As they spoke, the elevator chimed its arrival, and everyone instinctively straightened their legs, ready to bow and greet.

The elevator doors opened, revealing the president’s tall, model-like silhouette.

“Crash!” The heavy, expensive belt buckle, along with the crisp suit pants, instantly dropped to the floor, exposing honey-colored long legs and black boxer briefs.

The world fell silent in that moment.

“Look, a plane!” Grace Bennett shouted, and the three secretaries quickly turned their heads to stare at the wall—which didn’t even have a window. Because they turned so fast, a series of protesting “crack” sounds came from their necks.

Mr. Dior simply held that pose, letting the elevator doors slowly close.

As it turned out, elevator play wasn’t a good idea—after all, the president’s high-end suit pants had excellent drape.

When they exited the elevator again, everyone acted as if they’d lost their memories, not mentioning a word about what had just happened.

Because Mr. Carter had decided to work here for a while, the efficient secretariat quickly placed a new desk next to the president’s. They finally had the chance to witness how “Banana Warrior” comrade Grace Bennett worked.

“This is the large financial bill that needs to be paid.”

“This is the seventh version of the proposal from the planning department.”

“The streamer ‘Conscience Fed to the Dogs’ hasn’t agreed to renew yet. He’s demanding an extra thirty million in signing bonus, or he’ll jump ship to Big Face Live. According to finance, even with the extra thirty million, we can still hit the expected profit point, but it would exceed ‘Little Fresh Meat’s’ compensation. Director Harris suggests we be flexible and move the thirty million to the endorsement bonus instead.”

Ryan Carter held the pen, silent for a moment: “Let him go. Add fifty million and sign Big Face’s ‘Demon King’ instead.”

“Okay.” Grace Bennett replied with a cheerful smile, completely unaffected by the chill radiating from Mr. Carter.

Ryan Carter was highly efficient—he finished reviewing and approving all the documents in less than an hour.

Little Henry twisted his flexible body to tidy things up and packed them into his bag. “There’s a meeting at two this afternoon. I’ll drive over to pick you up. Do you need me to join you for lunch?”

Ethan Bolton hadn’t heard anything before this, but the words “join you for lunch” caught his attention. He immediately shot a cold glare over. Flirting with his little wife right in front of him—did this Henry want to lose all that pork belly?

“No need.” Ryan Carter waved his hand and took the stone tablet file from Lucy Clark to read.

Lucy Clark looked at Little Henry with admiration—daring to have lunch with Mr. Carter, truly a legend! Little Henry winked at her, lifted his chubby chin that blended into his neck, and strutted out proudly.

“President, Mr. Thompson is here.”

It was Mr. Thompson, whose appointment had been postponed yesterday.

“Hey, Mr. Carter is here too.” Mr. Thompson greeted Ryan Carter with a smile. The secretary brought in tea and then quietly left, closing the door gently.

“What are you here for?” Ethan Bolton frowned, displeased that this person greeted his little wife first upon entering.

“I heard you want to buy Little Jasmine, so I came to discuss it with you.” Mr. Thompson said with a grin.

Little Jasmine was a game studio that had recently developed a popular AI girl game. But the studio was small and couldn’t handle further expansion, so they were seeking outside investment.

Shifei Technology had its eye on the game, but instead of investing, they simply wanted to buy out the whole studio.

But Shifei mainly made competitive games, while Mr. Thompson’s Yingjun Games also focused on girl-oriented games, making them a better fit to acquire Little Jasmine.

“So?” Ethan Bolton raised an eyebrow, staring at Mr. Thompson’s annoyingly charming eyes.

“Now both sides are raising the price, which isn’t good. I want to discuss with you—let me have Little Jasmine, and Shifei can take a stake. We’ll develop it together.”

“Ha! James Thompson, do you think I don’t know what you’re up to?” Ethan Bolton sneered. Hearing “let me have it” made the flames on his head shoot up to the ceiling. Don’t think he didn’t know—this guy pretended to want Little Jasmine, but really, he was after his little wife.

“I saw it first, so it’s mine. Such a small studio—Shifei doesn’t do joint development. If you want it, let’s see who’s more capable!” His blunt words completely disregarded the business world’s “don’t make enemies lightly” principle.

The air froze for a moment.

“Haha, ahaha, fine, fine.” James Thompson was stunned by such a bold line, awkwardly rubbed his nose, and got up to leave.

Ryan Carter shot a glare at his nonsense-spouting husband, then got up to see Mr. Thompson out.

“He’s in a bad mood today, don’t take it to heart.” Ryan Carter apologized, embarrassed.

“It’s fine, he’s always like this in business—unyielding. I’m used to it.” Mr. Thompson was generous, smiling as he invited Ryan Carter to visit his home another day.

Back in the president’s office, Mr. Dior Bolton was sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed, holding a glass of red wine he’d somehow acquired.

When he saw him come in, he spoke coldly and sarcastically: “What, can’t bear to part with your old flame?”

Ryan Carter was stunned by this… What?