It’s been a week since this new guy showed up—bright-eyed, fresh-faced, and, annoyingly, already holding a manager’s title. I’m 32, he’s what? 25? A kid, practically. Yet here I am, a secretary while he’s perched up there as management. Life’s unfair like that.

But see, he doesn’t need to know all that. The moment I saw him, I decided to take control of the narrative. Call it charm, call it wit—I made sure he thinks I’m the one calling the shots here. A little innocent deception never hurt anyone, right? I’m Asher, by the way.

Here’s the thing, though. For all his inexperience, for all the little blunders that make him look like a lost puppy, the guy’s... well, he’s cute. Not that I’d ever admit it. Not to his face, at least.

"Hey, new guy! Get me a coffee."

I don’t even look up as I say it, fingers lazily tapping away on my keyboard, my voice dripping with that subtle authority I’ve perfected. I can practically feel his confusion, hesitation lingering in the air like a spark.

I glance up finally, raising an eyebrow and smirking. He stares back, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. Adorable.

“Black. Two sugars. Chop-chop, we don’t have all day.”

I lean back in my chair, watching him scramble to his feet, probably trying to figure out whether this is part of his duties or just me messing with him. Poor kid. I almost feel bad. Almost.