The loud, intrusive ringing of Fedora's phone arrived like a hurricane alert, shattering the intimate air of the ongoing session.
They paused for a sharp, suspended beat of seconds before Miguel slowly retreated to the comfort of his chair.
Even as he sank back, his eyes never strayed from Fedora, who looked utterly livid, scrambling for the device in his purse with irritation oozing from every frantic movement.
"Bitch, now?" Fedora muttered under his breath through clenched teeth. His mind was already firing off predictions, Tyra, surely, calling at the worst possible moment, but as his eyes landed on the contact floating across the glowing screen, he froze. His nose scrunched in immediate, visceral recoil. He didn't freeze out of fear, but with pure distaste and the weary expectation of something designed to ruin his mood.
He glared at the screen as if the caller could receive the stray bullets flying from his eyes.
