Coffee and candy
My phone buzzed against my thigh, vibrating a sharp little rhythm that sent a fresh wave of panic straight to my chest. I glanced down under the edge of my desk, shielding the screen with one hand.
MysteriousGuy69: Come on. Let me take you out for coffee.
I stared at the message, a fresh wave of panic tightening my chest. I quickly pulled up his profile again, zooming in on the few shadowy, cropped photos he had shared of himself. Broad shoulders, a razor-sharp jawline, a body that looked like it was sculpted out of pure intimidation he was ridiculously, impossibly attractive.
Compared to me? With my thick glasses sliding down my nose, my chaotic, overgrown cloud of hair, my chunky adult braces, and the bright, eccentric layers I wore because I was too stubborn to blend in? It was a joke.
Me: Please tell me your pictures are fake.
A few seconds later, his reply bubbled up.
MysteriousGuy69: They're real. Why? Am I not your type?
Me: No, it's not that—
MysteriousGuy69: Then why won't you let me take you out?
Me: Nothing.
I bit my lip hard, staring at the screen. I couldn't tell him the truth. I was just entirely intimidated by how good-looking he was in comparison to me, convinced a guy built like that wouldn't want anything to do with a girl who looked like a walking art project. But the weirdest part? For all his commanding, alpha-male energy, he genuinely seemed worried that I wouldn't like him. It was this bizarre, hidden streak of insecurity in a guy who clearly had no business being insecure about anything.
If I told him no, I risked losing the one person who actually made me feel seen. But if I said yes, the second he laid eyes on my reality, he'd run.
Before I could figure out how to dig my way out of that corner, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the hum of the open-plan office.
"Monica."
I froze. I didn't even have to look up to know who it was. Everett Jennings.
I shoved my phone face-down onto my desk, scrambling to sit up straight as a shadow fell over my cubicle. Everett was standing there, his broad frame radiating an aura of pure, unadulterated impatience. He was terrifyingly handsome in that crisp, tailored-suit kind of way, but he was also the most demanding, controlling tyrant of a boss this company had ever seen. He didn't have to yell; his cold, clipped tone was enough to make everyone in a three-desk radius hold their breath.
I didn't dislike him, exactly. But I found him infinitely, overwhelmingly intimidating.
"The Q3 logistics report, Monica," Everett said, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he looked down at me. "I asked for it ten minutes ago. Is there a reason it's not on my desk?"
"I—yes, Mr. Jennings. I was just finishing formatting the final charts," I stammered, my fingers flying across my keyboard in a blind panic.
"Well, finish it faster," he snapped, turning on his heel with a sharp rustle of fabric. "And stop slouching."
I let out a shaky breath the second he walked away, muttering a quiet curse under my breath. Classic Everett. Always hovering, always breathing down everyone's neck.
Desperate to vent, I grabbed my phone, unlocked it, and fired off a quick message to my online lifeline.
Me: My boss is currently terrorizing the entire floor. I swear he feeds on human misery.
I hit send.
A second later, right as Everett was walking past the rows of desks near the front office, a sharp, familiar digital chime rang out from his direction.
I blinked.
I stared at Everett's back as he instinctively reached into his tailored slacks, pulled out his phone, and glanced down at the screen. A muscle feathered tightly along his jawline as if agitated by what he was reading.
My stomach plummeted straight to the floor.
That's weird, I thought, a cold sweat breaking out across the back of my neck. He never texts me while I'm in the office. In fact, I specifically told him once that I hate being bothered at work.
Everett stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, agonizingly, he turned around.
Across the length of the quiet office, his dark, piercing gaze locked straight onto mine.
My phone buzzed again, breaking the heavy silence stretched out between us across the office floor.
I didn't dare look away from Everett's piercing stare, my thumb trembling slightly as I unlocked the screen blindly under the edge of my desk.
MysteriousGuy69: Look, I don't care about any of that. Sounds like you're just making excuses. Just let me take you out for coffee.
I swallowed hard, tapping out a noncommittal response just to keep him from pushing harder.
Me: Just let me know when, and I'll see when I have available.
His response came back almost instantly, practically vibrating with a fierce, absolute intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribs.
MysteriousGuy69: How about right now? Screw your job. Let me be your boyfriend. In fact, let me marry you. You'll never have to work another day in your life—just let me take care of you.
I stared at the glowing words, a hysterical mix of a laugh and a gasp catching in my throat. Rationally, I knew I probably should have run for the hills at that kind of wild, intense talk. But let's be honest: nobody liked me, and nobody talked to me in the real world. I was invisible, hiding behind my thick glasses, messy hair, and adult braces. I'd take whatever affection I could get. Besides, it wasn't like I was actually going to meet him in person anyway, so where was the harm in indulging a little?
Across the room, Everett had finally stopped glaring at me and turned on his heel, heading toward the executive hallway. As he walked, he pulled his own phone from his pocket, his thumb moving over the screen.
A second later, my phone buzzed in my palm.
MysteriousGuy69: Are you still typing? Tell me yes.
I let out a quiet breath, my shoulders dropping as I quickly tapped out a reply.
Me: Give me a second, tyrant-boss is currently stalking around the floor.
I hit send. Right on cue, a sharp digital chime rang out from the direction of the hallway.
I blinked, watching as Everett's stride hitched for a fraction of a second. He pulled his phone out, glanced down at the screen to read something, and kept walking without a single backward glance,
I stared after him, a strange, bewildered thought settling in my chest.
That's weird, I thought, shaking my head a little. Surely it was just a massive coincidence. Everett Jennings, the ice-cold, demanding corporate machine of a man, couldn't possibly be the same guy texting me sweet, obsessed nonsense. Right?
I left his text hanging, refusing to feed into the whirlwind he was trying to stir up. Right on cue, my phone started buzzing off the hook. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Message after message rolled in, his impatience practically bleeding through the glass screen.
With a soft sigh, I finally reached down, flicked the toggle to absolute silence, and shoved the phone facedown inside my desk drawer. Let him sweat for a little bit. Besides, he didn't take super offense to my lack of openness anyway from the very beginning, I'd made it clear I wasn't looking to jump into anything, and he'd claimed he was fine with taking his time. Of course, that didn't stop him from being utterly, hopelessly obsessed with me, holding onto a stubborn hope that one day I'd actually agree to meet him face-to-face.
Before I could enjoy the peace and quiet for more than two minutes, the office intercom clicked.
"Monica. My office. Now."
I winced, sliding out of my chair and smoothing down the eccentric, bright-patterned skirt I'd thrown on that morning definitely giving off strong Miss Frizzle energy, but I didn't care. I grabbed a notepad and hurried down the executive hallway, knocking twice before slipping into Everett's massive, impeccably neat corner office.
Everett was sitting behind his sleek glass desk, looking entirely too good in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my rent. He didn't look angry today; instead, he rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, wincing slightly.
"Close the door, Monica," he said, his voice lower than usual.
I did as I was told, standing awkwardly in front of his desk. "You wanted me for something?"
"I need you to run a few documents down to the legal department on the third floor," Everett said, looking up at me through his lashes. He hesitated for a second, a flicker of uncharacteristic hesitation crossing his handsome face. "And... while you're out, would you mind grabbing me something sweet from the lobby cafe? I've got a killer tension headache, and sugar usually helps."
I blinked, surprised by the mild, almost human request. "Yeah, I can do that. No problem."
"Thanks," he murmured, his dark eyes lingering on me just a fraction longer than necessary before he went back to sorting his files.
Ten minutes later, after dropping off the legal paperwork, I stopped by the lobby kiosk. Staring at the rows of candy bars, I immediately reached for my absolute favorite: a rich, decadent chocolate bar oozing with thick caramel. It was my ultimate comfort food, especially when I was drowning in work. Remembering it was also the supposed hotties favorite apparently made me even more sure of how amazing it was.
I headed back upstairs, walked straight into Everett's office, and placed the candy bar right on the corner of his desk along with the signed paperwork.
Everett looked down at the bright wrapper, then up at me. A slow, rare genuine smile broke across his face a rare sight that genuinely made my breath hitch.
"A caramel bar?" he asked, unpeeling the wrapper immediately. He took a bite, his expression softening completely. "Wow. I really like this. Thank you, Monica."
"Oh, yeah, don't mention it," I said, offering a small shrug. "It's my favorite. The caramel is definitely the best part."
Everett paused mid-chew, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that felt a little too heavy for a simple conversation about candy."Oh yeah? I totally agree."
We stood there for a second in a strange, electric kind of silence before I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling overly aware of how close we were standing. "Right. Well... back to my desk."
I turned to head for the door, my heart doing a weird little flip against my ribs from being close to him.
"Monica," Everett called out softly, stopping me in my tracks.
I glanced back over my shoulder, keeping my hands neatly folded in front of my eccentric, colorful skirt. "Yes, Mr. Jennings?"
He finished chewing, setting the half-eaten caramel bar down on his desk as he leaned back in his leather chair. The soft, relaxed look vanished instantly, replaced by that cool, commanding authority that usually made everyone in the office scramble.
"I'm going to need you to stay late tonight," he said, his dark eyes holding mine with an unreadable depth. "We have those revised partnership drafts to finalize, and I want them on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. You'll be staying to help me wrap them up."
I bit the inside of my cheek, groaning internally. So much for my quiet evening at home.
"Right. I'll stay," I muttered, offering a tight, polite nod. "I'll let you know when the drafts are ready."
"Good," he murmured, a faint, cryptic smile touching the corner of his lips as he turned back to his computer. "I'll be right here with you."
When I finally got back to my cubicle, I pulled my phone out of the drawer and flipped the volume back on. It immediately chimed with a fresh batch of missed texts from my online lifeline. I unlocked the screen just as a new message popped up from him, completely oblivious to what had just happened in the office.
MysteriousGuy69: Still ignoring me? You're lucky you're cute, or I'd be seriously offended.
I let out a breath, shaking my head at his persistence, and tapped out a quick reply to smooth things over.
Me: Can't do coffee today. My tyrant of a boss just told me I have to work late, so I probably won't be able to do coffee tomorrow morning either because I'll be completely exhausted. I'm sorry. I'll text you after I get off work.
I stared at the screen, a dry laugh slipping past my lips as I tapped out a response.
Me: Plus, you don't even know what I look like.
His message popped up almost instantly, practically oozing stubborn affection and jealousy.
MysteriousGuy69: I'm beginning to like this "tyrant" of a boss of yours less and less. Again, why don't you just let me marry you instead of dealing with all that? And I definitely want you to text me after work. Doesn't matter the hour—I'll be up.
A quiet snort slipped past my lips. Talk about dramatic. But even as I shook my head, a warm, traitorous flutter bloomed in my chest. It was completely ridiculous, and completely sweet.
