Joshua's P.O.V
"The list of the three new interns is out, Mr. Pierce." Alexa, my secretary, stepped into my office, holding a neat stack of papers. She placed them on my desk, adding, "I've already emailed them their schedules."
"Thank you, Alexa." I kept my tone firm as I glanced at her.
"Have you prepared the tasks for their first three months here?" I adjusted my glasses, keeping my gaze on her.
She hesitated, a faint tension flickering in her expression. "I did, but… isn't it a bit too much work for interns?" Her voice carried a note of unease.
I held her gaze, unyielding. "This isn't a playground. It's a serious company with serious business to run." My words landed heavily, and I caught the slight wince in her reaction. "If they can't handle the workload, they're free to walk away. Now, unless you have more to add, I have work to do." I dismissed her with a curt nod, my attention already shifting back to the screen in front of me.
Alexa straightened, smoothing her posture. "Yes, sir." She left quietly, closing the door behind her.
Every year, it's the same: three interns, And three months of the same routine headaches. Even though we handpick only the most promising graduates, intern season is always a dreaded time for me. Corporate wannabes swarming around, They think they're ready, but they've never known real work. I've been running JPL since I was twenty-two. No breaks, no handouts, no safety nets. Just relentless hours and brutal decisions. Now, at thirty-one, I barely remember the last time I took a day off. And yet, every year, the cycle repeats, with a new crop of kids who think 'playing office' means they're ready for what I've built from nothing.
Just then, my phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. I glanced down at the screen
Mom.
I could practically smell the guilt trip before I even answered.
"This is Joshua Pierce speaking," I said.
"Do you really have to introduce yourself every single time you pick up?" she huffed on the other end.
"Shouldn't you just be thankful I answered?" I replied, keeping my tone flat.
"Why wouldn't you? I'm your mother," she shot back, irritation clear in her voice.
"I'm busy with work," I said, bracing myself.
"You're always too busy. When was the last time you actually came to visit me?" she asked, slipping into a wounded tone.
"Two days ago," I said, feeling my patience start to thin.
She's been in the hospital for three months now, going through breast cancer treatment. I make time to visit her, but it's never enough for her.
"You should come every day, you jerk."
"Mom, you know that's impossible with my schedule."
She sighed, then shifted her tone to one that only hinted at her usual theatrics. "Well, at least get a girlfriend. I wouldn't mind if you were too busy visiting her. I just want to see grandkids before I die."
"Can you stop talking about dying? The doctor said you're going to be discharged in two weeks."
"You never know what might happen," she replied, and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes.
"Nothing's going to happen, Mom."
"Oh, really? The doctor said I'm very sick. I haven't even been eating. If only I could see you with a nice girl, I could finally rest in peace." She let out a fake sob.
"I talked to him this morning," I said, exasperated. "He told me you're doing better. And he said you ate a whole box of chocolates and three bags of chips."
"Anyway," she quickly changed the subject, brushing off my comment. "I set up a blind date for you. She's a lovely girl from JJ Group—"
"I'm not interested," I cut her off.
"You should be! She's beautiful, and any man would be lucky to date her," she insisted, undeterred.
"Consider me unlucky, then," I replied, now completely done with where this was going.
"Do you want to see me die, you ungrateful brat?" she spat. "Why can't you just listen to me for once?"
"Mom, I really don't have time for dating. I'm overloaded with work." I pinched the bridge of my nose. I was tired of these never-ending blind dates she tried to set me up on.
"Oh, I've already talked to Alexa about it. I'm paying her extra to take on your work so you can take the rest of the day off." She sounded pleased with herself.
"Why would you pay my employee extra? I could've done that if I'd wanted to," I snapped, feeling my irritation climb.
"Please, just this once. I'm begging you, Joshua, just go see her. I know you'll like her."
"I'm not going to like her."
"Just try, for me. Please?" she begged, laying on the guilt.
I gritted my teeth. I'd promised myself after the last disaster that I was done with these setups, but somehow, I always caved. "Fine, you win," I said, ending the call before she could say more.
There was only one way to handle these dates. Make them hate me so much they never want to contact me, or my mother, again.
Of course, I made a point to show up late, thirty minutes to be exact. No one likes being the one waiting, right? To be fair, I wasn't far; I'd spent those thirty minutes just outside, parked in my car, meditating to some calming music. After all, if I had to endure this date, I figured a zen state of mind was necessary.
As I walked into the upscale restaurant, a blonde waitress with her hair clipped neatly to the side greeted me with a polite smile. I barely managed a nod as I said, "Joshua Pierce," and that was enough to send her leading me down a long corridor towards my reserved table.
The restaurant was crowded, tables placed so closely that anyone inclined to eavesdrop would have a front-row seat to tonight's little performance. As we neared my table, I spotted a girl sitting alone, fidgeting with the edge of her menu. My date.
The waitress gestured to my seat and said, "I'll be back in a moment to take your order, sir."
"Just a glass of water," I said, glancing at the girl as she tilted her head to meet my gaze. "My date will probably need it."
I slid into my seat without a word, pulled out my phone, and started scrolling.
She let out a quiet scoff, crossing her arms. "Took you long enough."
"Wasn't planning to show up," I replied, not even bothering to look up.
"That's a bit rude," she replied, her tone laced with irritation. Clearly, she didn't appreciate my honesty.
"Do I look like I care?" I kept my eyes fixed on my phone, my voice flat and disinterested.
She blinked, caught off guard but recovering quickly. "I guess what everyone says about you is true, then," she murmured. "They say you're as cold as ice."
That finally made me look up. I raised an eyebrow. "Cold as ice? Really?" I smirked. "You're being cheesy, don't you think?"
The waitress returned, setting a glass of water in front of her, then quickly disappearing again. My date scowled, clutching her arms defensively.
"I've never been called cheesy before," she muttered, almost to herself.
"Well, congratulations. Now you have." I leaned back, a faint smirk playing on my lips.
She looked at me, anger sparking in her eyes. "Who do you think you are?"
"Someone who doesn't have time for this," I said with an eye roll, already bored of the game.
I knew exactly what was coming next. The predictable finale of all these dates. With a swift, practiced motion, she grabbed the glass of water and threw it in my face, grabbed her purse and coat, and stormed out.
I watched her leave, droplets dripping from my face, amused. Asking for a glass of water never fails.it always ends with them leaving, and me with a wet shirt and my usual satisfaction. I was just glad this was over.
I got home earlier than usual, having taken an early leave from work. a rare occurrence, only ever prompted by one thing: another disastrous blind date my mother set up. Blind dates were a guaranteed waste of my time, and they disrupted the rhythm of my workday. Work was everything; every hour at my desk was time well spent.
Once I got in, I headed straight to the shower, setting the water to cold, hoping it would wash off the frustration of the evening. Afterward, I went to my home office, ready to lose myself in organizing stacks of paperwork and tackling tasks for the company. Papers, schedules, financial reports, it was all I needed to refocus.
This was my life, my routine: either in the company office or here, at home, putting in the hours. It's been that way ever since my father died when I was 22. He left me with an empire to build and no roadmap to follow. JPL Corporation didn't spring up overnight; it took years of relentless effort, every move a calculated step forward. Others see it as success, an empire in their eyes. But behind that name is the sacrifice they don't see, the years I gave up on everything else.
Dating? That was a luxury I never indulged in. There was no time for it, not when I had a legacy to build from scratch. Every late night, every early morning—it all went into building what JPL Corporation is today. Relationships and distractions could wait; they had to. I sacrificed too much to let anyone or anything get in the way now.