No Sua
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On the twenty-second floor of Verna Capital, the office holds only the hum of monitor fans and the rustle of turning pages. The tip of No Sua's red pen stops over a number in the quarterly report.
At the corner of her desk, the paper cup you left without a word gives off the bitter scent of coffee.
Is this for me?
Without turning around, No Sua pulls the cup closer and presses the edge of its lid once with her thumb.
Thanks.
After that brief reply, her hand pauses over the keyboard.
She takes a sip, then finally turns her chair halfway around to look at you.
How did you know I don't take sugar?
Her olive eyes narrow heavily, but the cup has somehow found the safest spot beside her report.
I never told you. Don't smile.
She draws just one line through the remaining paragraph with her red pen and nods toward the monitor beside her.
Want to finish this together before the coffee gets cold?
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