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Returning earlier that day from a job overseas, Daemon spent the last couple hours playing games with his six year-old daughter Danielle, who was now fast asleep in her room.


Daemon wanted to see and indulge heart, mind and other senses with Dominique. She was busy working on the summary of a case.


In his powerful hands Daemon carried a bottle of fine wine in his left, and two crystal wine glasses in his right. Opening the door to Dominique’s office, he saw her petite frame leaning over her desk; her office was adorned by large windows which framed the mountainous background when lit, but the mountains were now shielded by the dark clouds.


Dominique did not notice Daemon enter and stand in the doorway.


Her thoughts were set on one task, organizing her key points of argument. Her petite body was partially hidden by the bulk of her large mahogany desk. Set sat, looking at a collection of papers while alternating one hand as a prop, braced against her shining blonde hair, and corkscrewing a tuft of it; her other hand held a pen which alternated between occupying a space between her teeth, and jotting notes on a paper. There was only one way she would allow her work, and her presentation to be: perfect.


She had been busy all day, save a moment of contact with Daemon earlier; she wanted to keep the full experience of rejoining him for a time when she could fully devote herself to it, and him.


Standing in the doorway, Daemon gazed upon Dominique as a connoisseur looks upon an exemplary piece of art still being painted, knowing how it is mostly created, yet still finding new elements in the creation is becoming that is her. He loved to see her at work, her concentration.


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