Terry let out a slow, steadying breath before finally raising his hand and knocking on Scott Cross's office door.
"Come in," a tired voice responded from inside.
Terry pushed the door open.
Scott was seated behind his massive dark oak desk, a glass of whiskey in hand even though it was barely past noon. The sunlight spilled through the large window behind him, catching on the amber liquid. Piles upon piles of files, contracts, approvals, mergers were stacked carelessly across the desk. Each one needed his signature. Each one had probably been sitting there far longer than they should've.
But Scott didn't glance at a single one.
He didn't need to. Everyone in the building already knew he wasn't touching any work today.
No one dared mention it.
Not after the week he'd had.
Terry approached carefully. "Three invitations arrived for you earlier, sir," he said, placing a thick white envelope on the desk.
