Pete runs his hands over his face, the heels of his palms pressing firmly into his eyes to the point that spots of colors bloomed behind his eyelids.
Shit, how could have forgotten?
Leaning back in the chair behind his desk he groans loudly before looked down at the heavy white envelope lying innocently against the dark wood of his desk, the contents of the envelope,
a crisp, white with gold accent cardstock invitation, resting on top of it, the lettering on the invitation embossed and elegant that screamed ‘rich’, ‘fancy’,
and ‘high class’ (Pete scoffs at the thought, because he’s
from the typical visual meanings of those words).
He lets out another noise as he buries his head into his arms, acting more like a toddler than the CEO of a record label. But Pete couldn’t really help it…he just
He doesn’t know how much time has passed before Joe strides into his office without so much of even a knock, eyes looking a little blazed even as he whistles a jaunty tune,
a stack of papers under his arms. Pete doesn’t even look up, this voice muffled by his arms.
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