“Pull up a chair. We’ll get you your own desk soon.” Yoon pushed off from Malcolm’s desk, snagged a rolling chair, and slung it around, spinning it next to Malcolm’s and then settling down to straddle it with the back facing him, arms folded over the top, thighs spread rakishly. He rested his chin on his crossed wrists, lazy eyes watching Malcolm like a snake in the grass. “Yours is fine for now,” he said.
