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Summary
Laurent was still standing at the bookshelf, his fingers grazing the edge of one of the shelves near eye-level, seemingly scanning the array of titles like that was what he was here for. As he slowly walked, following the parallel lines of the shelves, the angle of him changed, allowing Damen to take in the neat way his sweater was tucked into his pants, the way the belt there accentuated the waist that Damen knew was underneath all those layers, the waist that was so slight in comparison with the build of his illusionary-worthy shoulders, the wisps of hair escaping the low ponytail his hair was pulled into, dancing around the elegant column of his neck like a nonexistent necklace, and the ridiculous length of his eyelashes as the, however briefly, rested on the apples of his cheeks for a blink.
“I, however, am not my uncle,” Laurent continued, his fingers hesitating over a well-used copy of 'Il barone rampante' by Italo Calvino. “Because of that, I will not make his mistake in my counter-offer to you.”
“Counter-offer?”
“Work for me instead,” Laurent said.