Gianna's POV
"Ouch, damn it!"
I decided to take refuge on the stairwell landing, the throbbing in my foot finally becoming unbearable. I slipped off my sandals, revealing the sorry state of my little toe on my right foot, swollen and angry-looking. The sandals themselves were starting to rub, adding insult to injury. And to top it off, I didn't even have a band-aid in my bag. What a way to start the morning. And of course, it was pouring outside. Just perfect! I unfurled my umbrella and pushed myself to my feet, but the combination of wet shoes and slick stairs proved disastrous; my feet went out from under me, and I lost my balance.
I braced myself for the inevitable impact, picturing the agonizing pain of slamming against the cold concrete. I was on the fifth-floor landing, so I knew a fall all the way down would be brutal. But then... nothing. I didn't feel any pain, any impact. In fact, I felt strangely weightless, as if I were floating in mid-air. My eyes fluttered open, and holy crap! Was I in heaven? Because I was pretty sure I was staring at an angel, and a ridiculously handsome one at that. His brown eyes were mesmerizing, filled with warmth and concern. Oh my gosh! I'd never noticed how gorgeous they were before. It was only then that I realized he was the one holding me, preventing me from plummeting to my doom.
Overwhelmed by a sudden wave of embarrassment, I scrambled to my feet, backing away from him, my cheeks burning.
"S-sorry," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. Why was I stuttering? He smiled, and I swear, the world got a little brighter. He was seriously gorgeous.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. I'd assumed he'd speak in perfect English, what with his foreign looks, but he was speaking Tagalog! I'd pegged him as a foreigner. He just looked like one. I nodded, still flustered. Just then, his phone rang, and he answered it, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on me. Sheesh.
"Yes?" he said into the phone, his tone polite but firm. I couldn't make out much of the conversation, but his caller seemed to be getting increasingly agitated, their voice shrill.
"I'm on my way... what's the rush? You miss me already?" he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down my spine. Oh. He had a girlfriend. Figures. Oh well. After the call ended, he turned his attention back to me. Wait, why was I still standing here? I should have left ages ago. It was his good looks that were holding me captive.
"Do you work here?" he asked, his question so obvious it made me want to roll my eyes. Seriously? Was he blind? I was wearing the company uniform, complete with the logo. I wanted to point out the obvious, but I decided to bite my tongue. "Yes," I replied simply. "Shall we go up together?" he asked, offering a small smile.
"Huh?"
"You're taking the elevator, right? Or are you planning on braving the stairs? Well, just to--"
"Oh, yes, I'm taking the elevator," I interrupted, eager to cut him off before he could overthink it.
"Shall we?" He gestured towards the elevator, already starting to walk in that direction. I quickly gathered my belongings, shoved my throbbing foot back into the offending sandal, and hurried after him.
We rode the elevator in awkward silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. Who was he? If he worked here, I'd never seen him before. Maybe he was another one of Mr. Locan's mysterious visitors. I was lost in thought when my phone buzzed, its screen flashing the name of my boss, the man who transformed into a whiny child when he was drunk. I still couldn't get over that night. It was truly epic.
"Oh, Sir? Good morning," I chirped, forcing a cheerful tone.
"Where are you?" he demanded, his voice flat and impatient. What was his problem? It was way too early for this.
"I'm on the elevator," I replied. I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder, freeing up my hands to fold my dripping umbrella. "You do realize that you're late, don't you?" he continued, his voice laced with disapproval. I rolled my eyes.
"It's only five minutes," I countered.
"Time is gold, Ms. Magsandingan," he intoned, as if reciting some ancient proverb.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm almost there, hold your horses," I retorted sarcastically, earning a stifled chuckle from the handsome stranger beside me. I'd almost forgotten he was there. How embarrassing, my inner kengkoy was showing.
"Bye-bye, Sir,"
"Ms—" I cut him off mid-sentence, ending the call with a decisive click. What a killjoy. Just then, the elevator doors opened, and I practically leaped out, eager to escape the awkward confines. I continued to grumble under my breath about my aching foot as I made my way towards Mr. Locan's office. I really needed to find a band-aid. As I pushed open the door, I was greeted by the sight of Francis, casually sipping coffee, a smug expression on his face.
"Good morning," he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm, as he held up his coffee mug, as if to say, Look, I had to make my own coffee because you're so late, which is normally your job. Five minutes late, people! It wasn't the end of the world. "You should familiarize yourself with the word RESPONSIBLE, Ms. Magsandingan," he continued, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
I ignored his jab and plopped down on the sofa, rubbing my throbbing foot. It was really killing me. When he noticed my repeated grimaces, he finally approached me, his coffee mug in hand.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice surprisingly devoid of its usual bite. I just glared at him, refusing to dignify his question with an answer. He frowned, his brow furrowing, and then, much to my surprise, he offered me his coffee. "What am I supposed to do with that?" I asked, my voice laced with suspicion. He huffed in exasperation before placing the mug on the small table next to the sofa. Then, before I could react, he knelt down in front of me, gently taking my injured foot in his hands.
"What are you doing?" I protested, my voice rising in alarm. He ignored me, his gaze fixed on my foot, his expression unreadable.
"Shut up and stay still," he ordered, his voice firm. He rose to his feet and strode over to his desk, rummaging through a drawer until he found a small box. He returned to my side, knelt down again, and carefully placed my foot on his knee, which was now acting as a makeshift cushion. My heart skipped a beat, and a strange fluttery sensation bloomed in my stomach. I had no idea why my pulse had suddenly decided to stage a marathon.
He took out a band-aid, carefully peeled off the backing, and applied it to my throbbing little toe, his touch surprisingly gentle.
"There... try to keep off it for a while," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it before. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry, as our eyes met. The air crackled with an unspoken tension, a strange, unsettling awareness. It was awkward.
"What?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence, his voice sharp, as if sensing my scrutiny. I hadn't realized I'd been staring. I quickly averted my gaze, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. What was wrong with me? Get a grip, Gianna!
"Was there some kind of thank you I'm missing? Well, what was I expecting," he scoffed, his voice regaining its usual sarcastic edge as he stood up and returned the box of band-aids to his desk. The moment was broken, the spell dispelled. My face was flushed, and my heart was still pounding in my chest. What just happened?
"Thanks," I mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
Tsk. He must have been possessed by an angel this morning.