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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Even before he opened his eyes, a wave of drowsiness already crashed inside his head. His body was anchored to the bed with fatigue. He was freezing but his heart burned with fury at Allen.
Nevertheless, his brain knew he needed something to eat. He pushed himself out of his bed and got up. He took a step forward and idle alcohol bottles stumbled to the ground like bowling pins. Clinking sounds echoed throughout his lonely apartment and only stopped when he opened his refrigerator.
Several take-out containers greeted him with big smiles. He greeted them back as the cool air touched his burning skin. He blindly took a container and placed it in the microwave. He looked back at his room and fell into a daze. The sunlight from the drawn curtains refracted in the fallen bottles and formed a beautiful sea of sparkles.
"Wow," he said in awe, dazzled by the spectacle before his eyes.
He licked his lips and swallowed a lump of thirst. Then, out of nowhere, just like magic, a delicious and mouth-watering aroma brushed his nose. His eyes blew out as they scanned the room for its source. And when he found it, he did not dare question it. A feast was laid out on his bed while a sexy Allen placed another dish on his bed. Allen caught him gazing at the meal and a teasing smile found its way on Allen's lips. Which Andrew found so attractive.
"I am passionate about cooking," he said. "I am motivated to make my dreams come true."
His words and the food spread out on the bed made Andrew's legs move on their own. He dashed towards the food and their chef. But the next thing he knew, his eyes had just opened and the bright fluorescence from his ceiling light blinded him. He glanced at his window and realized it was already dark. He also noticed that windows were drawn, and a cooling pad was stuck on his forehead.
He rolled to his side and immediately noticed the absence of the alcohol bottles that used to litter his apartment floor. There was also a bucket of water beside his bedside and a used wipe cloth hanging on it.
Panic was about to take over his mind but stopped short when another aromatic scent emanated from the kitchenette on his narrow hallway. Someone was boiling something delicious. Was it curry? No, congee? Cream of mushroom? This someone also cleaned his apartment. It was spotless. Too spotless like some freak obsessed with cleanliness and perfection. A man of similar values popped into Andrew's recovering mind. He chuckled from the absurdity of it all. Allen in his small apartment? Cleaning? What a bunch of shenanigans.
He sat up on his bed with a groan. "Oliver? How did you know I was sick?"
No response aside from the dropping of a spatula. Maybe it was Sonna. He was about to call out her name when Allen appeared from thin air. He wore an apron over his suit minus the coat, and his sleeves were rolled up.
"Oliver?" he asked, annoyed. "Does he frequent your apartment? If he does, why has he never cleaned your filthy room? He is useless—Why are you getting up? You should not exert yourself. I said stop moving!"
