If I hadn't just seen his intimidating and authoritative demeanor, I would never have guessed that this man, just a second ago, was as decisive as a god of war.
"Mr. Carter, you're too kind. I'm the one interrupting your work." I instinctively used a more formal tone again, having once more realized the immense gap between us.
Secretary Harris came in with me, walked up to the desk, and swiftly gathered the scattered documents, organized them, and then turned to leave.
I turned a blind eye, pretending to know nothing.
"Miss Miller, have you finished designing my clothes?" Daniel Carter took the initiative to ask, pulling me back from my daydreams.
I was startled, the words stuck in my throat, unable to come out.
Daniel Carter noticed my unease and remained patient: "Is it my mother who pressured you?"
"No, no!" I hurriedly denied, so anxious that my tongue tied.
I hadn't brought the design drafts at all, nor was I here to discuss making clothes.
