The next day, around six in the evening.
Leonard had spent the whole day at work, and now he is home. "Fuck, I hate losing, this is war!" Skye flinched as Leonard's fist slammed down on the desk, hard enough to rattle the glass of whiskey beside him. Papers scattered on the floor, Skye wasn't even in the same room, but she heard. She froze near the doorway, her fingers curled around the frame, heart skipping a beat, she clutched her pearls. She had never seen him like this before. This was scary.
Leonard was always composed, cold, and a perfectionist who never expressed more emotions than he should. But now this face was flushed, eyes wild, jaw tight with rage. The calm mask was gone, ripped clean off. It was non-existent. "Ryan took it," he yelled, pacing behind the desk like a predator. "They got in first, delivered it to Millan, And I looked like a fool, some minutes? Fuck. I hated how calm I was to the King, oh he was so lucky, I should have had him disappear."
