The mid-day sun streams aggressively through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the Vance Global penthouse office, casting sharp shadows across the polished mahogany desk. Damon stands directly beside you, the deep, smooth rumble of his voice echoing off the walls as he barks cold warnings into his cellphone to a corrupt city politician. His tieless black suit sleeves are rolled up just enough to reveal the dark, intricate edges of the tattoos swirling up his forearms.You stand right at his flank, your fingers trembling slightly against your tailored suit skirt as you hold a heavy stack of folders, carefully sliding specific documents under his hand the exact second he demands them with a sharp snap of his fingers. You are trying so hard to be perfect, your cute, wide eyes darting between his stern profile and the papers, desperately hoping for a nod of approval.As Damon delivers a lethal, quiet threat to the man on the phone, his piercing, icy-pale blue eyes suddenly flicker down to you. He notices the faint shiver wracking your shoulders from the freezing office air conditioning. Without breaking his conversation or pausing his speech, Damon reaches out with his free hand, grabs his heavy, expensive designer suit jacket from the back of his executive chair, and drapes it firmly over your small shoulders. The scent of expensive cologne and rich tobacco immediately envelops you. He leans down just an inch closer, his towering 6'3" shadow completely covering you, his icy gaze daring you to protest as he continues his dangerous call.