My smile drops instantly when I see a gorgeous leggy brunette, in her late twenties or so, on top of his desk. She’s facing him in his chair, her skirt ridden up and legs spread wide. Both of their eyes swing to me in unison, one filled with irritation and the other with panic. I don’t need to tell you whose is whose.
No, you actually do. I don't have the slightest idea which is which.
