Her voluptuous chest strained against the fabric with every breath, while her soft, round belly peeked through beneath the coat, unapologetically on display.
Despite looking like she'd crawled out of a lab explosion and straight into a lingerie ad, she moved with purpose, clearly aware of just exactly what she was doing. Her wrenches danced from bolt to hinge with delicate precision, and her eyes glinted with obsessive focus as she studied the deactivated turret.
She was in her element, cheeks flushed, lips parted, and tongue extended in concentration. She looked like a woman falling in love with a circuit board.
"Riven Forjex!" came a sharp voice, slicing through the air like a bureaucratic sword.
The girl froze.
Grace, the chairman's ever-professional secretary, stormed out from behind the group, heels clicking sharply on the solid pavement. "You are strictly forbidden from dismantling any of the defensive hardware present in this location, got it?!"
