CHAPTER 6
1499 Words
I swear, if ranks existed for the grumpiest men alive, Mr. Fishy— I mean, Mr. Fabian—wouldn't just be a general; he’d be the Supreme Commander of all grumps. The King of Sour Faces. The Emperor of Mood Swings.
And now, that very man had summoned me to his office.
I was doomed.
My knees were shaking as I walked toward the office, my heartbeat hammering like a drum inside my chest. It felt like I was heading toward my own execution, and the executioner? A six-foot-tall, broad-shouldered, terrifyingly handsome man with a permanent scowl on his face.
If I could turn back time, I’d stop myself from attacking Beatrice earlier. But nooo, my big mouth just had to run wild.
And to make matters worse?
This was all Daphne’s fault.
That traitor. That fake bestie. That backstabbing drama queen!
If he had just kept his mouth shut and let me hide in the janitor’s closet, I wouldn’t be marching toward my doom right now! The moment I step out of this office, I’m going to strangle him.
Assuming I still have a job, that is.
I swallowed hard, pausing in front of the office door. Taking a deep breath, I whispered my final prayer to the universe.
"GHAD! I hope you will be kind even just for this once, Mr. Fabian…"
With a trembling hand, I turned the knob and stepped inside.
The air inside his office was freezing. Not just because of the air conditioning, but because of the man himself.
Mr. Fabian sat behind his massive, sleek desk, his dark eyes locked onto me the moment I entered. His expression was unreadable—calm, composed, and deadly.
Yup. I’m dead.
I forced a smile, hoping it would somehow make me look less guilty. “Uh… h-hi, sir?”
"Sit," he said, voice firm and unwavering.
I obeyed immediately, plopping down on the chair like a student about to get scolded by the principal.
Then, without missing a beat, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Do you have any idea why you're here, Miss Miranda?"
I gulped. "Uh… for a friendly chat?"
His eyes narrowed.
Oh, great. Wrong answer.
He sighed, rubbing his temples as if I already gave him a headache. "You attacked Beatrice."
I winced. "It wasn’t an attack—more like self-defense!"
"She poured coffee on you," he stated. "And instead of reporting it, you caused a scene."
I pursed my lips. Well… okay, yeah, that was technically true. But still!
"It wasn’t just a scene! It was justice!" I defended. "You should’ve seen her face, sir! She was asking for it!"
His stare was so intense I swear it burned a hole through my soul.
"Miss Miranda," he said, tone dangerously low, "Do you think this is funny?"
I straightened up, immediately shaking my head. "No, sir! Not at all! I’m just saying that she started it!"
"And you escalated it."
"Okay, maybe I did," I admitted, shrinking into my chair. "But sir, it’s Beatrice! You know how she is! She treats me like I’m dirt stuck under her designer heels! I couldn’t just let her get away with it!"
For a moment, he was silent.
I thought—just thought—I saw something flicker across his expression. But if there was sympathy there, he erased it faster than I could process it.
"That doesn’t change the fact that you acted unprofessionally."
My stomach dropped.
Oh no.
"Sir, please," I pleaded, placing my hands on his desk. "I really, really need this job! My family depends on me! If you fire me, who's going to pay our rent? Our bills? Who’s going to feed my little brother?!"
I was this close to getting on my knees and begging.
But Mr. Fishy?
He didn’t even blink.
"Not my problem," he said.
My jaw dropped.
"Not my problem."
This man…
This heartless, cruel, unbothered man!
"Are you serious right now?!" I burst out. "You’re firing me over Beatrice?!"
"You left me no choice."
"Sir, come on!" I cried. "You don’t even like her!"
Silence.
I blinked.
Wait. Did I just—did I just say that out loud?!
Mr. Fabian’s expression darkened.
I laughed nervously. "I-I mean, like, you respect her, of course! Totally! But I’ve seen the way you look at her when she starts talking about her amazing new heels, and—"
"Enough."
I clamped my mouth shut.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply. "Miss Miranda, my decision is final. You’re fired."
Boom.
There it was.
The two words that shattered my entire world.
I felt like my soul had left my body. Like my ancestors had just facepalmed in disappointment.
"Sir," I whispered, gripping the edge of my seat. "Please. Don’t do this."
But Mr. Fishy?
He simply leaned back in his chair, completely unmoved.
"Clean out your locker," he said, voice cold. "Security will escort you out."
I stared at him in disbelief.
This was it.
I was actually fired.
Me. Maurice Miranda. The always fresh, always smells good, but always broke janitor.
Fired.
No.
No way.
This couldn’t be happening!
Panic surged through me as I scrambled for a plan—any plan.
And then, I had the worst idea in history.
"Okay, okay, fine," I said quickly. "But before I go, can I just say one last thing?"
Fabian sighed. "Make it quick."
I grinned.
And then—
I grabbed the nearest glass of water from his desk.
And.
POURED IT OVER MY OWN HEAD.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Mr. Fishy just stared at me, completely baffled.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.
I slammed the glass back down. "There. See? Now you poured water on me. And if I get fired for this, it means you started it."
A full three seconds passed.
And then—
Fabian Isidore, the grumpiest CEO alive, actually…
Laughed.
It was short. A small, incredulous chuckle. But I heard it.
And I was not letting that go.
I gasped dramatically. "OH MY GHAD, you laughed! YOU HAVE EMOTIONS!"
He immediately coughed, regaining his usual blank expression. "No, I didn’t."
"Yes, you did! I saw it!"
"Miss Miranda, get out before I call security."
I smirked.
He still fired me.
But at least I made him laugh.
After being fired, I stormed out of Mr. Fishy’s office, slamming the door behind me with enough force to rattle the hallway.
How dare he? How dare he just throw me out like that? After everything I’d done? I was practically the backbone of MCC! Who else cleaned up after everyone’s messes? Who else made sure the offices didn’t smell like stale coffee and crushed dreams?
And now, just because of that witch Beatrice, I was jobless.
My life was over.
Daphne was waiting for me outside, his hands on his hips, looking like he was about to give me a whole speech. But the moment he saw my face—red, teary-eyed, and absolutely devastated—his smirk disappeared.
He barely had time to react before I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and wailing into his chest.
"DAPHNE!" I sobbed dramatically. "I’M UNEMPLOYED! I’M OFFICIALLY A BROKE, JOBLESS LOSER!"
"OH MY GHAD, WOMAN!" he shrieked, staggering back. "Why are you crying on me?! You’re getting my shirt all wet!"
"LET ME MOURN IN PEACE!" I wailed louder.
Daphne groaned but didn’t push me away. Instead, he patted my head like I was a sad puppy.
"There, there," he muttered. "It’s okay, bes. The world is full of opportunities."
"Where?! Where are these so-called opportunities? Because I don’t see any!" I pulled back, dramatically wiping my tears. "I’M BROKE, DAPHNE! I HAVE A FAMILY TO FEED! I HAVE RENT TO PAY! I CAN’T EVEN AFFORD TO BUY MYSELF A TASTY AND FABULOUS’ CAKE!"
"First of all," Daphne sighed, rolling his eyes, "you need to calm down before I smack the melodrama out of you."
I sniffled. "You wouldn’t dare."
"Try me," he deadpanned.
I huffed, finally pulling myself together. But just as I was about to continue my rant, I noticed something—or someone—in the distance.
Sir Leland.
Standing a few feet away, watching me.
My breath hitched.
Why was he looking at me like that? Did he… did he pity me?
Or worse—was he secretly celebrating that I got fired?
No.
That couldn’t be it.
Right?
He wasn’t smiling, but his expression wasn’t exactly neutral either. It was… unreadable. Like he was debating something in his head.
I swallowed hard.
Maybe this was my last chance. Maybe he could help me!
I hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and wiping away the last of my tears.
"Daphne," I said, eyes still on Leland. "What do you think are the chances of me convincing Sir Leland to hire me as his secretary?"
Daphne gasped. "OH MY GHAD, YOU'RE REALLY INSANE, DO YOU?”
- Writer
