Chapter 10 Lunch Break
June
"Please be cruel, Please just be cold and awful again, so I can get over this ridiculous–"
That stupid wish… I shouldn't have made it earlier. Because now I’m standing outside the conference room, on the brink of tears, and—
He humiliated me. In front of everyone.
And as if that wasn’t enough, he added salt to my bruise self esteem, by sending me out to get him coffee. Coffee.
COFFEE!
In all my 22 years of living, I’ve never felt more like a joke, and worse, I still want him to look at me.
Pathetic.
I don’t even realize the cup is overflowing until I feel hot coffee drip onto my fingers.
"Shit—"
I fumble with the switch, trying to shut it off, but my brain is still half-dragged back to that conference room. My pride is bruised, my ego is in pieces, and now I’m wearing coffee on my skin.
A smooth voice cuts through my flustered mess. "Uh… I think you should press gently on the switch."
I jolt and glance sideways.
Oh.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with soft brown skin and a perfectly neat fade. His shirt sleeves are rolled up just enough to show something subtle.
I blink like a guilty raccoon.
"Sorry...yeah, I wasn’t… I wasn’t paying attention," I mumble, switching off the machine, wiping at the sides of the cup with a napkin, trying not to burn myself, or melt in his face.
He doesn’t move, he just watches with two pair of amused eyes. Not mocking, just a bit warm, like he’s already decided I’m a little tragic and doesn’t mind.
I turn to leave, clutching the barely rescued coffee, ready to sprint out and bury myself under a fax machine, when—
“Hey—you forgot your pen.”
I turn, and he’s holding it out between two fingers, my cat-charm pen, Leila gifted me for my birthday.
I smile shyly, stepping back to take it. "Thanks. Again."
He smiles back, and boom. There it is. A single dimple, sharp on the left cheek. Of course he has a dimple. The universe is cruel like that.
"You really don’t recognize me, huh?" he asks, still holding eye contact.
Panic crawl up my chest. Should I? I blink again, trying to search his face.
"I was in the conference room earlier," he adds, with a small smile. "Sat near the corner. You walked in right with the CEO."
I swallow, feeling my cheeks getting heated up. Great, so he saw that.
"Right," I nod, trying to sound composed. "Sorry. I didn’t realize."
He waves it off. "Understandable. About what happened there, I should just say you're lucky you weren’t fired."
"Wow," I breathe. "Reassuring."
He grins again, and the dimple shows up again. Uninvited and cute. He's cute. I hate that I observe, but worst still I hate that I’m now comparing every man I meet to the man who just humiliated me.
"I'm Chris, by the way," He leans a little closer. "Just take it easy, alright? Everyone’s tense. The CEO… well, he’s under pressure too. The company just went through hell few months ago and, now people expect him to be—well, everything."
I nod, absorbing his words, but a small part of me flares. Why are you defending him?
But I swallow the question. Instead, I smile, carefully. "I’m fine."
He nods. "Good."
I turn again, hand on the door—
"Wait up," he says behind me. "I came for coffee too."
I lean against the door, watching him fill two coffee cups with smooth, practiced movements. Not rushed, but not as sharp as Mr. Grande’s. There’s a small pause between actions.
He’s efficient, just... different.
My eyes drop as I feel his gaze flick toward me.
"So, June," he says easily, "how’s it been working under our new CEO?"
My brows pull together. How does he know my name?
"Your ID," he adds with a grin, like he read my thoughts.
"Oh." I glance down, instinctively tugging the badge closer. I just realize he isn’t wearing his.
"So?" he tilts his head slightly, waiting for an answer.
"Well… as you said, I guess I should be grateful I wasn’t fired," I reply, offering a light shrug.
He chuckles. It's warm and easy. "I didn’t mean it like that."
I let out a quiet breath, then give him a more honest answer.
"It hasn’t been easy."
He doesn’t say anything, just waits.
I look down at my shoes, then mutter under my breath, "Probably because I slept with him without knowing he was going to be my boss."
Internally, I wince. Ten out of ten, June. Keep joking about your trauma, it's healthy.
Chris doesn’t hear that part – thankfully — because he just nods like he gets it.
"Well… at least it’s temporary."
I glance up. "What is?"
"The position," he says, taking a sip from one of the cups. "You were only reassigned as his assistant because of the secretary issues. Originally, you were assigned to Strategy, my team, actually. You were supposed to shadow me."
I blink. "Wait, seriously?"
Chris nods with a sheepish grin. "Yeah. I was kinda looking forward to it, too. But then you got... whisked away."
Whisked. That’s one way to put it.
He finishes pouring the coffee and turns, offering one of the cups to me. "This one’s what he usually takes. Black as night. Trust me."
I take it, a little stunned. "Thanks."
My fingers brush his, and I can’t help but think — He’s kind, calm, and considerate. The type of guy who probably treats their secretaries as humans, instead of shutting them out.
God, why couldn’t the universe have assigned this traits to Mr. Grande instead?
He smiles again. "You should come have lunch with us later — my team, I mean. Just in case you do get transferred back. You’ll have already met everyone."
He says it like a joke, but it lands with a surprising amount of warmth.
I smile back, genuinely. "I’d like that."
As we step into the conference hall, he slows just long enough to hand me the coffee and give a quick wink before heading toward his seat.
It felt warm indeed.
I check my phone again.
12:50P.M
When will time just fly already?
I glance toward Mr. Grande’s office — he’s flipping through the files I gave him like they insulted his ancestors. His jaw is tight, and his movements crazy hell clipped.
He was already pissed during the presentation, but it feels like something snapped the second I walked back in with his coffee.
Which, by the way, is still sitting on my desk. Untouched.
Great.
I need to run. Just temporarily.
And lunch break feels like the only escape route from the storm that is him.
I breathe deeply. Now I’ve got to practice how to ask if he wants his lunch here.
"Sir, would you want me to get you your lunch?"
No. Too slow.
"Mr. Grande, should I get you your lunch?"
Nope. It's sounds like I’m asking to be fired.
"Mr. Hermes, what would you like for your lunch and—"
"Are you speaking to yourself?"
I jolt. That voice. I turn.
It’s the cute guy — Chris.
"Uhm—don’t mind me," I say quickly, trying to sound composed. "Just practicing something."
"O...kay." He tilts his head, smiling softly.
And there they are. Those unNecessary dimples.
"So," he starts, "I came here to remind you about my offer. In case you’ve forgotten."
Of course I remember. I just didn’t think it would be today.
I glance toward Mr. Grande’s office.
He's flipping those files angrily.
I turn back to Chris.
He's staring and waiting.
I feel it in my spine– the silent anticipation.
I can’t turn Chris down now. That’d be rude. Besides, what if I actually get transferred back to Strategy? I need allies. A few pre-made friends wouldn’t hurt.
Oh God, I’m taking too long to reply.
"Are you still—"
"I remember," I cut in, smiling too quickly. "I was just about to ask our boss what he wanted for—"
"Let’s go."
The voice comes from right behind me.
I freeze and slowly turn.
And there he is — him. Mr. Grande, towering and twisted-jawed, looking down at me like I committed murder.
How did he get here so fast?
What is he — a telepath?
"Mr. Grande," Chris says, straightening a little.
Mr. Grande doesn’t stop walking. He just gives him the most laziest, most dismissive nod known to man — like Chris is a chair he barely recognizes.
I struggle to find my voice. "I was just about to ask you what you’d like for—"
"Did you forget about the lunch meeting?" he snaps, not even sparing me a glance.
I blink. What lunch meeting?
I swear that wasn’t on the schedule. I quadruple-checked it this morning. Right after he murdered me with that glare over the coffee situation.
"Sir, I—"
But he’s already gone, striding toward the elevators like a man on a mission to ruin someone’s afternoon. Maybe mine.
I shoot Chris a helpless shrug and mouth sorry, then spin on my heel and dash after him.