Mitchell was sitting at his desk, barely aware of the time slipping past him. As a perfectionist, he immersed himself deeply in his work, something he always prioritized over anything else. Despite the clock ticking well beyond working hours, he didn’t budge. Flora, his ever-loyal personal assistant and friend, had long ago given up on trying to convince him to call it a day.
“Boss Mitch,” she called gently, standing in the doorway. “Shouldn’t you get some food?”
Mitchell shot a glance at her over the rim of his glasses, frustration flickering behind his eyes.
“Flora, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me ‘Boss’?” He said, his tone light but sharp.
Flora gave him a small smile, the kind that she often wore when trying to lighten his mood. But tonight, she knew better than
