Seducing My Nerdy Boss

Chapter 2. Routine and Distance

The morning passed quickly. Elara studied the materials, memorized names and numbers, organized his schedule, and handled incoming calls. She noticed how the department heads came in and out of his office. She observed how Cleon interacted with them.

He was brilliant. There was no doubt about that. When discussing projects or finances, his eyes focused, his voice gained depth and authority, and he spoke with such sharp logic and knowledge that even the oldest managers looked at him with awe and respect. He was polite, formal, and incredibly smart… but never warm. Never friendly. Never human.

Around 11:30 AM, two elderly men walked toward the office, laughing softly. Elara recognized them from the files, Mr. Villareal and Mr. Gomez, founding board members, old family friends, and the people who had invested in Cleon when he was just a university student with a crazy idea.

Elara stood up and greeted them respectfully. “Good morning, Sirs. Mr. Morris is expecting you. Please, go right in.”

Mr. Gomez stopped and looked at her, smiling kindly. He was a plump, cheerful-looking man with white hair and round glasses.

“Ah! You must be the new girl. Elara, right? Welcome, welcome. Finally, someone new. Maybe you can bring a little color to this gray place.”

Mr. Villareal, taller and more serious, nodded at her.

“Good to meet you, Miss Fajardo. Be patient with Cleon. He isn’t rude on purpose… he just forgot how to be anything else.”

They entered the office and Elara went back to her work, but she kept her ears open. The glass walls were soundproof, but the door was slightly ajar, and their voices carried clearly.

“Cleon, my boy!” Mr. Gomez’s hearty voice boomed. “Still working like you’re trying to build a castle with your bare hands! You look pale. When was the last time you ate a proper meal? Do you even remember what food tastes like?”

Cleon’s calm voice answered, low and steady. “Good morning, Sirs. I ate breakfast. The expansion plans are ahead of schedule, and the investors are happy. That is what matters.”

“Investors, investors… always investors,” Mr. Villareal sighed heavily. “You sound exactly like your father when he was young. Driven. Obsessed. But Cleon… your father learned the hard way that there is more to life than profit. Don’t make the same mistakes he did.”

There was a pause. Elara peeked through the gap. Cleon was sitting back in his chair, his expression slightly darker, his hands clasped together on the desk.

“I am not my father, Sir,” Cleon said quietly, his tone shifting, becoming colder, sharper. “My father had too many distractions. He cared too much about feelings, about parties, about pleasing everyone. It made him weak. It made him vulnerable. He lost everything because he didn’t focus on what was truly important. I have learned from his mistakes. I do not have distractions. I do not let feelings interfere with logic. That is why this company is still standing and growing.”

Mr. Gomez sighed. “Ah, Cleon… you think being alone and cold makes you strong? You think cutting everyone out protects you? I know you still blame yourself for what happened. I know you think that if you had been better, smarter, more focused… your parents and Clara would still be here.”

Elara’s breath caught. Clara? Who was Clara?

Cleon stood up abruptly, walking to the window, turning his back to them. His shoulders were tense and rigid.

“That is exactly why I cannot afford to be weak,” he said, his voice low and tight. “Everyone I love or care for leaves. Everyone I get close to gets hurt or taken away. It's better this way. If I don’t care, I won’t grieve. If I don’t let anyone in, I won’t lose them. Work is safe. Numbers don’t die. Codes don’t disappear. I will not discuss this again, Sirs. Let’s talk about the quarterly report.”

The conversation shifted to business numbers, but Elara sat at her desk, stunned, her heart aching slightly.

So that's why, she thought. He isn’t cold because he is arrogant or heartless. He is cold because he is terrified. He lost his parents… and someone named Clara… and he decided that the only way to survive was to build a wall so high and thick that no one could ever hurt him again.

Suddenly, the challenge wasn’t just about winning a bet anymore. It was about understanding a man who had buried his heart alive just to survive the pain.

Later that afternoon, around 4:00 PM, Elara noticed Cleon hadn’t moved from his desk for over five hours. He hadn’t drunk water. He hadn’t stood up to stretch. He rubbed his temples repeatedly, his eyes heavy with exhaustion behind his glasses, but he kept reading, kept typing, kept pushing himself beyond human limits.

Elara remembered from the notes that he liked his coffee black, no sugar, very hot. She went to the pantry, prepared it exactly the way he liked, and also bought a pack of almond cookies, something she had seen in his personal file as a preference from years ago.

She knocked softly and entered.

“Excuse me, Sir. It’s getting late, and you haven’t had anything to drink since lunch. I brought you some coffee and a small snack. It helps keep the mind sharp.”

She placed the tray gently on the corner of his desk, careful not to disturb his papers. She stood there for a moment, smiling softly, hoping for at least a word of thanks or a glance.

Cleon didn’t look up. He didn’t even pause his reading. He simply nodded once, mechanically, his eyes scanning a financial report.

“Leave it there. Thank you, Ms. Fajardo. Now, please arrange the flight details for next week’s trip to Singapore. Ensure that the seats are quiet and the hotel has a proper workspace too.”

It was automatic. Cold. Distant. He treated her kindness exactly the same way he treated her filing work, useful, but nothing special.

“Understood, Sir,” Elara said softly. “Call me if you need anything else.”

She walked out, closing the door. She wasn’t discouraged. She looked back through the glass wall one more time. Cleon reached out almost absentmindedly, took a sip of the coffee, and paused for just a fraction of a second. He looked at the cup and then back down at the paper.

He didn’t realize it yet, but that small act of care had registered somewhere deep inside him. Even if he tried to ignore it and that she didn’t matter… Elara Fajardo was already planting the first seeds of warmth in a heart that had been frozen solid for years.

That evening, Elara messaged her friends.

Elara: First day done. He is colder than an iceberg. He didn’t even look at me once. He treats me like I’m invisible.

Mia: I told you! Admit defeat now!

Elara: No way. I found out why he is like this though… he lost everyone that he loved. He isn’t cold because he’s mean. He’s cold because he’s scared. And honestly? I think this bet is going to take longer than we thought. But I also think… I’m not just doing it to win anymore.

Jenna: Oh? What do you mean?

Elara: I think… maybe he just needs someone to remind him how to feel again. And... I want to be that someone.