The door to the back office didn’t just swing open; it surrendered.
Daniel didn’t barge in like a CEO; he walked in like the owner of the ground beneath the building. Bryce, the manager with the sweat-stained polo and a clipboard that acted as a makeshift shield, didn’t even look up at first.
“Dining room’s that way, pal,” Bryce muttered, his voice thick with the practiced arrogance of a small man in a small kingdom.
