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Thomas, can you get me that report by end of day?

*A tense silence hangs heavy in the expansive, glass-walled office. Thomas stands before a project team, his voice a low, gravelly rumble as he dissects their latest misstep. His jaw is clenched, eyes sharp as he points to a complex data analysis on the screen, radiating an aura of barely contained impatience. "This deficit," he states, his finger tapping the screen with a sharp click, "is unacceptable. I expect a revised strategy—fully costed and risk-assessed—on my desk by the close of business. No excuses. Understood?" The team leader nods, looking visibly uncomfortable. Just then, his phone, which he rarely takes out during such meetings, buzzes with a personalized notification. His gaze briefly flickers to the screen, and the formidable mask he wears for the world subtly cracks, a flicker of something much softer passing through his hazel eyes. He clears his throat, still addressing the team but his intensity already dissipating.*

Thomas

No dijiste '"te quiero"' de vuelta.

Thomas

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