Chapter 3
Finding out Adrian's secret turned the job I hated into something almost fun.
That afternoon, he rejected my proposal again. Then he tagged me in the team chat, where everyone could see it.
"Maya — this competitor analysis is an absolute joke. I've seen better work from interns. Redo it. Miss today's deadline and you're coming in this weekend."
I stared at my screen. My jaw tightened. That son of a bitch!
Fine. Fine. Adrian. Just you wait.
I picked up my phone and opened our private chat.
"Ash. My nightmare CEO just torched my proposal in the team chat. In front of everyone. Now I have to redo the whole thing AND come in this weekend. One more stunt like that and I'm walking out!"
Ten seconds later:
"Don't be upset, baby. Soon as I can afford it, I'll buy that company and make him wait on you hand and foot."
I bent over my desk, shoulders shaking, trying not to laugh out loud.
Then I sent the next one.
"You're the best. Oh — also, I bought you something. Men's stockings. Delivery just came. Pink, polka dots, little bears all over them. Wear them under your suit to the meeting tomorrow? That way you'll be thinking about me the whole time."
Two minutes of nothing.
I pictured him in his office — perfectly tailored, perfectly pressed — staring at the words little bears. A man that serious about his suits would rather die.
His reply finally came.
"Could I maybe wear a different pair, baby? Something black?"
He showed me zero mercy at work. Why hand him an easy way out?
"No. Say no and I'll take it as you don't love me. I'll block you and we're done. Your call."
"I'll wear them," he said right back. "I promise. Please don't be mad."
I trusted Ash to keep his word.
The next morning was the company-wide quarterly review. Adrian sat at the head of the long oval table. Charcoal three-piece, not a thread out of place, not a hair either. Everything about him said keep your distance.
Except he wasn't sitting the way he normally did.
Usually he'd cross one leg over the other and listen with that bored, effortless confidence. Today his knees were pressed together like he was bracing for impact. Every few minutes he shifted, jaw tight, brows pulled together.
I was close enough to see all of it. Keeping a straight face was a full-time job.
When my turn came to present, I stood up — and let my pen drop right beside his chair.
"Sorry, sir. I'll get that."
I crouched down behind the shelter of the table and looked at his ankle.
His trouser cuff had ridden up. Between the dark wool and his black sock garter sat a band of bright pink. And there, peeking out, was one tiny bear ear.
The laugh got out before I could stop it.
Adrian went rigid. He yanked his leg back so hard his shoe scraped the carpet.
"How long does it take to pick up a pen?" he asked, teeth clenched.
I straightened up, pen in hand, and met his stare. It was glacial. It didn't matter. The red creeping up his neck and into the tips of his ears told the real story.
"Sorry, sir. I got distracted. Those are some very colorful socks."
He went completely still. His throat moved. His fingers tightened around his pen until the knuckles went white.
At the office, Adrian could run me into the ground.
On the app, I could put him in pink stockings with little bears on them.
This round was mine.
