C17 17

His cell starts ringing in his pocket; he pulls it out, sighs, and drops it onto the couch, silencing it. I sigh at his hopelessness, my temper dissipating, and push my cool facade back into place as I take in the dejected look on his face.

So boyish at times.

He stretches his hands behind his head in that casual way he has and closes his eyes as I watch, bemused, but still irritated.

My boss