ANG SUPER TIGANG KONG BOSS [THAT MANYAKIS CEO SERIES 2] SPG 🔞

CHAPTER 7

Rivera Reimagined—that was the name of the project that changed everything.

Draemon, our mysterious, way-too-good-looking new investor, proposed a revamp of Rivera Publication’s public image: branded content, exclusive webinars, sponsored events, premium merchandise. Big words, big budget, big expectations.

And guess who got assigned as the internal coordinator?

Yes. Me. Pinky Miranda. Secretary-s***h-almost-hopeless-romantic-s***h-slightly-torn-inside.

At first, I thought it was a joke. Bakit ako? Why would Mr. Rivera assign someone like me to a project this big—this close—with Draemon?

But then again, Mr. Rivera barely looked at me lately. Callie made sure of that.

So, maybe this was fate’s way of saying, "Move on, girl."

Our first few meetings were... intense.

“Miss Miranda,” Draemon said, leaning forward across the conference table, his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows. “I want bold. I want impact. Think Netflix meets The Economist.”

I blinked. “Wow. Ambisyoso.”

He smirked. “Isn’t that what you like?”

“Excuse me?”

“You like ambitious men, don’t you?”

I froze. The gall of this man. I narrowed my eyes. “I like men who don’t assume too much.”

He chuckled. “Touché.”

It started professional. Really. We discussed sponsors, production teams, timelines. He complimented my efficiency, my creativity. Tinuruan niya pa ako ng mga investor lingo—terms I only heard in pitch decks na hindi ko naman talaga naiintindihan before.

But somewhere in between the meetings, emails, and late-night brainstorms over overpriced coffee, things began to... shift.

One night, we stayed late to finalize the mockups for the branded content launch. Ako na lang ang tao sa office aside from him. Nakataas ang buhok ko in a messy bun, suot ang paborito kong faded cardigan. I wasn’t even trying to impress anyone.

“Pinky,” he said suddenly, standing beside me, “you do realize how sharp you are, right?”

Napatingin ako sa kanya, medyo natigilan. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he said, with that lazy, knowing smile. “People don’t usually look past the lipstick and sass. But you? You’re the one holding this entire project together.”

I didn’t know what to say. No one ever said that to me before. Not even Mr. Ismael.

“Thanks,” I muttered, looking away. “I guess.”

He tilted his head, eyes studying me. “I meant it.”

And the way he said it… God, it stayed with me the whole night.

After that, I started noticing the little things.

Like how he’d bring me coffee without asking. Or how he’d wait until I got to the elevator before leaving. Or how he remembered small things—like my favorite type of pen, or that I always needed candy after lunch.

It was... subtle. But consistent. And it confused the hell out of me.

One afternoon, habang nasa pantry kami, I finally asked.

“Why are you being so... nice to me?”

He looked at me, serious this time. “Because you deserve to be seen.”

My heart did a little tumble.

And in that moment, I hated him a little. For making me feel something new, something warm and terrifying, just when I was trying to let go of something else.

I went home that night and stared at the ceiling.

What is this?

Draemon was kind, yes. Smart. Mysterious. And damn good at what he did.

But was he genuine? Or was I just some project to him? A challenge?

And what about my panata? What about Ismael?

I remembered my vow at Kanlungan ng Sagrado, remembered the whisper of incense and the silence of hope. I told the sacred place I wanted Ismael, that I would do anything for him.

But Ismael never saw me.

And Draemon? He saw through me.

I came back the next day, unsure.

But when Draemon smiled at me and said, “Ready to make magic today, Miss Miranda?” I found myself smiling back. Softly. Carefully.

Maybe, just maybe… something was changing.

And this time, I wasn’t chasing anyone.

This time, someone was walking toward me.

It had been two weeks since Rivera Reimagined officially launched, and I was starting to feel like a different version of myself—one I never thought I’d meet in this lifetime.

No longer just the sassy secretary hanging around Mr. Ismael’s office hoping for a glance or a smile, I was now leading strategy meetings, coordinating creative teams, and—surprise, surprise—standing right beside Draemon like I actually belonged there.

But even more confusing than my rise in Rivera’s hierarchy... was him.

Draemon.

The investor who wasn’t supposed to matter. The man who found me at my weakest, but chose to stay when I was slowly finding strength.

Today, we were finalizing the structure for our first branded webinar featuring social impact storytellers—my idea. We sat in a small corner meeting room, laptops open, mood boards pinned to the wall. I was deep into formatting the event schedule when he slid a bottle of yakult toward me.

“Ano ‘to?” I raised an eyebrow.

“You said you get dizzy pag late ang lunch mo,” he said, casually sipping his coffee. “That should help.”

I looked at the bottle, then at him. “Grabe ka. You really remember random stuff.”

He shrugged. “Random to you. Useful to me.”

I almost choked on air. “Draemon—”

“You’re used to people not paying attention to the little things, huh?” he asked, voice low and even. “You give a lot. And most just take.”

My breath caught in my throat.

No flirtation. No charm bombs. Just quiet honesty. That’s what scared me the most.

Because he was seeing me. And I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be seen that deeply.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Approvals, revisions, calls. My phone buzzed with messages from suppliers, while my inbox overflowed with RSVP confirmations for our event.

But Draemon? Calm as ever. He moved with grace and intention, almost annoyingly patient. And whenever I’d get frazzled, he’d hand me something—tea, a note, or just a knowing look—as if saying, "You got this."

By 8:30 PM, the office was half-empty, but I was still on my desk finishing the pitch deck for the next sponsorship.

He approached slowly. “Pinky,” he said. “You need to rest.”

“I’m almost done,” I replied without looking up.

“Stop trying to prove your worth. You’ve already proven it.”

I paused. Slowly turned my chair toward him. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“No,” he said, kneeling slightly to meet my gaze. “But I’ve seen how hard you fight to be enough. And I want you to know—you already are.”

I didn’t expect it. The way my chest tightened. The way tears threatened to form at the corners of my eyes.

I blinked them away, laughing awkwardly. “You’re dangerously good at this, you know.”

“Good at what?”

“Making people confused,” I said, half-joking. “Making me confused.”

Draemon looked at me for a long second before saying, “I don’t want to confuse you, Pinky. I want to be clear with you.”

He stood and straightened his coat. “But I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

And just like that—he left.

That night, as I walked home under the glow of half-dead streetlamps, I found myself thinking about Kanlungan ng Sagrado.

The place where I offered my panata. Where I told the heavens I wanted Ismael Rivera.

But now?

I wasn’t sure if the ache in my chest was still for him… or for someone else.

Because for the first time in forever, someone was actually choosing me—not the idea of me, not the convenience of me, not the usefulness of me—but me, exactly as I was.

And I didn’t know if I deserved it.

But maybe… just maybe…

I wanted to try.

That night, I didn’t go straight home.

I told myself I just needed to breathe, to drink something chill, to let the city drown out the noise in my head. But the truth was, I was confused. Lost. Hindi ko alam kung ano ba talaga ang nararamdaman ko.

Draemon had been kind. Steady. Present. Hindi siya katulad ni Mr. Ismael—cold, distant, and hard to read. Pero bakit ganon? Bakit si Mr. Ismael pa rin ang naiisip ko?

I found myself in a quiet rooftop lounge in Ortigas—dim lights, ambient music, and a view of the city na parang may sariling drama. Umorder ako ng whisky sour. Nothing too strong, just something to keep my hands busy.

I looked out over the city, gripping the cold glass. “Ano ba ‘tong nangyayari sa ‘kin?” I whispered to myself.

“Bakit parang… lahat nalilito ako?”

Draemon made me feel appreciated. Valued. Pero si Mr. Ismael—kahit hindi kami close, kahit may Callie na siya—he still lived somewhere in the corners of my heart. Yung panata ko sa Kanlungan ng Sagrado, buhay pa rin. Parang hindi ko siya basta pwedeng bawiin.

I took another sip.

Then I froze.

Sa may dulo ng bar, by the glass railing, someone caught my eye.

Tall. Crisp shirt. Familiar profile.

Si Mr. Ismael.

Mag-isa.

Drinking.

I blinked twice, unsure if it was the alcohol or fate playing with me.

Was this a sign?

My heart started racing. Part of me wanted to walk away—go home, forget I saw him, avoid the chaos this moment might bring. Pero yung isang parte sa’kin, yung matagal nang naghahangad, pushed me to stay. To watch. To wonder.

I swirled the last of my drink in my glass.

Should I go to him?

He hadn’t seen me yet. Or maybe he did, and he was ignoring me on purpose. Hindi ko alam. But he looked… different tonight. Less polished. Less composed.

Was he thinking about something?

Or someone?

Was it Callie?

Was it… me?

I bit my lip, feeling the tension rise in my chest. Hindi ko alam ang dapat kong gawin. Should I approach him and act casual? Or should I respect the invisible wall between us?

Pinky, anong ginagawa mo? I asked myself silently.

And yet… my feet inched forward, one hesitant step at a time.

Still unsure.

Still torn.