When Jonathan left the establishment, I also headed back to the bar, where our boss greeted me with her usual poker face. Stepping out of the elevator, she motioned me to follow her lead. We entered her office, which was a bit small yet organized. It seemed to be out of place in a bar like this because it looked like it was a student’s little library and study room with all the cute pencils and pens displayed on the side, paintings on the walls, and a whole shelf on the right wall.
“So…” she said as she sat on her swivel chair. “You know Jonathan Friedman?”
I shook my head.
“I only came to know of his existence today, madam.”
She eyed me suspiciously as if thinking that I just flatly lied on her face.
“You are the daughter of Mr. Lionheart and you do not know the hot shots of the maf
