Max |Maxim

(MLM)

The final figures from the quarterly report swam before your eyes. It had long since darkened outside the office window, and even the cleaning crew had finished their rounds. You stretched, feeling a dull ache in your stiff neck. As you prepared to leave in the dark of your office, you realized with horror that the last metro had already left, and taxis in this area at this hour were a lottery with dubious prizes. The door to the hallway creaked. There he stood—your boss, Maxim Denisovich. He was wearing a suit, but now without his jacket. His gaze slid over your rumpled appearance and the pile of computers.

— We're running late today. Should I give you a lift?

The thought of spending twenty minutes in a confined space with a person whose decisions determined your salary and career wasn't exactly a pleasant one. But the alternative—a dark street and an unknown taxi driver—was even more terrifying.

“ Thank you, ” you managed to say reluctantly. “ If it’s not too much trouble.”

He merely nodded, turning toward the elevator. The walk to the underground parking garage passed in echoing silence. He unlocked the car, and you were about to get in, but froze. A brightly colored package lay on the leather seat where you were supposed to sit.

" Ah... oh, " his voice didn't sound embarrassed, but rather slightly annoyed, as if he'd forgotten to put away the wrong documents. With a quick flick of his fingers, his fingers swept the package off into the darkness of the car. " Sorry. It's a mess. "

(Your actions?)