His lips curled. My, my, she did have a problem with authority, which was to say she didn’t discriminate against age, gender, interest-- everyone was sir. And all the same, everyone would be ma’am if you burdened her with a female companion. It made Ryan roll his eyes mentally, but in person he didn’t do much. Too easily bored. Too keen on amusement. He merely observed her, his hands joined on the desk and opening, closing in that gesture of acceptance and helplessness before he said, “And I understand that, love.”
He was painting himself as such a good man. It gave him a rush.
It made him wonder how to ruin the impression, or in fact better it, drinking himself on the scent of her wolf and entertaining the reality of how easily she’d threaten the delicate balance of the shelter; young, female, wolf, and soft. God, if his men didn’t accidentally bend and rape her-- well, life was cruel. As long as he got a small taste of her blood, he wouldn’t complain. As long as he got to watch it--
The scent of another man, the scent that didn’t pin her a whore and not a woman owed, but the scent of belonging that Ryan well knew, confirming her a wolf taken with a pack, chilled such notion, and in fact had him contemplate how much he really wanted to bother with this woman.
Though he did have a thing for blondes…
He hummed, mustering a mock understanding expression, his answer a lame, dull, and seemingly plain, “I see”, before he slowly moved up to stand, and took to the right, where a cabinet sat, easily answering with a swing to his desire to open. Its inside was revealed as containing several bottles of alcohol and a number of crystalline tumblers, all of which glimmered with every angry threat if they should be chipped, she paid. Ryan procured two, moving to set them upon the desk with a merry swing in his step. His lips curled into a faint grin, and his features ever so seemingly placating, he murmured in his lilt, “I hope you can drink, pet. You don’t really look it, but I suppose I want to take my chances.” The glasses set down, he waited to borrow her gaze, and when their eyes locked, only then did Ryan smirk.
He looked mischievous for a second, his stance corrected, the lean forward erased into a straightened one that lifted his hand off the rim of the glass as well. His tone was relaxed.
“Or we’ll just make it our secret.”
Looking close to winking, though he’d not, he looked at the splay of alcohol once more, wondering, “What do you drink, pet? You look like you need it. Also, far it be from me to deny owed respect, but do refrain from calling me sir in the future. My name is Ryan. Do well to use it. And now--”
He paused to slant her a look, and smiled. His arm up, he beckoned her to stand right next to him with that curl of his hand and that tell-tale motion. Come here. It hooded his gaze, and once more, he wondered---
“Drinking is one of the gifts of life… It helps you… relax. Come along now, pet, I don’t have all day.”