Travis shiny polished dress shoes click on the floor as he walks to his office.
He is back in a suit, hair styled back, one hand in his pocket as he looks ahead, jaw clenched.
He is back to the cold motherfucker that he is, now more than before.
He is still not happy about being separated from his mate, but Day escaped him while he was asleep and texted him that he had gone to school and had to check on his work.
Fuck.
So yes, he is in such a bad mood that he could incinerate anyone breathing in his direction the wrong way if his eyes decided to grant him that superpower.
But he would probably use his hands because of how much tension is pouring over him in waves. Agitation, so thick that he is sure his scent is foul, if the ay his employees who he passes are to be trusted.
No one is looking straight at him. Normally, some dare to speak up and say good morning or whatever the fuck hour greeting it is.
