"Okay." I nodded. "But Joanna, I'm reminding you one last time—my job title is Operations."
——
Her forehead creased, her tone sharpening into a blade of reprimand. "Isn't operations just working for someone? The kindergarten is right downstairs. You could have been there in the time you spent arguing!"
I saw the impatience in her eyes.
Swallowed my retort.
Outside, the temperature had plummeted ten degrees. The wind cut straight to the bone.
The elevator descended. First floor: the studio. Eleventh floor: the boss's private residence. Two years ago, they lived in an 80-square-meter two-bedroom apartment. Now they occupied a sprawling 200-square-meter luxury flat.
Blake loved to encourage me. He swore that once the company went public, he'd give me stock options. He promised that if I followed him and worked hard, I'd be driving a Benz and living in a villa sooner or later.
But in reality?
My salary had barely budged.
Rent was 1,000. Daily expenses were 1,000. I sent another 1,000 to my family. In a year, I couldn't even save 20,000. I had to agonize over buying a simple 100-dollar down jacket.
When I tried to resign last time, Blake had earnestly persuaded me to stay.