The Stranger Who Became My Boss

Chapter 4 : Doubt

"Morning, Mbak." I greeted Ms. Ida, who looked completely overwhelmed as she stared at her laptop screen.

"Nam, Lastri stopped by earlier with Mr. Gio's coffee machine. She said not to leave it in the pantry because someone else might use it. Mr. Gio already had it moved there. Go make him a coffee—he's been waiting for almost an hour."

"Mbak!" I groaned. "Why are you saying that so casually? Why didn't you call me? Seriously!" I pouted, wondering why she hadn't told me the moment I arrived. And that Mister X... he'd been waiting for his coffee for an entire hour. Couldn't he have asked Lastri to make it? She was his assistant, after all.

"So what?" Ms. Ida shrugged. "You're the stubborn one. You're late every single day. Look at our terrifying new boss. He's already here before seven every morning, while you don't even clock in until after eight. No wonder your meal allowance keeps getting deducted."

I dashed toward the second-floor pantry. There was a pantry on every floor, but Ms. Ida and I always used the one on the second floor because it was larger and better equipped. It was where we prepared drinks and snacks for the executives.

The moment I walked in, I spotted Mr. Gio's coffee machine. Wow. That thing looked incredibly sophisticated. How on earth do I use it?

I immediately called Lastri.

[Las, come here for a second. I have no idea how to use this coffee machine. It looks ridiculously advanced.]

[Nam, I don't know either. Just look it up online.]

Useless. For someone who claimed to come from a wealthy family, she was just as clueless as I was.

Fine. I searched for the machine's brand on my phone, and a few tutorial videos appeared almost immediately. Found one.

Following the instructions, I turned on the machine, filled the water reservoir, inserted the coffee capsule, and pulled the lever. A moment later, fresh coffee began pouring out.

Only then did I realize I hadn't placed a cup underneath the spout.

"Oh no!"

Without thinking, I cupped my hand beneath the stream to keep the coffee from spilling everywhere. The scalding liquid hit my palm.

"Ouch!"

It burned like fire, but at that moment I was more worried about making a mess than about my hand. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I hurriedly opened the cabinet above me, grabbed a mug, and shoved it beneath the machine.

Only after the coffee was safely pouring into the cup did the burning sensation truly register. It hurt. Really hurt.

Fortunately, there was a first-aid kit in the pantry. I opened it, cleaned my palm, found the burn gel we usually kept for minor accidents, spread it over the injury, then wrapped my hand with gauze. The bandage looked terrible—well, wrapping one hand with the other wasn't exactly easy—but at least it covered the wound.

The coffee had finished brewing. I switched off the machine, scribbled a quick note asking the office boy to clean it later, then carried the cup upstairs. The office boy was probably out buying breakfast.

Mr. Gio's office was on the third floor. The second floor contained only three rooms—a large meeting hall, two photography studios, and a spacious multipurpose hall that could accommodate around two hundred people. Even though we published a non-commercial magazine, we still needed professional photo studios because celebrities and public figures often came in for interviews.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the office door.

"Good morning, Sir."

I stepped inside, carefully hiding my injured right hand behind my back. "Your coffee." I placed the cup on his desk with my left hand and immediately turned to leave.

"Namira."

I froze. What now?

"Is it polite..." His calm voice stopped me in my tracks. "...to hand someone something with your left hand?"

There it was. Just as I'd expected. Someone as meticulous as him always found something to criticize.

"I'm sorry, Sir." I turned back to face him.

"Show me your right hand."

Oh, for heaven's sake. Now what? Had he noticed something?

I slowly raised my bandaged hand. As soon as I opened my palm, the loosely wrapped gauze slipped off, exposing my burn.

Mr. Gio let out a long, restrained sigh. Then he picked up the phone.

"Lastri, come to my office."

A few moments later, Lastri hurried into the office.

"You called for me, Sir?"

"Take Namira to the clinic."

Mr. Gio's tone left no room for discussion as he took a company credit card from his wallet and handed it to Lastri. "She has a burn injury. Scars on a woman's hand shouldn't be taken lightly. Use this to pay."

"Oh, come on, Sir." I immediately protested. "I've already put burn gel on it. It'll heal in a few days."

Mr. Gio looked at me expressionlessly. "This happened while you were making coffee for me, correct?"

"...Yes."

"Then it's a workplace accident." His gaze never wavered. "I'd rather pay for a clinic visit today than have you sue the company over something that could've been prevented."

What?

Did this man seriously just say that?

Sue the company?

Over a tiny burn?

What kind of person even thought like that?

"Sir—"

Before I could explode, Lastri grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the door. "Excuse us, Sir."

The office door closed behind us.

"Las! Let go!" I hissed, trying to pull my arm free. "That guy is insane!"

Lastri burst out laughing. "Come on. Let's just go."

"I'm perfectly fine!"

"I know." She waved the company credit card in front of my face. "But after the clinic..." She grinned mischievously. "...we're having seafood."

I blinked. "Seafood?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "His treat."

"...Let's go."

My anger vanished instantly. Being a boarding-house girl meant seafood was a luxury I couldn't justify very often. If it hadn't been for Lastri, I probably would've stormed back upstairs and turned Mr. Gio's office upside down.

The doctor examined my hand for less than ten minutes. "It isn't serious," he said. "But keep it clean. Burns can become infected if you're careless."

He prescribed an antibiotic, painkillers, and burn ointment.

Once we picked up the medication, Lastri drove straight to the seafood restaurant across from our office complex.

"This place is expensive," I muttered as we walked inside.

"That's why we're using his card." She held it up proudly. "Order whatever you want."

I was just about to call the waiter when Lastri stopped me. "Not yet. Wait."

"What now?"

She pointed toward the entrance. "There."

I turned around.

Oh, no.

Mister X.

Why was he here?

A bad feeling immediately settled in my stomach. Whenever this man appeared, something troublesome always followed.

"Sir." Lastri stood up politely and offered him the empty seat beside her.

"Good afternoon, Sir," I greeted him as well.

He nodded before sitting down. "So," he said, looking at Lastri, "everything's taken care of?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good." He glanced at the menu. "Let's order first. Then we'll discuss the overtime form."

The overtime form?

So that was why he'd come.

I had been convinced he was about to fire me after all the mistakes I'd made since meeting him. Turns out, he had chased us all the way here just to discuss work.

After we placed our orders, Mr. Gio opened the draft I'd emailed him the night before.

For nearly an hour, we went through every section together. He questioned why I'd chosen certain examples, and I explained that not every employee's performance could be measured solely by visible output. Some departments produced results that weren't immediately tangible, so the form needed enough flexibility to evaluate different types of work fairly.

To my surprise, he listened. He challenged my reasoning, but whenever my explanation made sense, he accepted it without argument.

In the end, we finalized the draft together.

Mr. Gio checked the time and immediately stood. "We're implementing this after lunch."

"So soon?" I blurted out.

"There isn't enough time to postpone it." He picked up the folder. "The company can't afford another delay." He looked at both of us. "The clinic visit cost us valuable time. That's why I came here instead."

He turned toward me. "Namira."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Once we get back, prepare everything for the briefing. You and Ms. Ida are HR. I expect the meeting room to be ready before everyone arrives."

"Understood, Sir."

Without another word, he left the restaurant.

I watched him walk away through the glass window.

Seriously...

I'd finished the draft only last night.

Now he wanted to roll out the new system that very afternoon.

This man really didn't believe in wasting time.

Lastri and I returned to the office as quickly as we could, but the moment we stepped inside, something felt off. Almost every desk was empty, leaving only the receptionist behind.

"Where is everyone?" I asked.

"They're already upstairs," Ms. Niken replied. "The meeting's about to start."

Lastri and I exchanged glances. "Oh no."

Without wasting another second, we grabbed our laptops and rushed toward the second-floor auditorium. By the time we pushed open the doors, the room was already packed with more than a hundred employees. As members of HR, we hurried straight to the moderator's table at the front.

Fortunately, I had remembered to bring my laptop before lunch. Otherwise, I would have been in serious trouble.

"Good."

Mr. Gio looked up from the podium. "Now that the team is complete..."

He continued his presentation as if nothing had happened.

"Our meeting today concerns one of the most critical issues in this company." He paused briefly. "We're going to discuss the expense that has increased the most over the past five years."

He turned toward Lastri. "Please display the employee overtime graph."

The chart appeared on the projector screen, and a murmur spread across the room. The overtime figures had climbed sharply year after year.

"Now," Mr. Gio continued, "please show the company's revenue trend."

The graph changed, and this time the room fell silent. Revenue had dropped dramatically—nearly thirty percent.

No one spoke.

From a business perspective, it didn't make sense. If employees were working more overtime, shouldn't productivity—and revenue—have increased as well? So why was the exact opposite happening?

Mr. Gio let the silence linger before speaking again. "Has everyone identified the gap?"

No one answered.

He nodded calmly. "I expected as much."

Folding his arms, he continued, "This may be the most uncomfortable discussion we'll have. Because after today, there will be no more overtime without measurable results."

Several employees exchanged uneasy glances.

"But there's one thing I can promise," he added, his voice steady. "If we fix this system, this company can recover. And if the company recovers, there will be no need for the mass layoffs that have been proposed."

My eyes widened. Mass layoffs?

So the rumors were true. Replacing the General Manager hadn't been a routine decision after all—the company really had been in trouble. And Mr. Gio... he wasn't here to make everyone's life miserable. He was trying to prevent people from losing their jobs.

For the first time, I saw him differently.

"But."

That single word instantly reclaimed everyone's attention.

"I can't fix this company alone," he said, scanning the room. "I need cooperation. Anyone unwilling to work honestly..." He pointed calmly toward the exit. "...is free to resign. The door is wide open."

The room grew even quieter.

"I'm not asking for perfection," he continued. "I'm asking for integrity."

His words weren't loud, yet they carried enough weight to silence more than a hundred people.

He turned back toward the screen. "So, we'll begin with the area where a***e is easiest—the overtime request system."

He picked up the newly revised form. "This document will become our new standard."

Then his gaze shifted toward the moderator's table—toward me.

"Namira."

I blinked.

"Please come forward."

My heart stopped.

Wait... what?

I looked at Ms. Ida in panic, but she simply widened her eyes and gestured for me to stand.

Seriously? No warning? No preparation?

Mr. Gio had never once mentioned that I would be presenting.

I slowly stood, my legs suddenly feeling heavier than usual. The laptop in my hands felt twice its normal weight as I walked toward the podium, hundreds of eyes following every step.

I swallowed hard.

This was my first time speaking in front of the entire company.

Please... don't let me embarrass myself.

I took a deep breath before plugging my laptop into the projector, and the revised overtime request form appeared on the screen as everyone's eyes shifted toward me. For a moment, my mind went completely blank.

Come on, Namira. You've worked on this form all night. You know every single detail.

I quietly said a short prayer before forcing myself to smile. "Good afternoon, everyone. I'm Namira from Human Resources. I'll be introducing the company's new overtime request form." My voice trembled slightly at first, but as I continued speaking, something unexpected happened—the nervousness slowly faded.

Questions began coming from different departments: what if results couldn't be measured immediately, whether the policy applied to every division, and how it would affect employees working outside the office. Fortunately, I had discussed most of these scenarios with Mr. Gio during lunch. One by one, I answered every question, and whenever someone raised a reasonable concern, Mr. Gio stepped in to clarify the policy. We worked together surprisingly well, almost as if we had rehearsed it beforehand.

Nearly an hour later, the presentation finally came to an end. "Any final questions?" Silence filled the room. Mr. Gio nodded and stepped forward.

"Good. Starting today, this will be the official overtime request form for every department. No exceptions. Supervisors are responsible for ensuring that every overtime request includes measurable results."

He paused before adding, "Overtime is not an employee benefit. It's a business necessity. If the work can be completed during regular office hours, there should be no overtime."

The room remained silent. No one objected.

"Thank you, everyone. Meeting adjourned."

The auditorium immediately filled with conversation as employees gathered into small groups. Some looked worried, others seemed relieved, and a few were already discussing how the new policy would affect their departments.

I shut down my laptop and let out a long breath. Finally, it was over.

"Good job."

I looked up to see Mr. Gio standing beside me. For a second, I wondered if I'd misheard him. "...Sir?"

"You explained it well." His expression remained as unreadable as ever. "But next time, have more confidence. You know the material, so don't look so frightened."

Before I could respond, he walked away. That was it—no smile, no unnecessary conversation, just those few words.

I stood there, staring after him. Did Mister X just compliment me?

I turned toward Ms. Ida, who walked over with a grin plastered across her face. "I told you."

"Told me what?"

"He's scary," she said with a laugh, "but he's fair."

I glanced toward the conference room door where Mr. Gio had disappeared. Fair. I hated admitting it, but she was right.

Maybe, just maybe, I'd judged him too quickly.