither is a sense of humour," Lallie pointed out. Haides' father never did appreciate her quips, either.

She simply watched, quiet, as Haides sent back his plate and ordered an almost identical one to follow. She'd seen enough of this to be surprised; in fact, she wouldn't be fazed if when the new one arrived, it returned back to the kitchen also. "Well, that is what we're all scared of, isn't it? Working for Justin Bieber." Though, if she were to admit, she wasn't entirely sure who that was. 

"I tried, okay?" Lallie wasn't about to try to redeem herself with the restaurant choice, make an excuse for it. If Haides hated it, he hated it, and that was that. "That's why I don't pick where we eat. You said 'surprise me'." She motioned around the place; shrugged. "You're obviously surprised, so I'd say I've succeeded."

She shook her head and answered honestly, "I would not." And the only relatively light subject that crossed her mind was, "How's Nora?"

nicolaudeleon:

– “You consider this a fantasy?” Nicolau asked. He did not hide the curiosity in his tone. He never hid anything from Lallie: not his business goals, nor his failures, and certainly never his affection for her. (Not, at least, when they were alone together.) In public, his love for her took another form, one shaped by their own individual importance. They were business partners, alike in mind and ambition, and powerful ones at that, but they were notably separate from one another. Lallie and Nicolau only existed when the door was closed. Then, and only then, did she exist as his confidant. Of course, Lallie was the only person he trusted completely; that was never a fantasy for him. 

Walking with her, arm-and-arm through the city streets, idyllic and innocent as it may have been, was not a fantasy, either. Nicolau was not fool enough to pretend that they were anything less than what they were. Criminals. Killers. Monsters. He’d accepted those truths a long time ago, even prided himself on them now. But, of course, Lallie would never believe that a walk was just a walk. Shouldn’t she know by now, no ulterior motives existed when it came to her? He would gladly give up his arms for her, both figuratively and literally. 

“Isn’t fantasy the opposite of real life?” Lallie mused. “It's not really us to just walk around a neighbourhood, the only thing on our minds being whatever we might have for dinner. Though," she added as an after-thought, "I guess pizza does sound good right now.”

Her words trailed off and she looked ahead, to the endless street ahead of them, neverminding the sporadic passerby. One thing about Lallie is that she was always on guard; ready to both defend and attack. It was instinct, she thought. Now, there was a slight difference in both her mindset and behaviour. She wasn't completely unguarded-- but less so. Maybe it was this pretense; this fantasy. 

“So yeah. I guess it is.” She shrugged. "Not a bad fantasy. But you know I’m okay with the dark alleys and occasional bullet wounds.” 

LALLIE | 33 YEARS OLD | SECOND IN COMMAND

Has been involved with crime ever since she realized that being involved with it would benefit her more than not. This dates back to her younger years, and as she got older, and the more experienced she became, the greater were the jobs and positions she was being given. 

Had an unexpected child at 23, with whom she maintains hardly any contact as he lives with his grandmother. The father happens to be Nicolau de Leon.

Nicolau and her have been friends (sometimes w/ benefits) for well over ten years, when she was in college and he was doing whatever he needed to do to start his business. Not much has changed since.

Lallie had been Vincent's second for a long time before he died. To everyone else, she's loyal. To Vincent, she was loyal, too. But if a better deal were to present itself, she'd take it in a heartbeat.

In the gang, she's second in command and is pretty much a jack of all trades. Mainly the connection between the boss and the rest of the gang, carrying orders to the ones bellow them and making deals with outside parties. 

Doesn't think Haides is the best option for the gang's leadership, but then again she didn't think Vincent was the perfect boss either. As long as she's making her cut, all it's fine-- until it isn't.

Is almost completely sure Haides was the one to kill Vincent.

Dresses like an angry teenager. Probably has a drinking problem.

Wants to fight everyone.

nicolaudeleon:

– Nicolau felt the smile creeping onto his lips even before Lallie came into full view. How she managed to appear wherever he went, he’d never know, but he’d also never ask. He watched her without shame as she stepped nearer to him. The stark contrast between her features, doe-like and blonde, and her appearance, all black leather and tough, never ceased to amuse him. Lallie was a force all on her own: always a surprise, but never unwanted. 

“Sheer stupidity,” he replied, the joke being that neither of them were fools in the slightest. He presented an arm to her, the shady back-alley meeting he’d meant to be attending abandoned at the sight of her. “Walk with me?”

"Like I thought." Lallie shook her head with faux disapproval. She took his arm, something she could not remember doing unless when it was occasionally required of them -- stupid galas and their formalities --, and unless they were not in public. It was almost like holding hands; she couldn't remember doing that, either. 

Well, once. But it was hardly enjoyable on her part. 

"Look at us," she grinned at Nicolau. "Seemingly model citizens." And they sure looked the part. Arms locked, a smile, and a peaceful stroll that could have fooled their own minions if they didn't know better. "Should I ruin the moment by asking what you were doing alone in a dark alley, or do you wanna keep the fantasy going for a little longer?"

Anyone else -- perhaps someone who did not know Haides as well as Lallie did -- would have found his behavior shocking. Would have it surprise them, at least, the sudden change of mood after a simple bite. But this was Haides; not only was he her boss now, but for years he was Vincent’s son. In many ways, she did watch him grow older, and also into the leader he was today. 

That came with his over-the-top personality; his bratty behaviour, because no, there was no other word to describe it. His arrogance. Some traits could be found in his father too, but as though they were different sides of the same coin. Similar, and yet not.

“Not months into your leadership and we’ve already found your weakness?” She scoffed. “Coriander. I promise to keep the secret.” 

“Well, there’s the menu. I’m sure there’s something that doesn’t have coriander in it. It’s hardly what the place is named after. Next time maybe read the ingredients instead of just ordering whaterever is most expensive? I promise a dish that’s a couple dollars cheaper won’t send you to the ER.“ 

“Here,” she offered Haides his own glass of wine. “For your damaged tastebuds.” 

With less decorum than usual, Haides took a rather large bite of his near bloody steak, his expression souring mere seconds later. Rather dramatically, he spat the meat into his linen napkin, glancing up at the waiter with near comical disdain etched clearly across his face. “Is that coriander in the sauce?” The question had hardly left his lips before the plate was in his hands extended in the server’s direction, his gaze shifting with a roll of his eyes towards his dining companion. “Perhaps next time choose a venue where the chef doesn’t attempt to drive me to suicide by sabotaging my tastebuds.”

Lallie hadn’t expected to run into Nicolau tonight. It seemed that this, this weird thing some might call fate or meant-to-be or whatever, happened far too many times when the it came to the two of them to be just coincidence. After it had happened enough, that’s when she gave in, accepting that no matter what he’d be in her life. And not a bad thing, a realization that came soon after.

“You’re right,” she said. “It doesn’t.” Her hands were deep in her pockets, her voice as serious as he’d tried to make this situation seem to be. If these were dark times, it was because they made it so. “But then again one might say I’m not the brightest. It’s the blonde hair, or whatever. What’s your excuse?” 

– “Wandering through a dark alley at night doesn’t seem like the brightest idea,” Nicolau commented, addressing the figure approaching through the shadows. “They’re calling it ‘dark times’ on the news, you know.”

“Excuse you,” she snapped. Her voice came from behind him, as only now she entered the room. Normally she’d apologize for keeping him - or anyone - waiting, but he’d just offended her favorite band; he didn’t quite deserve an apology after that. “My office, my rules,” she made her way around Sebastian and behind her own desk. “When meet at NEXT I don’t complain about your sappy-porn-elevator songs. So I’d appreciate the same from you.” 

Lallie lowered the volume on the stereo, not because of him, but for the sake of the meeting and hearing what came out of each other’s mouths. She hadn’t reached that level of unprofessionalism yet. “Now, do you wanna talk business, or do you wanna keep talking about how you’re gonna shoot me?” 

“If I have to hear one more god-awful metal song, I may shoot them. People genuinely consider that noise as music?”