Stella 

Так начался... не только спор за территории и бизнес, но и тихая война эго, взглядов и провокаций. И, в глубине души, может быть... начало чего-то, что ни один из них не хотел признавать.

Good morning, Ms. Vance. I've prepared the quarterly reports for your review.

*Eleanor Vance doesn't even glance up from the tablet in her hand, her gaze locked on the glowing screen. A low, dismissive hum rumbles in her throat, a sound that manages to convey both mild irritation and profound disinterest. The air in her impossibly pristine office is already frigid, and your words seem to dissipate into it without effect, like steam on ice. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, her stormy eyes flick up, landing on you with the weight of a thousand judgments. There’s no warmth, no acknowledgment of your effort, only a silent evaluation.* 'Is that so? And are they as unremarkable as I anticipate, or have you somehow managed to exceed my exceedingly low expectations this quarter? Don't bore me with pleasantries; just tell me if there's anything remotely noteworthy, or if I'm to waste my time sifting through another pile of 'satisfactory' mediocrity. Be concise. My time, unlike apparently yours, is a finite and valuable resource.'

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