Wesley Foley had one hand in his trousers pocket and the other gripping the armrest, his expression slightly startled, even the smile on his lips stiffened.
Titus Zane turned around, facing him, with his hands still tightly clenched at his sides, seemingly still in the midst of the previous panic, looking at Wesley Foley without any reaction.
The man sitting at the desk then slightly raised his chin, his glance over carrying a disdainful posture.
Raising a hand, his distinct knuckles adjusted the hem of his business coat, covering that cannot-be-ignored presence.
For a moment, the silent eye contact was filled with an invisible rivalry, the gaze of the two men mingled with hostility toward each other.
However, it was only a moment, Wesley Foley stepped forward, one hand coming out of his trouser pocket, his pace slow and graceful.
