"No! That's not true!" he roared, his voice echoing in the sudden silence.
"Ouch! Hey, what the hell? Let go of me!" I yelped, stumbling backward as he released my shoulders.
"That hurt, you know!" I snapped, finally losing my cool. My neck was throbbing from his violent shaking, and my shoulders ached from the force of his grip. Ugh, men. He gets drunk and turns into a toddler.
He fell silent, his gaze fixed on me, his expression a confusing mix of anger and vulnerability. Then, without warning, he started to wail again, the sound pitiful and grating. What was with this guy? Panicked, I instinctively stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. "She doesn't want me, you don't want me, nobody wants me!" he sobbed, burying his face in my shoulder. "There, there... it's okay," I murmured, patting his back awkwardly, but it was like trying to soothe a hurricane.
"Look, how about I call Ms. Gada and have her take you home? You're clearly in no condition to get there on your own," I suggested, trying to reason with him. But he shook his head vehemently, his grip tightening around me. "No! I don't want to!" he wailed, his voice rising again. "Please... no more crying," I pleaded, stroking his back in what I hoped was a calming manner. He seemed to respond to the touch, his sobs gradually subsiding.
"I don't want to go home! I don't want to! I don't want to!"
If I didn't know for a fact that this weeping man-child clinging to me was the CEO of a major corporation, I'd swear he had a screw loose, a full-blown case of arrested development triggered by alcohol.
"Okay, okay! It's fine, it's fine," I soothed, resorting to the kind of reassurances you'd use on a frightened toddler. He finally quieted down, and after a few minutes, I realized he had actually fallen asleep, his weight heavy against my shoulder. Who knew that Francis, the ice-cold executive, had this side to him? I wondered if he'd even remember any of this in the morning.
My shoulder was starting to throb, so I carefully adjusted our position, easing myself back against the leg of his massive desk while he continued to slump against me. I gazed down at his sleeping face, a strange mix of annoyance and something akin to tenderness stirring within me. He was undeniably handsome, but his personality... well, let's just say the arrogance and aloofness were major turn-offs. Minus points all around. I gently brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
"You'd be almost perfect, if you weren't such a jerk," I whispered, the words barely audible. Then, a mischievous idea sparked in my mind, a devilish plan taking shape. With considerable effort, I managed to extract my phone from my pocket, opened the camera app, and aimed it at his sleeping face.
"One, two, three... smile," I murmured, snapping three quick shots of his unconscious form. I couldn't help but grin as I reviewed the pictures. He made my life miserable on a daily basis, so it was only fair that I had a little something to use against him. Blackmail material, pure and simple. Haha!
I carefully placed my phone back on the desk, feeling a wave of drowsiness wash over me. It only took a few minutes before sleep claimed me, pulling me into its embrace.
I was jolted awake by a sudden movement beside me. "What the hell?" I heard him mutter, his voice groggy and disoriented. I was still half-asleep, so I just ignored him, wanting nothing more than to drift back into oblivion. But then, I felt myself being violently shoved, my body crashing against the cold, hard floor. My eyes snapped open, and I gasped, my senses returning with a jolt.
"Ouch!" I protested, clutching my throbbing elbow. Annoyed, I glared at the man who had so rudely ejected me from my slumber. "What's your problem? Huh? Some people are trying to sleep!" I snapped, my voice laced with irritation. He scrambled to his feet, backing away from me as if I were some kind of contagious disease. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his voice a mix of shock and indignation.
"Sleeping, obviously! Is that even a question?" I retorted sarcastically, examining my now-red and throbbing elbow. Seriously, what was his deal? He could have just gently woken me up, instead of launching me onto the floor. He had zero manners. "Sleeping? What are you doing here, in my office?" he demanded, his eyes wide with disbelief. I stared back at him, my jaw practically hitting the floor. "Wow! You actually have the nerve to ask me that? After everything you pulled last night?" I shot back, my anger flaring. He froze, his expression shifting from disbelief to confusion. I stood up, clutching my aching arm, and faced him, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his brow furrowed.
"Now my elbow's all bruised. This is all your fault!" I accused, pointing to my reddened arm. "You decide to get drunk, and then you can't even manage to act like a civilized human being. Move!" I shoved past him and stomped over to the sofa, plopping down with a huff. I ran my fingers through my disheveled hair and then started shoving my belongings into my small everyday bag.
"I'm leaving," I announced, grabbing my phone from the desk. I couldn't resist a quick glance at his face, and it was totally worth it. His expression was priceless, a mixture of shock, confusion, and dawning horror. He was probably just now piecing together the events of the previous night. Before I turned to leave, I gave him one last, lingering look, a silent message of triumph in my eyes. His jaw clenched, and his face darkened with fury. Haha.
"Get out!" he snarled, his voice tight with barely suppressed rage.
I smirked, turned on my heel, and strode towards the door, savoring the moment.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind me, I stopped, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my photos until I found the ones I'd taken of him sleeping. What would his reaction be when he saw these? A giggle escaped my lips. I selected the best one, the one where he looked the most vulnerable and ridiculous, and sent it to him, then waited with bated breath for his reaction. A moment later, a string of colorful curses erupted from behind the closed door, confirming my suspicions; he'd seen the picture, and he was not happy.
My phone suddenly rang, the sound thankfully not loud enough to penetrate the thick office door. I hurried a few steps away from the door before answering, stifling a laugh. I cleared my throat, trying to sound professional, and answered the call.
"Oh, Sir, is there something you need?" I asked, my voice dripping with feigned concern, barely able to contain my amusement. I could practically feel his anger simmering through the phone line. "Come back here, Ms. Magsandingan," he practically growled, his voice tight with barely controlled fury. "But didn't you just tell me to get out?" I asked innocently, playing dumb.
I could hear him taking a deep, steadying breath on the other end of the line.
"Just come back here, and we'll talk," he said, his voice serious now, devoid of any emotion. "Sir, I'm starving. I haven't even had breakfast yet. Remember? I just woke up," I whined, feigning a wounded tone. "Just..." He paused, as if struggling to find the right words. "Just?" I prompted, my grin widening. He took another deep breath, the sound audible over the phone. "Just delete those fucking photos, Ms. Magsandingan," he ordered, his voice laced with icy authority. Suppressing a laugh, I glanced at the door of his office, imagining his face contorted with rage. "Is that a favor? Because if it's a favor, there's a price," I teased, my voice dripping with playful malice.
"This isn't a favor. This is an order, Ms. Magsandingan," he snapped, his voice leaving no room for argument. But I had already hung up, a mischievous glint in my eyes, and was striding towards the elevator. He could stew in his anger for all I cared. I was starving, and the thought of a plate piled high with breakfast was far more appealing than dealing with his wrath. What sounded good for breakfast? My stomach rumbled in anticipation.