His Secretary (SPG)

Chapter Three: The Taste of Home

Chapter Three: The Taste of Home

A week had passed since Rachel Montemayor officially became the executive secretary to one of the most intimidating CEOs in Manhattan. So far, things have gone smoothly. She adapted quickly, took detailed notes during meetings, organized Nathaniel Kingsley's schedule with precision, and responded to emails like a machine. Her efficiency didn’t go unnoticed—Nathaniel had praised her punctuality twice. That alone was enough to make her beam through the long hours of work.

But even with her head buried in work, Rachel still felt the pangs of homesickness creeping in.

It was Sunday. Her one day to breathe.

She lay in her modest hotel bed, scrolling through old photos of family dinners and late-night tambayan with friends at the nearest 7/11 back in the Philippines. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was home. The sudden craving hit her hard: sweet corn chips, tamarind candy, and a cup of instant noodles.

She grabbed her jacket, tied her hair in a bun, and slipped into her sneakers. New York’s streets were still quiet at this early hour, the morning air sharp with the crisp edge of early spring. She walked to the nearest 7/11 and felt a small flicker of familiarity. The fluorescent lights, the buzzing soda machine, the quiet hum of the fridge—it was a classic tambayan setup, just not quite the same.

Rachel wandered the aisles, grabbing what comfort she could: a bag of shrimp chips, chocolate bars that looked close enough to Chocnut, and packets of dried mango. Then, her eyes landed on something unexpected.

Kapeng barako. Quite unusual for a convenient store but who cares? It's coffee and Filipinos love coffee, especially kapeng barako of Batangas. Hays… I miss my hometown.

Her chest tightened. It wasn’t a Filipino grocery store—just a random shelf tucked in a corner—but there it was, the coffee she grew up with. Earthy, bold, unapologetically strong.

She snatched up a bag and held it close, like a piece of home.

The next morning, Rachel rose early. She took a long shower, dried her hair carefully, and put on her usual work attire. Her hotel room was still her base for now—New York rent was no joke, and she was trying to save every dollar until she could afford a decent apartment. For now, it was instant noodles, cheap hotels, and silent prayers that her job would last long enough to build something real.

Before leaving, she packed a small container of the kapeng barako into her bag.

She arrived at Kingsley Enterprises at 7:40 a.m.—twenty minutes early, as always. Nathaniel noticed.

“You’re early. Again,” he said in his usual cool tone as he passed her desk. No smile. No nod. Just an observation.

Rachel managed a polite smile. “Always better than being late, sir.”

He gave a short grunt in response and disappeared into his office.

He hadn’t smiled at her since the interview. Not once. No warmth, no casual chatter. Nathaniel Kingsley was all business. He moved like a man who had no time to waste, and Rachel played her part perfectly: efficient, quiet, invisible.

Around 9:00 a.m., the intercom buzzed.

"Rachel, make me a coffee. Black. No sugar."

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

She walked to the small pantry, set his usual roast in the machine, then paused. She had her own mug in her hand and decided to brew her kapeng barako. The aroma instantly filled the space, a rich, robust scent that took her straight back to mornings in her grandmother's kitchen. It felt grounding.

She poured both coffees, hers and Nathaniel’s, into identical mugs—one plain white, the other slightly chipped. She set them on a tray and walked toward his office, balancing them carefully.

Rachel knocked lightly before entering. “Your coffee, sir.”

Nathaniel was on a call but motioned her in without a word. She placed the mug on his desk, left hers by the door, and quietly excited.

She was about to leave when Mr. Kingsley's loud voice boomed in the office. Making her frozen at her spot. Am I doomed?

“What the hell is this?!”

She froze.

Nathaniel stood from his chair, furious, his tie slightly askew. He held the mug aloft like it contained poison.

“This is not my usual coffee,” he said sharply. “What did you give me?”

Rachel’s face turned pale. She stood up, hands shaking slightly. “I-I think I mixed them up. I brewed a Filipino coffee for myself and must’ve switched the mugs. I’m so sorry—”

He stared at her, then back at the mug, then at her again. He set it down forcefully on the edge of a nearby table.

“You’re my secretary. Mistakes like that aren’t acceptable.”

“I understand,” she said softly. Her heart pounded in her chest. Was this it? Was she about to lose everything again?

But then something shifted in Nathaniel’s expression.

He looked at her—really looked—and saw her wide, fearful eyes. The corners of her mouth trembled, and her hands were clenched at her sides. She wasn’t just an employee making a careless error. She was someone holding herself together with everything she had.

His jaw tensed.

“Just—step out,” he said gruffly. “Close the door behind you.”

Rachel nodded quickly and stepped out, shutting the door with trembling fingers.

Inside, Nathaniel sat back in his chair and looked down at the coffee.

He took another sip, grimacing at the strength—but this time he didn’t spit it out. The bitterness reminded him of something. It was unexpected, sharp, unlike the bland roast he always drank.

What was it about her?

He couldn’t explain it.

All he knew was that when he saw the fear in her eyes, something inside him pulled taut, like a string being drawn too tight.

He wasn’t not like this, before if you just make one wrong move, you're fired. But that look from his secretary was usual when facing such trouble, sure it is. But that look, her look was something that's making him hot and sexy.

He doesn't know what's up with him but her fear looks, it's giving him a hard on. He wanted that kind of look not in his office but on his bed with heavy breath and wet body.

Is he fantasizing about his secretary? Oh boy! This is bad.