Stopping the drumming of his fingers against the table, his knuckles gave a final knock on

the desk as he stood up to his full height. His eyes bored in hers. Yet she was not looking up

at him. "Have you not cut him off?" he asked, leaning forward and placing his hands flat on

the table. The mirth on his face, if he had any, turned into mirthlessness, making her cower

back.

"Haven't you, Sheharzaad?" he questioned again, running his tongue along his lower lip

while witnessing her hands begin to ...