"Bring me the files from the past few days to sort out."
"Ok." Zhang Jiaqi nodded, she quickly left the president's office.
She tapped her little heart, took a deep breath, even after two years working with the president, every time she saw him she always needed to summon her courage.
"I think the president might have bronchitis," Zhang Jiaqi gossiped while sitting on the chair, "just now when I took tea to him, I thought he was going to glare daggers at me."
"And what happened?" An'an craned her neck in interest.
"He just looked at me once, expressionless, and said 'Bring me the files from the past few days to sort out'." Zhang Jiaqi mimicked Zheng Haoyu's tone.
"Hahaha." The women started to laugh.
"Jiaqi, do you know, you're really good at imitating the president."
Zhang Jiaqi rolled her eyes, that was not the point here.
The President's office.