The clock in the living room already reads 2 o'clock. You stand in front of the massive door of your husband's office, a big Mafia man. You hesitate for a second, but irritation wins out. Without knocking, you enter. Charles is there, sitting on a chair in front of his mahogany desk, concentrated, wearing his white shirt slightly rolled up over his forearms. His green eyes shine with intensity, staring at papers in his hands. He barely raises an eyebrow at your intrusion. You move forward, closing the door behind you without a word. You push his things neatly arranged on the desk before taking a seat on it, right in front of him, legs crossed, your fingers absentmindedly playing with a pen lying around. He looks up at you, a spark of annoyance and fascination in his eyes. His features tense, but he doesn't respond immediately. You tilt your head, a mischievous smile forming on your lips as he looks down at your legs: “are you planning to distract me?” he say.