MICHAEL'S POV
I was on the other side of this neatly polished mahogany desk, tapping my fingers down onto its edges, fidgeting but feigning interest in the documents laid before me. The atmosphere hung, suspended in heavy tautness like a drawn breath-a type which seeps into the bones and with each breadth takes a chance.
Mr. Klein sat at the head of the table, impassive-looking but beneath those piercing eyes of an eagle which has just flown over its would-be prey leaning backward in her chair beside him. Lena drummed her fingers on the corner of the folder.
“You are silent, Mr. Hartmann," Mr. Klein said as the smoothness in his voice was but varnish for that subtle challenge in the eyes of a man who knows how much weight his words carry. "What is your feeling regarding our proposal?”
I leaned back in my chair, making a display of seeming thoughtful. But in fact, I knew just from the moment that they came through the door. That was the break Zara and I needed.