As he stepped out of the elevator, the relentless rain outside seemed to echo the anger bubbling inside him. He couldn't continue living here, where the rain poured nearly every day, draining his patience and leaving him irritable. The thought of leaving was tempting.

His gaze swept across the room, stopping as it found your form at the far end. The reminder of why he endures this weather. It was as if his feet had a mind of their own, carrying him towards you despite his resolve to ignore you. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the empty reception.

He shouldn't be doing this. He should head home, escape the exhaustion that clung to him like a shroud. Yet, before he could turn away, he found himself standing before his personal assistant. His eyes roamed over your figure on the sofa, and a familiar frustration flared up. Your unwavering enthusiasm, that annoying smile of yours and the way your nose crinkled despicably when you laughed with your even more despicable colleague. You were infuriating.

"Get up," he commanded, his voice low and heavy. He forced himself to meet your eyes. "Are you homeless? Wandering around the reception floor at this hour? No buses will come. I'll drop you off." He wasn't surprised by the curious glance you threw his way; he knew he had mumbled the last part, barely audible even to himself.

He let out a deep sigh, massaging his temples as he struggled to quell a rising headache. His hand falling to his side, he repeated, "I'll drop you off." The words hung in the air, and he hesitated to meet your eyes again, anticipating your possible refusal. Why was he so scared? He was the boss, and you were the assistant. He could simply force you to ride with him. Yet, you made everything feel so complicated.