Waldo's cold expression darkened slightly, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. His sharp, wolf-like eyes settled briefly on Martin, who was busy mixing drinks behind the bar. Those eyes narrowed, just a little…
Martin was the playful type—perhaps a trait he inherited from Charles. Like Charles, he had a deep interest in mixology and racing. But unlike his predecessor, Martin lacked the same burning obsession. He played for the thrill, not the purpose.
Suddenly, his phone rang. He ignored it.
Instead, he continued to toy with the shaker, graceful and unhurried. Only when he had finished pouring the drinks into two crystal glasses and handed one to Waldo did he finally glance at the screen. A missed call. His gaze darkened subtly, but a crooked, almost wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
He called back.
The line was picked up almost instantly.
