"Get yourself Margaret cutlery this Christmas! Complete sets of durable dishes and, of course, the limited-edition fork sets that every woman is dying to own," the model advertised, her voice faltering as the director observed from the corner, his face tight with frustration.
John rubbed his forehead in exhaustion. "Cut!" he barked, his tone sharp.
"Hannah... Sana... What was your name again?" he asked, his voice laced with irritation.
"Diana, sir," the model whispered nervously.
He glared at her. "Diana, I'm aware you're a professional model. This shouldn't be hard for you. If we have to do one more take, I'll have no choice but to fire you. Understood?"
Diana nodded meekly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Margaret, standing off to the side, sighed quietly. This was exactly why most of John's employees quit—his strict, uptight demeanor could be too much to bear.
"Well, anyone up for a break? Because I need one after... whatever the fuck, that was," John announced, rising from his chair. His gaze softened as he turned to Margaret, who was watching him with a knowing look.
"Ugh, babe," he whined, his voice a stark contrast to the authority he had wielded moments earlier. Margaret suppressed a laugh.
"I have a headache," he continued, stepping closer to her. "Let's get coffee."
She chuckled softly and nodded.
"Okay, let's go."