ASHTON
Gris looks at me like I've just asked him to knock a hole through the side of the building.
"Pardon sir? Did you just say you want… plants?"
I scrub a hand over my forehead. "I didn't stutter, Gris. Get to it."
"Plants," he repeats slowly, more so to himself as his eyes dart around my office space. I lean back in my chair and meet his stare without blinking.
"Yes. Plants. I don't care if they're real or fake. I just want them colorful enough to liven the space."
The words feel strange coming out of my mouth. If someone had told me six months ago that I would be asking Gris to clutter my office with greenery, I would have laughed them out of the room.
My office has always been minimalistic with clean and precise décor. For as long as I can recall, I've never had anything unnecessary or distracting taking up space in here.
