MR. GRUMPY [THAT COLD-HEARTED CEO]

CHAPTER 12

Fabian Isidore’s POV

God! Everything’s a mess.

You know that feeling when the entire universe just decides to gang up on you? Well, that’s exactly what’s happening to me right now.

I've got projects stacked on my desk, blueprints that need revisions, and deadlines that won’t magically push themselves back. I swear, if one more thing goes wrong today, I might just throw someone out the window.

And to make matters worse, there’s that woman.

That walking disaster of a woman.

Maurice Miranda.

My most problematic employee to deal with.

I still can't believe the nerve of that woman! Causing a scene in my office, assaulting my secretary, and then acting like she did nothing wrong? She’s completely insane.

I don’t regret firing her, not one bit. Someone like her has no place in this company.

No discipline. No composure. No professionalism.

A complete trainwreck.

I let out a deep sigh and leaned back on my chair, rubbing my temples.

My desk was covered with papers, mostly blueprints of the commercial housing project that Mr. Darious, a well-known businessman, had been discussing with me.

The man was demanding, to say the least. He wanted everything perfect—modern, efficient, yet still luxurious enough to attract high-paying tenants.

And guess who was expected to make that happen?

That’s right. Me.

Well, of course. Who else?

I am, after all, Fabian Isidore, the chief architect and CEO of Megabuild Construction Company—the leading architectural firm in Linus City.

This is where I thrive.

This is my domain.

But today, even this felt like a headache.

I glanced at the clock.

8:42 PM.

I exhaled sharply, stretching my stiff shoulders. I had been at this for hours, yet I was nowhere near done.

And then, as if my night wasn’t already ruined enough—

The door swung open without so much as a knock.

"Leland," I said in a dangerously calm tone, not even bothering to look up from my blueprints.

"You should try knocking, you know? Like a normal person."

He grinned, the kind of s**t-eating grin that made me want to throw my stapler at him.

"Why knock when I practically own this office too?" He casually plopped down on the chair across from me, stretching like he had all the time in the world.

I clenched my jaw.

"You're the assistant CEO, Leland. Assistant."

"Ah, yes. But let's be real, Fishy," he smirked, "this company would be so boring without me."

I exhaled through my nose.

Leland Phineas was infuriating.

Too laid-back. Too nosy. Too… Leland.

He might be my assistant CEO, but more than that, he was also my longest-running headache.

And unfortunately, my closest thing to a friend.

I watched as he made himself at home, fixing his tie, stretching his long legs, acting as if he had no actual work to do.

"Aren't you supposed to be busy?" I asked, hoping he'd leave me alone.

"I finished early," he shrugged. "Unlike some people, I actually know how to delegate tasks."

I rolled my eyes and returned to my blueprints. "Then go home."

"Nah," he smirked. "You're more fun when you're miserable."

I ignored him.

For five seconds.

And then—

"So, about Maurice…"

I froze.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze, my expression darkening.

"Don't," I warned.

But of course, he ignored me.

Leland leaned forward, resting his elbows on my desk, his eyes filled with amusement.

"The woman you fired yesterday," he continued, "seems like she left quite the impression on you."

I clicked my tongue, annoyed.

"She left an impression alright," I muttered. "A terrible one."

He chuckled. "And yet, here you are. Thinking about her."

I shot him a glare.

"I'm not thinking about her, Leland. I'm trying to forget she ever existed."

"Are you, though?" he teased.

I didn’t respond.

Because why was he even bringing her up in the first place?

Leland tilted his head, watching me closely.

"You know," he started, "not everyone gets the privilege of being personally fired by Fabian Isidore himself. She must be special."

I scoffed.

"Specially infuriating."

"Ah, but that’s what makes her interesting, doesn’t it?"

I shut my blueprints and glared at him.

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because, dear Fishy," Leland smirked, "I see potential in her."

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Leland, she’s a janitor. What potential are you talking about?"

"She’s not just a janitor," he said. "She’s got spirit. She’s got fire. She’s… different."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. Different is one way to describe crazy."

Leland just smirked.

"You’ll see," he said. "Mark my words, Fishy. Maurice Miranda is going to surprise you."

I huffed, completely done with this conversation.

"Not interested," I muttered, picking up my blueprints again.

But Leland just chuckled, standing up and heading for the door.

"Sure, sure," he said over his shoulder. "Keep telling yourself that."

And with that, he left—without knocking, of course.

I stared at the door for a moment, annoyed.

Leland was insufferable.

But the worst part?

His words stayed with me long after he was gone.

After Leland walked out of my office, I just sat there, keep staring at the door like an i***t.

What the hell was that?

I swear, that man’s goal in life is to annoy me.

He literally came in uninvited, trashed my peace, talked nonsense, and then left me hanging with his cryptic words—as if I had time to care about some crazy ex-janitor.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply.

Maurice Miranda? Potential?

Hell no.

She was loud, unruly, stubborn as hell, and a complete walking disaster.

She had zero discipline, no patience, and a natural talent for making my blood pressure spike.

She had absolutely no place in my company.

Never.

I turned back to my desk, determined to forget this ridiculous conversation.

I grabbed one of the blueprints in front of me, forcing my mind to focus on the project at hand.

This was important.

This was what mattered.

Mr. Darious’ commercial housing deal was a game-changer. If I nailed this, MCC would cement its status as the leading architectural firm in the country.

I needed to be at my best.

I would not let some chaotic woman—who wasn’t even my employee anymore—distract me.

I inhaled deeply, reading through the structural calculations, when—

RING! RING!

I frowned.

My phone.

I grabbed it off the table, checking the caller ID.

And immediately stiffened.

Dad.

SHIT.

I completely forgot about dinner tonight.

I checked the time.

8:57 PM.

Damn it.

I was supposed to meet him half an hour ago.

I ran a hand over my face before answering.

"Hello," I said, bracing myself.

"Fabian," my father’s deep voice came through the phone. Calm. Controlled. But I could already hear the disappointment underneath.

"You forgot, didn’t you?"

I exhaled slowly. "I got caught up with work—"

"Of course, you did," he interrupted.

I could picture him now—sitting at an expensive restaurant, suit perfectly pressed, fingers tapping against his glass of wine, looking like a man too powerful to be kept waiting.

"If you’re still at the office, you might as well stay there," he continued. "No need to come anymore."

I frowned. "Dad, I—"

"Enjoy your work, son."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone, clenching my jaw.

Damn it.

I placed the phone back on my desk, my mood officially ruined.

I should have known.

For my father, there were no second chances.

No late arrivals. No excuses.

If you weren’t on time, you might as well not show up at all.

I leaned back in my chair, sighing.

Tonight was supposed to be important.

I knew why he invited me.

It wasn’t just a casual dinner.

It was a business meeting—one where I was expected to meet the family of my future fiancée.

Yes. Future fiancée.

Because Vincent Isidore, the great businessman that he is, didn’t just let his son live life on his own terms.

No.

He had plans.

He had arrangements.

And those arrangements included marrying me off to a family that would benefit our business.

Not that I cared much.

I never really had the luxury to choose what I wanted in life, anyway.

So what if I had to marry someone I barely knew?

It wasn’t about love.

It was about mergers. Power. Status.

And if there was one thing my father valued, it was legacy.

I rubbed my temple, feeling a headache creeping in.

Whatever.

The dinner was ruined now.

Might as well focus on work.

I tried—really tried—to focus on my blueprints again.

But Leland’s words wouldn’t leave my head.

"You’ll see. Mark my words, Fishy. Maurice Miranda is going to surprise you."

I scowled.

What the hell was he on about?

How was that woman—who literally caused CHAOS in my office—ever going to surprise me?

Did he really think someone like her had the potential to be anything more than a nuisance?

Ridiculous.

Completely ridiculous.

I shook my head and leaned over my desk, gripping my pen.

Enough distractions.

I had actual work to do.

I started sketching.

Lines. Measurements. Focus.

Everything was finally silent.

Calm.

For exactly five minutes.

And then—

THUD!

The office door flew open.

Again.

Without knocking.

Again.

I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and prayed for patience.

"Unless you're here to tell me you've resigned, Leland," I said through gritted teeth, "get. Out."

But the voice that answered wasn’t Leland’s.

"Fabian."

I froze.

That voice.

That deep, authoritative voice.

I snapped my eyes open.

And there, standing in my office, was Vincent Isidore himself.

My father.

Shit.

I immediately stood up, straightening my posture.

"Dad," I greeted, masking my surprise.

He stepped inside, his presence alone filling the room with weight.

No wonder people feared him.

Vincent Isidore was not a man to be taken lightly.

He walked in, his sharp eyes scanning my office like he was evaluating my entire existence.

And then, he sat down without a word, crossing his legs.

I waited.

Because when my father entered a room, he was always the first to speak.

And then—

"I had dinner with the Elwood family," he finally said, his tone neutral.

I stiffened.

Of course.

"Their daughter, Violet , was… disappointed you weren’t there."

I remained silent.

"You should have come, Fabian," he continued. "A man should always prioritize his future."

I clenched my jaw.

"I had work," I said simply.

"Work will always be there," he replied. "Opportunities won’t."

I held back a sigh.

This was exactly why I never looked forward to conversations with him.

It was always about business.

About what I should be doing.

About what was expected of me.

Never about what I wanted.

He exhaled and stood up, buttoning his suit jacket.

"I hope this won’t happen again," he said, giving me a pointed look.

And just like that, he turned to leave.

But then—

He stopped at the door.

Paused.

And without looking back, he said:

"Oh, and Fabian…?"

I tensed.

"Stay away from unnecessary distractions."

And then, he left.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I stood there, motionless, my hands clenched into fists.

…Unnecessary distractions?

I scoffed, shaking my head.

As if I had time for distractions.

As if some random woman—

As if Maurice Miranda–

I frowned.

Why the hell did her name suddenly pop into my head?