Drake ripped the phone cord out of the socket, his face flushed crimson.
Outside the office, the assistant on duty heard the commotion of the two arguing inside and didn't dare even breathe too loudly, let alone enter. With a cold glare, Drake growled in a low voice, "Get in here!"
A young assistant in professional attire cautiously pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The sight of the office in complete disarray left her momentarily speechless with shock.
Drake walked over to the sofa and sat down, rubbing his temples with one hand. His tone was icy as he commanded, "Clean up the mess on the floor and the desk."
"Yes, President!"
Knowing he was in a foul mood, the assistant held her breath and quietly set to work, gathering the scattered documents from the floor before meticulously reorganizing the papers on the desk.
Drake lit one cigarette after another, but the more he smoked, the more agitated he felt.
