Unexpectedly, without saying anything to what I've just said, he stands up and walks toward me.
The only thing stopping me from running for my life is that he doesn't look displeased at all. No facial expression. Damn… he's so hard to predict. I have no idea what he's up to right now.
He keeps walking closer, even when he's already so near, leaving me no choice but to move backward.
Suddenly, I fall onto the couch, and he leans down toward me. By now, my spirit has practically flown away.
I want to speak, but no words come out of my mouth. I didn't expect this reaction. I thought he'd be so mad he'd throw me down the stairs!
"Okay…" he whispers near my ear, smirking victoriously.
Unconsciously, I push him away and stand up. "T-that was a… jo-ke. Don't yo-u know a joke?" I stammer nervously. For the first time, I'm genuinely shaken.
"Didn't they tell you that I never joke around?" he says, his tone serious but calm. "I mean, I never change my mind once I've made it up, and I've just decided… seriously. I'm sure you've heard a lot about me since you joined this company, haven't you? Anyway, you asked me out, and I said yes. So we ar—"
"No! Seriously… I was just kidding!" My voice is so high-pitched that it surprises even me. When he smirks again, I realize he's just messing with me.
Suddenly, his face turns serious. "Do I look gay to you, Wilson?! Do I look like your age mate? Have you ever seen anyone walking in here whenever they feel like it—without knocking, to make it worse—and talking nonsense? Let me make this clear: just because I've been tolerating your irritating behavior doesn't mean I'm in for more. You're going to respect me like everyone else, and you're going to do the work I give you effectively and submit it on time! Now get the hell out. Go sit down, redo that work you did like a two-year-old, and have it sent to me in twenty minutes."
I walk slowly toward the door without saying a word. I realize he makes me speechless sometimes, which is rare for me. My legs feel weak. Honestly, there was nothing correct about the work I sent him earlier. But he demanded it in thirty minutes, so I did what I could.
At my desk, I turn on the computer and correct everything in sixteen minutes before sending it back. It's not that I didn't know what to do—I just didn't have enough time.
"Don't think you've won, Mr. CEO," I mutter to myself.
It's late, and most people have already gone home, but I still have a lot to do. I need to listen to the recording from earlier, write everything down clearly, and send it to the various departments to get them started.
This company is enormous, with every category you could think of for a wedding. Bakers for cakes, designers for clothes, tailors, jewelry designers (the second-largest department—it's practically a company on its own), wedding planners like me who ensure everything the clients want is available, makeup artists, and so much more.
You can imagine how big the workload is for Matt Adams Smith. He has to oversee all of this. I guess that's why he hasn't gone home yet. He probably never has time to make friends or do anything fun.
He's dedicated his entire life to work. I bet he doesn't have a wife or a girlfriend. Why am I even thinking about that?
"What?! 9:21pm?!" I look at the time, shocked. The building is nearly empty, just a few people left inside.
I stand up, stretch, and sigh loudly, relieved to be done. My phone is still off, and I'm sure my family is freaking out by now.
I walk to the elevator, intending to check if that hellhound has gone home yet. Seeing the curtains undrawn and the light still on in his office, I know he's still here.
I head back to the cafeteria, hoping it's not closed yet. I'm happy to see it's still open and buy two tins of hot coffee before heading to his office.
When I get to his door, I intentionally don't knock. Again. I walk in to see his head buried in files. Damn! Doesn't he get tired of sitting in one spot for hours?
"You never listen, do you?" he asks, but there's no anger in his voice.
"You thought you won, didn't you? I've avenged myself for your lashing out at me earlier. You thought you won. Just so you know, Mr. CEO, when you fight with me about anything, you're bound to lose. You should've known who you were messing with," I say, mimicking him.
"In for more work? Seems like you really enjoy the tasks I assign you," he replies, still focused on his files.
"Trust me, I do, but I'm not in the mood right now. Wanna hear something fun?" I ask.
"I don't think so. If no one's told you before, let me be the first—everything you say is always lame. Really lame. So, no, I don't want to hear it," he says, still not telling me to leave.
"Do you know you're a pretender?"
His head snaps up.
"Maybe hiring you wasn't a great idea after all. You're getting too comfortable around me, aren't you? What did you just call me?"
"Oh, trust me, I've always been comfortable around you since day one. And I just called you a pretender."
"Wow, you've got some nerve, Wilson."
"Ugh! Aren't you going to ask why I said that? Fine, I'll tell you anyway. You pretend to hate me, but for some reason, I feel like you really like me—especially when I'm around," I say, knowing full well it's not true. I'm just saying it to annoy him.
"Is that so? That's what you think?" He smirks, clearly amused. "You really think highly of yourself, don't you?"
As he says this, it looks like he's about to laugh. But he catches himself and adjusts his expression.
"I don't think—it's a fact."
"Get out of my face," he says, finally dismissing me. But unless I want to leave , I won't.