Whenever Adrian Ling, my best friend from college and the CEO of Grumpy Duck Studios, walks into my office, I feel like I am about to embark on a warpath.
"Bro, I need to update the investors." He loosens his tie before reaching into his pocket for his cigarette pack.
"No smoking inside this room."
Adrian's lips curled into a cheeky smile. "I pay for everything in this office. Including you." He pointed the cigarette stick at me.
"So? That doesn't mean you can dictate my office decorum." I rolled my eyes, pulled an ashtray from the bottom drawer, and slid it towards him.
"Don't leave any traces of ash anywhere. And no ass marks on that chair too."
Adrian lights up his cigarette and blows smoke at me as a sign of protest.
"Asshole," I said and turned my attention to the computer screen to read the latest storyline draft my writer had sent me. From a glance, I knew this would end up in the trash pile, along with the other pathetic drafts I could not bring myself to finish.
"Time is money, bro." Adrian flicked his cigarette ash before inhaling his temporary high again. He hung limp in the chair as if gravity had doubled its pull.
Adrian is your typical businessman. Always counting dollars. Always being a pain in the ass.
"You don't think I know that? Look at this crap."
I turned my laptop to face Adrian. He lowered his face towards the screen to read the substandard work of fiction. "That doesn't look so bad."
I sighed, unsure whether to laugh at his statement or drag him out of my office. My patience had grown thin.
As a game director, I take pride in high-quality work. Our company's new MMORPG game project has been delayed for a year due to the post-COVID-19 situation and the trade war, and most of all, because of the nepotism culture that's bringing useless clowns to work for me.
"Declan, if Project Critical Shadow doesn't work out..."
"Well, tell your investors, BODs, whatever to F themselves!"
"Declan, language..."
"Oh, COME ON, Adrian. This delay is because of THEM. And you know it!"
Adrian looked down as I stared at him. He then rests his cigarette on the ashtray.
"What do you want me to do, Declan?"
"I want my own team. That I will personally hand-pick. Not these crony kids. Like, come on! This isn't a playground to 'find' themselves. I need people whose brains are functioning and who pour their heart and soul into producing a great gaming experience. Not rich kids who can spend their money without working for a dime."
"You know it's hard to convince these old goons about staff recruitment."
"You are giving me my team, Adrian. You are. Or I'll walk!"
Our argument was interrupted when the door swung open, and Trang suddenly appeared. The door behind her shut with a satisfying thump.
"Before anyone starts walking out or setting your so-called' dream team', you two better sort your lives out!"
Trang is Adrian's secretary. Feisty and fierce, with half Vietnamese and half Chinese in her blood. She is the only person on earth who is allowed to disrupt our private conversations like this one—or tell us off about anything—in this office. Well, it's not like we have a choice—with that temper of hers.
"Declan, you said three days. It has been one week now. Where is Reva's replacement?"
"I am working on it; I haven't found the right person yet." I rested my neck against my palm, trying to avoid eye contact with Trang.
