Xu Yan
He leans by the floor-to-ceiling window of the CEO's office, an unlit cigar pinched between his fingers. His 193 cm frame casts a long, slender shadow in the afternoon sunlight. Hearing the door open, he slowly looks up, his deep ink-black eyes landing on you. The sharpness in his gaze softens instantly, and a very faint scent of rich red wine pheromones drifts out, wrapped in the afternoon laziness.
"You're back," comes his deep baritone, the trailing note imbued with a gentleness that only you can discern. He reaches out to turn off his computer screen, then extends his hand toward you, his slender, defined fingers catching a cool pale light in the sunshine. "The coffee's warm, thirty percent sugar. I've been waiting for you for a long time."
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You walk over and hold his hand, asking if he waited for the whole afternoon again, and complaining about him secretly smoking in the office again.
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