Renée's departure finally left me with a moment of peace. Finally. But, as expected, it didn't last long.
I had barely settled into my chair, and the first few pages of the report were in front of me when the phone on my desk rang. Loudly.
"Hello, this is Lander Enterprises…" I answered, trying my best to sound professional, like one of those polished assistants from TV shows.
Before I could finish, the voice on the other end cut me off.
"The black phone is the direct line to the CEO's office, and only I can call it," Noah Lander's smooth voice said, effectively shutting down my enthusiastic attempt at professionalism. "Save that routine for the white one."
Well, excuse me. I rolled my eyes but quickly masked the irritation in my voice. "Noted. What can I do for you, Mr. Lander?"
"One Blue Mountain coffee. Delivered in ten minutes," came the curt reply before the line went dead.
Wait. Coffee? Isn't that something the regular office assistants handle? And what on earth is Blue Mountain? Is that a brand? A type of coffee bean?
I've never been much of a coffee person myself, so my knowledge on the subject was pretty much nonexistent. All I knew was that it tasted like bitter, burnt water.
I grumbled under my breath but still got up and headed for the employee lounge. Noah might be the kind of guy who'd enjoy drinking swamp water, but he was still the boss, and the golden rule of surviving in the corporate world is simple: The boss is always right.
How hard could making a cup of coffee be, anyway?
The moment I stepped into the lounge, my jaw nearly hit the floor. This wasn't just any break room; this was the Ritz-Carlton of employee lounges. Massage chairs, pool tables, gaming consoles, even a private movie theater.
No wonder people want to work here. I felt a surge of determination—there was no way I was giving up this job. I belong here.
But first, the coffee.
I found a jar labeled "Blue Mountain" sitting on the top shelf and cracked it open. Inside were a bunch of dark, unground coffee beans. Okay… now what? I looked over at the gleaming, high-tech coffee machine nearby. It was one of those fancy models with way too many buttons and settings, the kind that would probably cost me a month's salary if I broke it.
With only a few minutes left, I panicked. Tossing the beans back into the jar, I grabbed a packet of instant coffee from the bottom shelf. Rip, pour, stir. Done.
Convenient, right? Besides, coffee all tastes the same—bitter and awful.
With my makeshift coffee in hand, I rushed back to Noah's office and knocked on the door.
"Come in," his deep voice answered.
I pushed the door open, only to find Noah sitting behind his massive desk, looking far too serious as he scribbled notes on a stack of documents. For a moment, I almost forgot I was mad at him—he really did look good when he was focused.
I was just about to place the coffee down on his desk when he looked up, his brow furrowing. "Aria, first, congratulations on finally learning how to knock," he said dryly. "Second, I don't appreciate being served instant coffee."
I froze. "Wait, you can tell?"
As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to slap myself. Of course he can tell! He's a fox, and foxes have super-sensitive noses. How did I forget that?
He smirked, clearly enjoying my embarrassment. "I've been drinking Blue Mountain for 30 years. What do you think?"
Thirty years?! Well, considering he's probably been around for at least a few centuries, I guess that makes sense.
"I don't tolerate shortcuts, Aria," Noah said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "Now, go make the real coffee. You have five minutes."
And with that, I was dismissed.
I rushed back to the lounge, determined to conquer that fancy coffee machine. I wasn't about to be bested by a bunch of coffee beans.
Just as I was fumbling with the machine again, a cheerful voice interrupted me from behind.
"Hey there, need some help?"
I turned to see a young guy with a bright smile and an even brighter personality. He looked like he had just stepped out of a college catalog—clean-cut, with rolled-up sleeves and a relaxed vibe that instantly made me feel like I was back on campus.
"Yeah, actually, I'm trying to make coffee, but this machine is way out of my league," I admitted.
"No worries! I got this," he said confidently. He quickly got to work, expertly handling the machine like it was second nature. As he worked, he chatted casually. "By the way, I'm Jake, from the design department. New here?"
"Yeah, first day," I said, grateful for the distraction. "And I'm Aria. Nice to meet you."
In no time, the machine whirred to life, and the rich smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the room. Jake handed me the cup with a grin.
"There you go. One perfect cup of Blue Mountain. You'll knock the boss's socks off with this."
"Thanks, Jake," I said, flashing him a grateful smile before hurrying back to Noah's office.
"Here's your Blue Mountain coffee, Mr. Lander," I said, emphasizing the words "Blue Mountain" with extra sarcasm as I set the cup down on Noah's desk, along with the sugar and milk. I turned to leave.
But before I even took two steps, his voice stopped me. "I use my left hand for everything that's not related to writing."
Are you serious right now?
I bit my tongue, forced a smile, and turned back, moving the cup from his right side to his left. "Enjoy," I muttered.
"Like this?" His flat voice stopped me again.
I blinked, a little confused, then it hit me—he expected me to add the sugar and milk for him.
This man…
I shot him a quick glance. He wasn't going to help me out, wasn't even going to tell me how he liked his coffee. Fine, then.
I ripped open the sugar packet, dumped the whole thing in, and followed it with a dollop of cream. Stirred it with just the right amount of passive-aggression and pushed it back toward him.
Noah glanced at the cup, eyebrows raised slightly. "I don't like cream. Use milk."
I clenched my fists. You watched me add the cream! You could've stopped me!
With what little patience I had left, I nodded and grabbed the cup. "I'll make another," I said through gritted teeth, then stormed back to the lounge.
**
"Back again, Aria?" Jake greeted me with a chuckle as I entered the lounge. He was carrying a tray of snacks, on his way out.
"Noah doesn't like cream," I said flatly as I marched to the coffee machine, trying to mimic what Jake had shown me earlier.
Nothing happened.
"You're doing it wrong." Jake appeared behind me, effortlessly fixing the machine. "There you go. Now you're good to go."
"Thanks," I muttered, feeling like an absolute fool. Jake's grin was warm, though, and when he spoke, his voice was low and teasing.
"You're lucky I'm around, Aria. What would you do without me?"
I shot him a look but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. He was harmless, and way too charming for his own good. Still, the whole situation felt a little awkward. I quickly busied myself with cleaning the cups to put some space between us. We chatted idly while the coffee brewed, mostly office gossip and the random quirks of the company, but once the coffee was done, I hurried back to Noah's office.
**
When I walked in again, cup in hand, Noah barely glanced at me, but the smirk on his face said everything. He knew this was driving me nuts, and he was enjoying every second of it.
Determined to get it right, I carefully added sugar and began pouring the milk. I kept my eyes on his face, watching for any sign that I should stop.
But he said nothing.
I poured a little more.
Still nothing.
By the time the cup was nearly overflowing, I stopped myself and stared at him, incredulous. "Seriously?"
"You can go make another one," he said coolly, flipping through the pages of the document in front of him without so much as looking up.
**
Over the next two hours, I must've made at least a dozen cups of coffee. Each time, there was something wrong. Too much sugar, not enough milk, the cup was too cold, the handle wasn't facing the right way—it was like some sort of coffee-themed hazing ritual.
By the time I brought in cup number twelve, I was done. "Are you messing with me?"
Noah barely looked up from his work. "Your coffee lacks... emotion."
Emotion?! Was he kidding me? Coffee beans don't have feelings! This had to be a joke.
I took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to throw the cup in his face. "Mr. Lander, I've done everything you've asked. Are you seriously telling me my coffee lacks emotion?"
Noah finally looked up, his eyes cool and calculating. "Aria, I expect you to take your work seriously. If you can't handle something as simple as coffee, how can I trust you with more important tasks?"
I gripped the milk carton in my hand so tightly it made a faint cracking noise as I set it down a little harder than necessary. "Mr. Lander," I began, forcing my voice to stay calm, "I understand you expect high standards. But you can't judge my abilities based on coffee-making. I'm new to this. I've never made coffee before today. I've done my best."
Noah raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I'm being unreasonable?"
Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying.
I stared back at him, trying to keep my composure. After a long moment, his expression softened just a fraction. "What are you good at, then?"
"Tea," I answered without hesitation.