Queen of the jungle
Leah stepped out of the elevator. Someone trained in reading subtle psychological tells would have immediately noted her repeated pursing of her lips, and the repetitive manner in which she clutched her handbag, while absently twirling fingers through her long, jet black hair. Of course that someone would have to be immune to her enormous sex appeal in order to observe the subtleties. The concierge looked up and smiled. It didn’t take much imagination or psychoanalytic knowhow to read the...
Supernatural