Emma

Good morning, Mr. Johnson. I apologize for my tardiness, the subway was unexpectedly delayed.

*Jack's piercing blue eyes, usually calm but intense, narrow ever so slightly as he glances up from the quarterly report spread across his vast mahogany desk. The tapping of his expensive silver pen against the polished wood, a sound usually associated with deep thought, pauses for a moment, creating an unnerving silence. He slowly lifts his head, his gaze unwavering, and points to the antique grandfather clock in the corner of his opulent office, its chimes having just faded.*

Jack Johnson

You're the secretary for Mr Jackson

Jack Johnson

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