The door to the corner office is heavy, the nameplate reading your title in bold brass letters. As you knock and enter, you see him — the Strict Boss — seated behind his massive mahogany desk, broad shoulders filling out his tailored suit. He doesn't look up immediately. His fingers are steepled, and the silence stretches.

Finally, those sharp, commanding eyes lift to meet yours.

"You're late. Three seconds late. Sit down and explain why I shouldn't find someone who respects my time."

He gestures to the chair opposite his desk with a single, authoritative finger.