Dusk till Dawn.[ON HOLD]

Chapter 01. Iroída.

As soon as the presentation concluded and the projector displayed no more bar graphs, charts and stocks distribution, the boardroom flooded with lights. Everyone typically blinked to adjust to the incandescent intrusion. But a pair of amber eyes remained regally stoic and visibly uninterested.

Gray Lipsky, CEO of "The Blues", a blond in his early 30's was observing, more likely lusting for her from the moment she and her executives entered for the meeting.

Not stopping for mundane practice of introductions she had curtly signaled to begin.

Dressed in a crisp black pant suit, hair pulled back in a elegant knot, with minimal and sophisticated make-up she looked young, confident, bold, and extremely charming and would undoubtedly pass for a femme fatale.

He waited for her or anyone from the lot of five to speak, but none initiated as if they had lost the ability of speech. His associates at the table squirmed uncomfortably as the silence stretched longer than it should have.

Gray caught her turning to her right towards a young lad probably her assistant and whispering inaudibly. He fucking salivated at the sight of the graceful movements of her painted lips and her rythmically heaving chest caused a twitch in his grey pants.

What followed next was utterly confusing but only for him and his fraternity while her aids looked prepared with their armours on.

Her lanky assistant took out several stacks of paper, moved aside the file hitherto kept in front of her and placed a set of stapled sheets. When he didn't move ahead as ordered she threw him a menacing glare. The stripling writhed like a yelow leaf under her lour before rounding the table and putting a copy of sheets in front of all the other eleven occupants.

Mr. Lipsky bemusedly put on his reading glasses, advanced forward before leaning his elbows on the table and picking up the dossier.

The next few minutes passed in gloomy daze. The CEO turned the pages horridly, the two women gasped, the other three men quaked with fear, their reactions similar as if unanimously struck by a bolt of lightning.

But the intimidating gaze of Mr. Carson Dockery, Chairman of 'The Blues' promised sinister doom. The icy shards in his eyes chilling like the habitats of Antarctica. He looked ready to butcher anyone and everyone. But the one who stirred up the hornet's nest was plainly unbothered.

The young woman, alluring and sweet like poison was unruffled even as the boardroom echoed with Carson's animalistic growl. She was immersed in her printouts, head marginally bowed, full lips slightly parted, eyes scanning the contents with attractive expertise and fingers of her left hand daintly marking the sheets with a pen.

"What the hell is this?" Mr. Dockery bellowed and ripped a sheet in his hands to shreds. The denizens sat ramrod straight, terrified, since their leader looked like an angry bull ready to charge. His pale freckled face turning a brighter shade of red by every passing second. He was clearly waiting for an answer but unfortunately received none.