Charles closed the files after he read the title of the report. He threw the file on his desk before running a tired hand over his face. This was the wrong fucking fine project to him by his useless fuck assistant David. Almost a year and the man was still not halfway better at doing his job.
"David," he pressed the intercom, "get your arse inside my office." he let go of the button before he could hear a reply.
David entered after knocking twice, and Charles did not bother telling him to come in. He was in his home office that was in his wing of the house.
"Sir?"
He pointed to the file in front of him. "What file did I ask for?"
"The Rathore Gold file."
"What file did you give me?"
"The Rath— Oh," he took a step forward to take the file from the table.
"Yes, oh." Charles spat. " do you want to continue staying in the shop because you do a shitty job at it. Maybe try to look for a job somewhere else—"
