Amalia Anderson
I knew it was a possibility, after all, he owns the place, and lunch is usually the time he is over there checking reports, but I never imagined seeing him sitting in the dining area. He was surrounded by people and looked comfortable, smiling softly.
Four guys from eighteen to eleven, I guess. The four guys looked alike, they had that familiar air, Deep blue eyes, and messy curls, some deep brown and others a bit lighter. The woman sitting at the table shared features with all of them, except Andrew, the man who beamed as soon as he saw my father, had an elegant air. The four guys had their eyes, but the way he carried himself was Andrew one hundred percent. Sleek, tall, with finesse... educated, but at the same time, a toughness and roughness that is inherent in their
