From hating his boss to fake dating him. What could go wrong?
Secretary Andrew is the perfect secretary. Intelligent, resourceful, and beloved by the employees. While his boss, Sir Allen-the CEO's son, is cold, anti-social, and has the emotional cap...
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Andrew and Sir Allen stayed up all night coming up with different scenarios and planning out their game plan. The best thing about it was that Andrew didn't have to go to work at eight in the morning since he now had the upper hand. Though going to his boss's house to plan was a bit of commute, but hey—who said the road to five million was easy?
One night when Andrew wore a shirt with particularly small sleeves. When he stretched out his body, his sleeve rode up and his grand piano tattoo peeked out for just a second. But it was enough for Sir Allen to take a glimpse of his tattoo. It gave Sir Allen some epiphany to also get one. And that's how they ended up in front of a renowned tattoo parlor.
"Are you sure 'bout this?" Andrew asked. "Tattoos are forever y'know. It ain't going away."
Even when the sun was high in the sky, Sir Allen chose to wear black. Sir Allen removed his sunglasses and slid them into his chest pocket. "This CEO position will hang around me for the rest of my life. So, I need something to remind my parents why I am not the best candidate for that role. Let's not keep the artist waiting and get this over with. Remember to take a photo."
Sir Allen went inside the parlor with confident strides. Andrew just sighed. Good thing he had a morning margarita.
Sir Allen was stoic while seated in the lobby. Emotionless and a man who just didn't care. Too bad his leg was bouncing up and down. From behind the curtain divider of the studio, came a muffled sob.
Sir Allen swallowed thickly. "I have always wanted a tattoo," he mumbled.
"You have? I didn't know that."
"Of course, I don't want a metal needle permanently injecting ink to my skin," he exclaimed. "Are you insane?"
Andrew rolled his eyes. "Hey, this was your idea. But y'know what. I was also freaking scared of those five-pointed needles jabbing into my skin." Andrew dotted his nails on Sir Allen's leg to replicate the feeling, but he swatted Andrew's hands away. "And the only way I got my tattoo was because I was knocked out of my mind."
Sir Allen was horrified. He inched away from Andrew. "I will not do drugs, Andrew. There have to be some limits to what we do to achieve our objectives. No, that is too hardcore."
Andrew rolled his eyes so dramatically that for a moment only the whites of his eyes were visible. "I meant alcohol."
"Oh." Sir Allen's tense shoulders drooped. "Alcohol is your answer to everything."
Andrew smiled at him. "And liquid courage has yet to fail me. Hey! Look at you, getting to know the real me. Fun fact about me is I love alcohol. But you already know that. That's one step closer to us being close, baby doll."
"You had me fooled. The first time I saw you consume any alcohol was that night at the club."
"Yeah, I was excellent in pretending I was sober in the office." Andrew cut off his boss before he could say anything else. "I knew you would wimp out, so why don't we do the clubbing photos first and see where it takes us." Andrew stood up and yelled at the receptionist. "Ms. Receptionist! Cancel our session. My honeybunch got' a drink!"
