His Secretary, His Wife

CHAPTER THREE

Layla's POV

I stood in front of my mirror, reeling in the embarrassing memories of yesterday.

How can an adult throw such a tantrum over coffee? Worst of all, I remade it only for him to leave without tasting it—no thank you, no good job.

Only, “working hours are over.” Who makes someone stress over stupid things only to walk out? My childish boss, that's who.

Such an insufferable man-child. Billionaire, my foot.

“I should probably quit and go do my internship somewhere else.” I recoiled as soon as I said that. No, I can't quit.

Companies will swarm me with job offers if I successfully pull this internship off, and I won't let a condescending man ruin my chances at success. Never.

With that, I picked up my bag. It was time to survive my first real day.

—

I was already at my desk when he came in.

“Good morning, sir,” I rose up to greet.

And as expected, I was snubbed. Typical. I could literally drop dead right now, and he'd step over my body and walk into his office.

Doing my job regardless, I proceeded to make his coffee—this time, making it carefully. I wouldn't want to be spat at again, I thought with an eye roll.

I served the coffee and anticipated his reaction.

He paused, and I could sense his hesitation.

The cup hovered over his lips before he finally took a sip.

I wondered what he'll do this time. Scream. Yell. Or even flip the table. Not like I'd care anyway.

But then, nothing. No reaction. No words. Not even a nod. Seriously!

“What’s my schedule for the day?” he asked, without moving his eyes from his computer screen.

“You have a lunch meeting with Mr. Smith from Wellington and a meeting from all managers after noon.”

“And?” he asked with raised brows, finally looking at me.

“That's all, sir,” I wondered what he was expecting.

“You don't have the rest of the day planned?”

Wow… am I supposed to plan his nappy time too, or what?

“No, sir.”

“Goes a long way to show your competence. Dismissed,” he said, tilting his head as if silently mocking me.

I took deep breaths to settle myself as I sat in my seat.

“Dismissed,” I mimicked him with a tone of mockery.

Coward. Never giving me a chance to give him a befitting response.

Then I froze. He was looking right at me from inside his office. Was my voice loud? But the next moment, he went back to typing.

Then my computer dinged with a message.

‘Print enough to go around in preparation for the afternoon meeting’ — with multiple files attached.

I looked in his direction. If eyes could kill, I would be printing his funeral flyers instead of these papers.

After printing the papers, I headed back to my desk and picked my phone up.

Numerous notifications greeted me, all from the class group chat.

As the ghost viewer I've always been, I only read everyone's internship experiences without butting in.

Then a new message popped in…

‘Layla is doing hers at Walkers’

Crap. Gigi. I told her not to tell anyone. My private life? Poof, in the dust.

And as expected, I got several DMs immediately, asking if I was really at Walkers. I scoffed. Busy bodies.

Then another message popped up.

‘Why are you telling lies, Gi? Since when did Walker stoop so low? Even I wasn't accepted despite my daddy's connections, and you expect us to believe they picked her? A poor stinky b***h?’

Typical Brittany. Whenever nothing fits her narrative, it's a lie. Why are all these people set to test my patience today?

‘It's the absolute truth,’ Gi fired back.

Ignoring the DMs, I decided to text Gi.

“Give it a rest, princess. Let them believe whatever,” I added a smiley. If she doesn't stop, Bri’s minions will come for her, and Gi is too weak for that.

I was still laughing at Bri's stupidity when Tristan walked out of his office. He gave me a critical look that made me feel stupid.

Why's he staring like that? Then my computer dinged. Oh. It's lunchtime already. Blindly grabbing what I could, I rushed to stand beside him.

“It's time for your lunch meeting, sir.”

“And you think I don't know that?”

There we go again. Insult my competence.

“...I don't go around smiling at my phone during work hours when I'm actually supposed to be working,” he added sternly.

Of course, you don't. Your personality portrays you might not have a life.

“What did you say?” he asked, stopping in his tracks.

Shit. Was I loud?

“Nothing, sir.”

“Of course. Nothing. A competent person will be briefing me about the meeting I'm headed to.”

There it is again. That subtle remark questioned my competency, and I swore I saw him smirk. He was definitely enjoying this.

The drive to the restaurant was quiet and peaceful, and Mr. Smith was already at the restaurant. They exchanged greetings, and I bowed to Mr. Smith. Something about his smile was unsettling.

I shook off the idea… I'm probably being too sensitive.

Inside, they sat down opposite each other while I stood behind my boss.

I laid the file down in front of him and took out my notebook to take notes. The meeting was progressing positively until Mr. Smith interrupted and asked that I sit. I looked at Tristan, and he nodded his approval.

I sat gently, still holding out my note.

Then I felt it—a palm tracing my thighs.

Without thinking, I stood up from my seat and landed a slap on Mr. Smith's face.

Shocked at my own action, I looked at my boss.

Crap. What have I done?