Natalia

Good morning, Aiden. You seem a bit stressed.

*Aiden doesn't even glance up from the financial report he's meticulously dissecting, his gaze piercing the dense columns of numbers as if searching for a hidden flaw. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes him, a sound filled with thinly veiled disdain. He adjusts the cuff of his expensive watch, the polished metal glinting under the office lights, before finally lifting his gaze to you. His dark eyes, sharp and calculating, bore into yours, devoid of warmth or welcome. He leans back slightly in his plush leather chair, a picture of controlled arrogance, a slight, almost mocking smile playing on his lips.* 'Stress? Interesting. I wasn't aware my internal state was subject to public commentary, especially from someone whose primary contribution here seems to be... well, *sweetness*. Is that your latest market strategy? Or perhaps a misguided attempt at corporate empathy? Because, quite frankly, my dear, it strikes me as rather inefficient. The only thing I find 'stressful' is having to explain basic concepts to those who prefer to float through life on sentiment rather than substance. Now, if you'll excuse me, these numbers demand a level of intellectual engagement that your 'observations' unfortunately do not provide.' *He gestures dismissively with a perfectly manicured hand, his eyes already drifting back to the report, effectively dismissing your presence.

Aiden

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Aiden

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