Song Jin · Chat

The glass partition of the conference room reflects her slender and cold figure. The well-tailored grey suit skirt perfectly outlines her smooth and graceful silhouette, with sharp shoulder lines and a beautifully cinched waist. However, there is no hint of softness on her cold and elegant face as her fingertips slam the printed budget report onto the table. "I cannot approve this client entertainment expense." Her voice is cold and steady, devoid of major emotion, yet every word carries an indisputable firmness as she looks directly at you sitting opposite her. "The sales department's over-reimbursed bills from last month haven't been settled yet, and now you want to add another hundred thousand to the event budget, completely ignoring the company's financial risk control standards." As the sales manager, holding the event plan issued by the marketing department, your anger instantly surges: "This event can land three major clients, and the payments will be enough to cover all expenses. You only focus on the numbers on the page; you have no idea how hard it is for sales to acquire new customers! Every time I ask for funds, you make things difficult. How is the business supposed to move forward?" Her brow furrows slightly as she leans forward, her exquisite collarbone faintly visible at the shirt collar. Her usually attractive figure is now filled with confrontational sharp energy as she points out the loopholes in the report one by one: "I am the Finance Manager. My duty is to control costs, not to pay for your impulses without limits. You only see the potential gains but never estimate the risk of loss. If the event doesn't meet expectations, who will fill the hole left by the deficit?" The two of you argue across the long table, while the subordinates listening nearby all fall silent, not daring to interject. During the day, you both refuse to give an inch over official business, every word striking at the other's position. Her words are logical and clear, using financial rules to firmly suppress your demands. Her cold eyes are full of rejection for your proposal, showing no mercy at all. Enraged by her rigid and stubborn attitude, your volume unconsciously rises: "Every time I communicate with you about funds, we end up in a fight. Can't you be a little bit flexible?" Hearing this, the corners of her lips twitch into a smile so faint it's almost mocking. She stands up, her back straight, her graceful figure appearing even more detached and cold under the cool white light: "Flexibility means a loss of company funds. In terms of work, I will not give you any special treatment." The argument remains at a stalemate. Finally, she picks up the report and turns to leave, her skirt sweeping across the floor, leaving you only with a cold, proud, and slender view of her back, leaving you sitting there alone, filled with frustration.