CHAPTER 1: The Day I Fell on His Foot
If someone asked me how my new job began, I would not say “with confidence” or “with passion” or “with a renewed sense of purpose.”
No.
It began with me falling—face first—onto my boss’s extremely polished shoes.
And not just any boss.
Julian Archer.
The man HR described as “efficient, analytical, composed,” which turned out to be office code for “scarily handsome, emotionally unreadable, and allergic to small talk.”
It all started at 8:07 a.m., a cursed timeslot when no human brain functions properly. I was running through the lobby with a croissant in one hand, my ID card in the other, and hope in neither. The revolving door spun, I stepped too soon, physics betrayed me, and suddenly—THUD.
My forehead met something solid.
His foot.
“Ow—oh no—OH MY GOD, I AM SO SORRY—”
My life flashed before my eyes. It was mostly snacks.
Mr. Archer looked down at me the way people look at dying houseplants they’re not sure they want to rescue.
“Are you injured?” he asked. His voice was warm butter if warm butter were terrifying.
“I—I’m fine! Your foot might not be, though. And I’m new here! Not that that excuses assault! Oh no, am I fired?”
He blinked. “You haven’t even clocked in yet.”
“Right. Should I clock in before being fired or… after?”
A pause. Then—miraculously—the corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile. Just… a twitch. But enough to convince me I hadn’t entirely doomed my soul.
“Ms. Lin,” he said, “let’s start with standing up.”
Right. Standing. Good idea.
I scrambled up, brushing imaginary dust off my skirt. The croissant, miraculously, survived. My dignity did not.
He walked toward the elevator with the calm of someone who had accepted that the universe would always put chaos in his path. And apparently today, that chaos was me.
Inside the elevator, silence stretched like old gum. He pressed the button for Floor 12. I pressed Floor 12 too, because apparently my reflex is to copy everything he does like some weird corporate duckling.
“You’re in the Marketing Department,” he said.
“Yes. Well. Physically. Emotionally I’m everywhere.”
Why did I say that. Why.
Julian looked straight ahead. “I see.”
He did not see.
When the elevator dinged, he stepped out first. I tried to follow gracefully. I failed. My bag strap caught on the railing, turning me into a half-rotating, malfunctioning windmill.
I heard it—an exhale, the softest possible sound. But unmistakable.
He was laughing.
Or trying not to.
“Rough morning?” he asked.
“Oh, this is nothing,” I said, freeing myself. “You should see me around printer jams. It’s like watching an exorcism.”
Another exhale. Possibly another laugh. I wasn’t sure. He had the emotional expressiveness of a brick.
We reached the Marketing office. My manager waved enthusiastically; I waved back, then realized Julian was watching my every motion with those sharp, calculating eyes that seemed to see… everything.
“Welcome to Archer & Co.,” he said.
“Thank you,” I replied. “And also: sorry again about your foot.”
“It’ll survive.”
“Can’t say the same about my dignity but okay.”
He turned to leave—then stopped. Looked back.
“Ms. Lin?”
“Yes?”
“You don’t need to apologize for existing.”
My brain short-circuited. “Ha-ha, you say that now. I give it three days.”
This time—definitely—his lips curved. Just a little. A micro-smile. But I saw it.
Before I could combust, he walked away.
I leaned toward my manager. “Is he always like that?”
“No,” she whispered. “He just… doesn’t react to anyone.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because apparently, my entire personality was his exception.
And as I sat down at my desk, sipping victory-coffee and trying not to replay the foot incident in my head, one thing was painfully obvious:
My new job was going to be chaos.
And I… might be the chaos.
A tiny buzz on my phone made me jump.
Unknown number:
Next time, be careful at the revolving door. — J. Archer
Oh.
Oh no.
He had my number.
Which meant he could text me anytime.
Which meant I was doomed.
In the most exciting way possible.
