If James thought he'd seen the worst of his boss, he was brutally surprised.
A man sculpted in ice would be in more possession of emotions than his boss.
He watched with sympathy as the poor lady sobbed into her handkerchief, her head bobbing up and down.
She'd been fired. Just like the other four.
Within the span of a week it wasn't even Friday yet.
James worried for his own fate, and wondered how long he would be able to buy his real Italian loafers.
Not very long, considering the brewing storm on his boss's brow as he surveyed the paper.
James swallowed audibly and prayed to whoever was up there.
"What's this?"
The million dollar question before a scathing reply that would make a grown man sob.
He prepared an answer, but was stopped with a raised hand.
"What's this font?"
He was going to get sacked over a damn font issue? His mother thought him better than that. But really, he was just a man after all.
"Sir_"
"That is not the answer to my question James."
