The president glanced toward the bathroom while speaking, but he didn't see the Vice President.
If he was just peeing, he should have returned.
Could he be taking a shit?
Thinking of this, a trace of displeasure, or rather discomfort, showed in his eyes.
He disliked people shitting in his home; the stench would linger in the bathroom, and they would sit on his toilet, defecating there.
He didn't like this, but it wasn't convenient to express. Every time guests used his toilet, he would give the cleaner extra money to spray more disinfectant and clean thoroughly.
He wasn't really obsessive-compulsive; he purely disliked others interfering with his life.
The apartment was small, yet it formed a comforting environment for him. He didn't want it contaminated with others' presence.
His gaze returned from afar, settling on Lance, waiting for his response.
This intrigued him most; he had understood their maneuvers, frankly, very standardized finance tactics.
