Hide your alcohol Cause Secretary Andrew is Back

"SECRETARY ANDREW!"

Sir Allen's thunderous voice rang out through the entire office floor. The whole team shriveled upon hearing his voice, especially after a long time of terror-free office. Andrew had been waiting in front of the printer that took him almost an hour to fix. Andrew addressed the bullpen the of team of seven. "Don't be afraid. The printer smells fear."

He stared as the last pages came out. He swiped it from the tray, stacked his documents and headed to Sir Allen's office in big strides. Sonna held out a stapler from her cubicle which Andrew used then tossed back. She fumbled wildly as she stretched to catch it back.

The door to Sir Allen's office burst open and an unknown man in tears sped away from their office. There goes another one.

Andrew knocked twice on Sir Allen's office door and came in. The office was dominantly of varnished dark wood. Bookshelves lined the walls, awards on display on a towering glass rack in the corner, and the opposite wall was a view of the beautiful cityscape of the business hub. There was a small seating area where Sir Allen used to accommodate guests and hold short meetings, and a modest bar used by Andrew to prepare food and beverages. The owner of the office was in his seat with his head bent-down glaring at a sea of contracts and note-worthy news. One even involved his brother, but Andrew was sure it went ignored.

Sir Allen was such a waste of oxygen in this world. Bend over and die, idiot boss.

Andrew sighed. He had told him to wear more colors in the office. Andrew marched to Sir Allen's desk and handed him the report titled: Torch Loan Business Analysis.

"Why are you wearing so much black again?" Andrew asked as he squatted down to get a glimpse on the color of Sir Allen's slacks.

"Their dark navy," replied Sir Allen. He scanned the report as he flipped through the pages in quick fashion.

Andrew fired off a quick summary of the report as usual. "Torch Loans is simply a loan shark with a mobile lending platform. A person name Ian Algencia is registered as its owner, but there is no available information for this person. It's obviously a front for some rich company who wants another income stream. Focusing on quick loans targeted for the lower brackets. I wouldn't say their specifically targeting Lopez Co. employees...But they seem to attract a lot of employees unto their platform."

Sir Allen clicked his tongue. He eyed the lengthy list of employees who had borrowed from Torch Lending and had declared their employment under Lopez Co.

Based on Andrew's experience, the company could raise the minimum salary of rank & file employees or offer a low-interest salary loan to avoid so we can solve the root cause of this problem. But those at the top never bothered with those at the bottom.

Sir Allen exhaled through his nose. He nodded at Andrew. "Good work, Secretary Andrew."

Andrew was bewildered. He glanced over his shoulder and confirmed there was no other secretary Andrew in the room. "Did you just praise my work? Inside the office? Are you alright?"

"Yes," said Sir Allen, waving Andrew off. "I simply gave you an acknowledgement for your excellent report. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"The only acknowledgement you have ever said to me was the word, adequate."

"False. I have always seen you in a good light. Just like this report you passed which had seem to be completed during our small break. I remember specifically asking you to not accomplish any work as we did our mission."

"Yeah, I remember you saying that, and yet you were replying to every work email, ensuring that I wasn't copied on any of it. Don't know if it's sweet or stupid."

"Did you just call me stupid?"

"Yes, why is that so hard to believe?" Andrew was about leave when he had remembered their promise. "Sir Allen, will you be joining us for lunch?"

Sir Allen perked up. He nodded and took out a small bag from the fridge behind him. "Yes, as we've discussed I've brought a packed lunch for today. Cooked it myself, even."

Andrew and Sir Allen headed for the pantry with their lunches. Andrew cracked the door open and peaked inside. There was the bespectacled Dennis with the funny neckties, the petite Claire with her bob cut from the 90's, and Mike. Just Mike. They were all consoling a gloomy and bare-faced Sonna.

Sir Allen, who was still hidden behind the door, had decided to also pop in his head above Andrew's to see the delay, causing Sonna's audience to freeze. Sonna waved a hand in front of them. When she got no response, she followed their frozen eyes. She turned around. Her eyes popped out. Andrew could understand their reaction. You'd also be surprised if you were happily eating your lunch and Darth Vader had decided to show up out of nowhere.

"Hey guys," greeted Andrew, stepping into the pantry with Sir Allen behind him like a tall shadow. "It's good have lunch with you guys again after such a long time. Oh yeah, Sir Allen here will be joining us for lunch. He even packed a lunchbox and everything."

Andrew cast everyone an apologetic look as he sat down with Sir Allen sitting beside him next to a quiet Sonna.

"Hi Sir Allen, you're not going out today?" asked Dennis, their art director.

"No Dennis. I'll be here with you for lunch." Sir Allen waved to the rest of the team: Clair, Mike, and Sonna. From his small bag, Sir Allen took out a five-layered tower of tin containers. He laid out each one in a meticulous manner, revealing scrumptious meals one after another. Its drool-inducing smell pulled out a round of growling stomachs. Andrew licked his lips, his microwaved pasta lay forgotten for the shining pork steak in front of him. His hand slowly inched towards it.

Claire peered down her salad. Then she stole a peak at Sir Allen's lunch. She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Did...Did...you cook that Sir Allen? No, it was probably your chef, right?"

"He doesn't have a chef," Andrew interjected before Sir Allen could say something scathing to the poor Claire. Sir Allen raised his eyebrow at Andrew, but Andrew ignored him.

"I prepared a lot to share with everyone," announced Sir Allen. He used two fingers to push the containers to the center of the table. Andrew acted immediately; he used a clean spoon to scoop a serving from each meal to the plates of his teammates. They were probably bat-shit afraid.

Mike, who watched the whole thing with serenity, took a scoopful and waved it below Sonna's nose. Once she got a whiff, her face reanimated. She looked around the room, sniffing.

"That smell," she said, her voice cracking. "That scent's familiar...The scent of my ex-boyfriend who played me like a toy."

She sniffed her way to Sir Allen who only looked down on her.

Sonna throws her hand in the air and howled in sorrow as threw herself to Sir Allen. Sir Allen didn't move a muscle in response as Sonna used his shoulder to cry on. Claire and Dennis gasped in horror. Mike paled.

"The same perfume," she bellowed out. "The smell of the rich!"

Sir Allen glared at Andrew and jerked his head towards the sobbing Sonna.

Andrew swallowed his laughter. He mouthed the words, "Comfort her."

Sir Allen raised his hand in an awkward manner. Andrew held his breath as he expected the tyrant to push her away. But instead, Sir Allen slowly patted her head. Her curls flattening with Sir Allen's gentle caress. Andrew's shoulder sagged in relief and so did the rest of his team. Sonna took the comforting gesture to thresh out the rest of her story.

"He always asked me about my day," she exclaimed between sobs. "Hic—He, he, would always come by and pick me up. Offer to help me with my work, do some of my work for me," she mumbled the last part. "But that liar suddenly broke up with me over the phone!" Sonna has always been perky and chatty, but it usually takes a certain amount of alcohol her to have this level of chattiness.

Sir Allen struggled to find words as his hand hovered above her head. "It's, um, alright, Sonna. I do understand why he would leave you. What? Why did you step on my foot? Alright, alright." After his little debate with Andrew, he let out a weary sigh, tapping his finger on the edge of the table. "There, there. You may cry all you want on my shoulder."

And she continued to do so. Amused, Andrew cackled, while the rest resumed their meals and started a new conversation like Sonna wasn't there. A drunk Sonna was a messy Sonna. Best ignored. Sonna lifted her head, cheeks flushed and eyes red. She cast an apology to the team.

She noticed the wet patch on Sir Allen's sleeve.

"Oh no I got you all wet," she exclaimed, flustered. She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at the mess she had cause. "This must have been expensive. I'm so sorry Sir—Is that a tattoo?" Her sobs outright stopped and transformed into shock as she stretched the wet patch of clothe to see the tattoo. Everybody else who didn't know about it honed-in on Sir Allen's tattoo. Dennis, their art director, had asked its history.

"Initially, I had decided to get anything," Sir Allen answered. He ignored Sonna who kept staring at his tattoo. "But in the end, it was Andrew who had come up with the final design since I have always trusted his creativity and artistry. Andrew, I never asked you on how you came up with this specific design."

Andrew, who was silently devouring his lunch and stealing bits of Sir Allen's lunch, choked on a mouthful of rice because of the unexpected revelation.

After overcoming the threat to his life with pure spite and willpower and a little bit of saliva, he cleared his throat and glared at the fiends who didn't help him. He helped himself to their lunches in revenge, but upon Sir Allen's questioning eye, Andrew had no choice but to answer.

"Well getting any tattoo seemed a waste perfectly good money, so I came up with something that will motivate you to achieve your dreams. A little encouraging symbol."

There was a small upward tick in Sir Allen's lips. "And how did you know what my dream was?"

Andrew snorted. "We've been together for six years, of course I know what your dream is. Always asking the chefs on our business trips on tips and recipes is a dead give-away. But ultimately, it's when your cooking, I don't see the uptight boss I usually see." Andrew gave a half-shrug and resumed his meal. He glanced at his teammates soft imploring eyes directed at Sir Allen.

A small, yet rare smile on Sir Allen's otherwise delightedly surprised face appeared. "That's right," a soft murmur from Sir Allen's lips. "My dream is to cook that makes people appreciate good food."

Andrew grinned and said, "Then give me some of your lunch." He took a bunch of meat from Sir Allen's Tupperware and shoved it into his mouth. He moaned, savoring the flavors in Sir Allen's cooking. The man was like Gordon Ramsay. It thoroughly beats Andrew's money-saving lunches.

"I'd also want to be a cook if the one I was feeding was like that," murmured Sonna. Dennis elbowed her, and immediately asked, "Sir Allen, why didn't you pursue being a chef?" Claire panicked. Dennis grunted in pain. His body bent in pain as he rubbed his foot. Claire let out a too obvious laugh. She gave a dismissive wave. "You don't have to answer that Sir Allen."

Sir Allen puffed up his chest and crossed his arms. "It's alright. It's a valid question. One frequently asked between colleagues."

Ah. Did Sir Allen google on how to talk to co-workers? That explains the 'I have prepared for today'' line.

"It is because I am the eldest son," replied Sir Allen with an expressionless face. "I have prepared my whole life to run the business. We might be financially wealthy, but chasing my dream was luxury I could not afford—But do not worry," he rushed out when he noticed the crest-fallen expressions that overtook the team's faces. "I'm taking small steps in achieving my dreams. No need to worry."

Andrew sipped on his drink. If hiring your alcoholic secretary to be your fake trashy boyfriend was a small step, Andrew wondered what could be considered big steps.

The conversation pivoted into lighter topics of conversation where everyone has happily engrossed in, even though Sir Allen's expression never changed. When Sonna pointed out that they had already extended their lunch break, Sir Allen responded with: "Oh. You don't have to do any work. I'm suspending work for the rest of the day."

Dennis perked up. "Can you do that?"

"Of course, my family owns the building."

Sir Allen's humble statement was met with loud cheers. Their first weekday day-off was forever captured by a selfie involving a luxurious packed lunch, a wet sleeve, Claire's awful haircut, Sonna's sore eyes, Sir Allen's glare, and Andrew's happy smile. The first photo of their team after six year of working together. Though Sonna could only remember bits and pieces.