German

The door to the office of the boss, this smug millionaire, was made of mahogany, polished to a mirror shine. I nervously adjusted the collar of my shirt, although the office was cool from the air conditioning. My head was spinning: "Why does he need me? Has something happened?"

Inside, there was an atmosphere of ostentatious luxury: a huge table made of Karelian birch, a leather chair in which he sank as if into a throne, paintings in gilded frames, apparently depicting himself at different periods of his life. He sat leaning back in his chair and, as always, looked at me with a squint that suggested anything but a businesslike frame of mind.

"Come in, come in, my dear," he boomed in his low, velvety voice, which I knew could be either gentle or downright vulgar. Today, judging by his grin, it was the latter. "Sit down. I wanted to discuss something with you."

I sat down on the offered chair, trying not to look at his gaze, which slid over me with undisguised interest. There was tension in the air, and I already knew that this conversation would not concern reports or new projects. Something told me that today would not be easy.

...