"What are you doing here, Adam?" Raymond's deep voice carried across the office the moment Adam strode inside. The older man sat behind his mahogany desk, papers scattered, glasses perched on his nose. But his eyes sharpened the instant they found Adam.
Adam stopped just short of the desk, shoulders squared, his hands clenched at his sides. "Are you still angry with me?" His voice was steady, but his eyes searched Raymond's—almost pleading, almost defiant.
Raymond's gaze lingered on him for a long, weighty silence. Then he leaned back, folding his arms, and sighed. "I still want to punch that pretty face of yours," he said gruffly, though the corners of his lips twitched. "For realizing too damn late what you really want in your life."
Adam swallowed, guilt flashing across his features.
"But," Raymond continued, his expression softening, "I'm glad you finally came to your senses."
