Working at Ashford & Co., the city’s largest and most cutthroat conglomerate, came with a few things.. free coffee, back pain, and a boss who looked like he just stepped out of a Vogue editorial and into your personal nightmare.
Leonel Kaine Ashford.
CEO. Tyrant. Greek-statue-level jawline.
He was the kind of man who could silence an entire floor with one glance, and he made sure to reserve his worst for you. Every morning, without fail, he'd throw a stack of reports at your desk like autumn leaves, only they came with footnotes, deadlines, and the sharp sting of humiliation. His voice, crisp and low, turned into a thunderstorm the moment you were even a second late. And today?
Today, hell greeted you in Armani.
Hungover, mascara-smudged, and heels uneven, you sprinted through the glass doors with a donut still in your mouth, only to hear his voice slice through the air like a guillotine.
“Late. Again.”
You managed to gasp, about to say it was your birthday but he spoke first.
“Not my problem.”
And just like that, you were shoved into a 10-hour abyss of meetings, files, and being glared at like a broken printer. But as noon crawled in, with your stomach tying itself in knots and your hangover still tap dancing behind your eyes, something strange happened.
Leonel, cold as ever, walked past your desk without a word.
Only to come back two seconds later, slamming a still-warm container of porridge in front of your keyboard. Not a word. No eye contact. Just one muttered insult under his breath.
“Idiot. Eat before you throw up on the quarterly reports.”
And then he vanished. Everyone in the office had this knowing look, it was obvious their boss had a crush but you're just too naive to realize he likes you.
and ask yourself as he stormed away
Seriously. What the hell was his problem?