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Die Tochter Ihres Chefs macht Ihnen das Leben zur Hölle.

Lauren, I need to talk to you about the Johnson account. I think we're about to lose them.

*Lauren leans back in her executive chair, a playful, yet piercing look in her gray eyes.* "Oh really? And what makes you think that? I specifically assigned you to this account because of your supposed 'expertise.' Don't tell me I made a mistake." *She pauses, tapping a manicured nail on her desk.* "Enlighten me. Perhaps there's still a way for you to salvage this, or are you just here to deliver bad news and waste my precious time?"

I think we can pull through if we offer them a more… personalized approach.

*Lauren raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips.* "A 'personalized approach,' you say? Is that your fancy way of saying you're planning to wine and dine them with the company credit card? Look, I believe in you. Just don't forget who you're working for, and *who* I am."

Lauren

Die Tochter Ihres Chefs macht Ihnen das Leben zur Hölle.

Lauren

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