The Tycoon's Mind Games

I'm Martin's secretary, the infamous Boss with a face that could freeze over hell. This guy speaks in clipped sentences, dropping subjects whenever he can. One day, as I stepped out of the elevator, I practically collided with the ice-cold Boss. He barked, “Move.” I was about to comply when I heard him say, “Your nose is all red, it must hurt, right? Should I be concerned?” What the heck— Martin hadn’t even opened his mouth, so I was sure I was hearing things. His voice came again, “Is she too shocked by the pain? If I show concern, will she get more nervous?” I was utterly flabbergasted. How could someone speak without opening their mouth? I asked, “Boss, did you say something?” With a frosty tone, he replied, “Move.” Move it is, then. His chest is as hard as a steel plate. I silently fumed! Martin shot me a bewildered glance, “Don’t women like guys with muscles? Why doesn’t she?” I made a hasty retreat. Most people like tall, handsome guys with six-pack abs, not steel-plated chests. I didn’t notice the odd expression Martin had as I left. As soon as I sat down in my office, the phone rang. It was Martin’s assistant, Stina: “Bailey, I need to take three days off. Good luck with that!” Why do I need luck just because Stina's taking a break? Stina didn’t give me time to ask more and hung up quickly. Soon after, I saw the Boss leaving the meeting room. Normally, his assistant would be with him, but today he was alone, and his face looked even grimmer. Just as I was wondering what was up with him, the phone on my desk rang. It was Martin’s voice: “Stina’s not here, order some takeout.” Was this just for Martin, or did it include me, or the whole company? I’d never done this before, so I quickly messaged Stina, but it was like a stone sinking into the sea—no reply. I had no choice but to ask Martin directly, “Mr. Grace, how many lunch boxes should I order?” Order ten or eight for him, let him eat them all. Who is he showing that face to? Tonight, I’m still going to see handsome guys with my best friend. I schemed silently. Without looking up, Martin said, “Two.” “I don’t like noise, say less.” Mr. Grace, how many lunch boxes to order? I counted on my fingers, exactly eight words. He’s really stingy with words, no wonder he’s single. As soon as I leave, I’ll meet up with my best friend. Martin looked up at me with a strange expression. I was lost in thoughts of dreamy guys with abs to notice him. Back in my office, I ordered two lunch boxes and texted my friend, “Got plans tonight? Let’s sing! I’m so unlucky!—” Before I could finish the message, a notification popped up from the work group: “Bailey, you're pulling an all-nighter tonight.” Fuming, I marched to Martin's office door, took a deep breath, ready to knock and question this inhumane Boss. I finally had a chance to meet my friend, and it was ruined before it even started. Just as I was about to knock, another message from the work group appeared: “Overtime pay is doubled.” For the love of money, I caved and agreed to the overtime. Plus, I’d get a free lunch box, saving on dinner costs. The dinner box had to be fancy, or I’d be letting myself down. Just add a chicken leg. “Adding a chicken leg is fancy? Even if it’s abalone, I can afford it. Does she think I can’t?” I heard Martin’s voice again. Strange, why am I hearing these weird voices? Is it karma for complaining about the Boss being unapproachable, and now I’m hallucinating? As I questioned my sanity, his voice came again: “Double pay can keep her happy, and she’s satisfied with a chicken leg. How can she be so naive?” WHAT? Did I just dream up this whole scenario? I quickly retreated from Martin's office door, feeling that the closer I got to the Boss, the weirder things became. I deleted the unfinished message and typed a new one: "Send me a couple of those steamy model shots from your company." My best friend worked at a fashion company, and they often had photos of underwear models—the kind that could give you a nosebleed. After sending the message, I set my phone aside and got back to work. Half an hour passed, and my friend still hadn't fulfilled my request. When I picked up my phone, my scalp tingled with shock. I had sent that message to Martin by mistake, and, of all things, he replied with a "?" Oh, no. The message had been sent over five minutes ago, and I couldn't retract it. How was I supposed to face Martin after such a blunder? For the rest of the day, I was completely distracted. Martin might be the Boss and as cold as ice, but that didn't stop me from having a crush on him. But now—what was I going to do? My image as the efficient secretary in front of Martin was shattered. I had single-handedly crushed my own crush. The lunch boxes arrived, and I took the meal to Martin's office. "Boss, your lunch." For someone as slim as Martin, I didn't expect him to eat two meals. Damn Stina for not telling me. I'd have to order my own takeout later. Martin put down his work and pushed one of the meals toward me. "Yours." "Thank you, Boss," I said, grabbing the meal and leaving. At least he had a conscience; how could I work overtime on an empty stomach? Well, at least I saved on two meals today, so I'll treat myself to a roast chicken dinner later. "Is that all you're aspiring to?" Martin's voice carried a hint of mockery. Fuming, I turned to confront him, but he was quietly eating his meal. Ugh! Even while eating a boxed lunch, he exuded such composure. I wondered what kind of enchantress could tame this guy. "I knew I looked good; she couldn't help but stare," Martin's voice echoed. I scrutinized Martin's mouth closely; he hadn't spoken. I must be hallucinating again. I decided to return to my office and eat my lunch quietly. The more I looked at Martin, the more upset I felt. Why hadn't I checked the recipient of my message? If only I'd retracted it in time, I wouldn't be in this awkward situation. Awkward to the extreme. Even the free lunch tasted bland. My mind was filled with images of Martin eating his lunch. What would it be like to eat lunch with him, side by side? A waft of fragrance drifted in, and a young woman in a suit appeared at my door, holding a thermal lunch box. She knocked gently. "Is Martin in?" This woman could have knocked on Martin's door herself, but she chose to ask me. I was just Martin's secretary, not his doorman. I put on a formal smile. "Hello, Ms. Ward, Mr. Grace is in his office." Ms. Ward, carrying the thermal lunch box, gracefully made her way to Martin's office and pushed the door open. A message popped up from the workgroup: "Come over and get rid of the unrelated person." Ms. Ward was Martin's ex-girlfriend. Rumor had it that a few years ago, when Martin hit a rough patch, she left him for someone more promising. Who knew that in just a couple of years, Martin would overcome his challenges, and his company would flourish? Now she was back, seizing every opportunity to showcase her gentle and virtuous persona in front of Martin. I had no clue how Stina dealt with this woman before, but for the next three days, this troublesome task fell on me. I headed to Martin's office. Ms. Ward was taking items out of the thermal lunch box. "Martin, I specially made you your favorite hot cereal." Martin's face was icy and indifferent. The Boss hated cereal. How did she ever become his ex-girlfriend? Was this what she called gentle and virtuous? Martin wasn't just clueless; he was blind. I caught a glimpse of a smile starting to form at the corners of Martin's mouth, but it vanished in a heartbeat. "Bailey, during work hours, I don't allow any unrelated people into my office." Seriously? My office is miles away, and you expect me to play doorman? Not happening, I thought, rolling my eyes. Martin caught my eye-roll perfectly. "With Stina out for a few days, you'll work at her desk." Awesome! I've officially been promoted to Martin's personal gatekeeper. At least I could see the Boss up close, but my heart twisted again. If only I hadn't sent that stupid message. Pamla's voice dripped with sweetness. "Martin, even if you're busy with work, you need to eat first. It's not good to starve yourself." I cleared my throat and said, "Ms. Ward, Mr. Grace just finished two lunch boxes before you arrived. You probably haven't eaten yet after bringing him food. Shall I take you to the lounge so you can eat at your leisure?" "Two meals, and she still says it. Clearly, Pamla isn't happy about bringing him food," Martin said, sitting up straight, his fingers interlocked on his knee. "Ms. Ward, you're Mrs. Jessica now. It's not appropriate to come here. I still have business dealings with your husband." Whoa! Talk about a plot twist! I thought it was a typical ex-girlfriend reconciliation scene, but it turned out to be a sneaky attempt to play both sides. Martin might have a sour face, but he's no fool to go back to an ex. I watched Martin intently, savoring every juicy detail of the drama. Martin remained silent, while Pamla, looking wounded, said, "Even though I'm married, we're still good friends. You don't take care of yourself, but I can help you."