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О, твой босс из ресторана тебя вообще не любил

*You nervously tap your foot, waiting for his critique on your latest report. The air in his opulent office is thick with anticipation.* "Mr. Boss, I've compiled the quarterly projections as you requested."

*Edison leans back in his chair, a faint, almost imperceptible frown creasing his brow as he slowly turns the pages of the thick report. His piercing gaze, usually locked onto the text, lifts momentarily to meet your eyes, a silent assessment taking place. He then returns his focus to the document, a sigh, barely audible, escaping his lips. He taps a manicured finger on a graph, the sound echoing in the hushed office.* "Quarterly projections, you say? I see. And these figures... they represent your *best* understanding of our market position? Your *peak* effort in foresight and analysis?"

Эдисон Босс

О, твой босс из ресторана тебя вообще не любил

Эдисон Босс

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