10 ADAM'S POV

Adam's POV

I hired him to teach him a lesson, but somehow, he's the one teaching me a lesson every single minute he's in this company.

Honestly, I've never met anyone like him—this... this... Ugh, I can't even find the right words to describe him. But one thing's for sure: no one messes with me the way he does.

"You should have known who you were messing with before you did!" he says, mocking my earlier words.

Just when I thought I had finally scared him enough to earn his respect, I realize how wrong I was.

But let's not pretend that's the real problem right now. The real issue is, why do I feel this strange warmth inside knowing he hasn't gone home yet?

And why does it make me feel something knowing he's back in my office just to disturb me again?

He said it earlier—that I'm pretending I don't like him being around. At first, I brushed it off, but now it's unsettling. Has he seen something in me that even I haven't realized yet?

"Are you in the mood for hot coffee?" he asks, walking toward my desk, holding two coffee tins in his hands. He looks as though he's just remembered he had them.

He casually sits on my desk, perching on one side, and places the coffee near me. I have no idea what more I can do to make him respect me.

This is unbelievable.

I could just fire him. If I truly felt he was out of line, I'd have every right to do it. But somehow, that doesn't feel right anymore.

"First, get your bones off my desk," I say firmly. "Second, no, I'm not in the mood for coffee. So, if you'd kindly leave and let me do my work, that would be great."

I try to sound serious, but judging by the way he's still sitting there, looking at me with an expression that almost makes me want to laugh, I know I've failed. He's probably reacting to the word bones.

"You... First, you called me a 'frame,' and now bones?! Tell me nicely, or I'm not getting off. My butt is not bones! And don't use those words to describe my body again!"

"Do you want me to physically get you off the desk?" I ask, trying not to smirk. I want him to think I'm serious.

"Hell no, thanks." He jumps off immediately, clearly not wanting to test me. At least that's one small victory—I've managed to make him believe that when I say something, I mean it.

"Look, I know you're just pretending you don't want the coffee. Can you drop the ego for once?" he says, folding his arms.

"No, thank you."

"I bought you coffee with my own money, Mr. CEO," he replies, fake disappointment written all over his face. I'm sure he's faking it.

"You mean the money you stole from me at the supermarket?"

"Don't bring that up! And no, I didn't steal it—I'm not a thief. You gave it to me yourself, remember? Are you taking the coffee or not? Because if you're not, I'll just take it and leave. I'm late."

"You're always late—everywhere and every time—so why do you want to make it seem like it's a big deal for you to be late? And again, as I said earlier, I don't need it."

Oh, I need it so bad. I don't even remember the last time I put something in my mouth, but I would rather die than drink it in front of him.

"Oh, c'mon, I bought it especially for you," he whines.

"When you say 'especially for me,' I can't help but think you put poison in it to kill me."

"You're so smart, aren't you? Ungrateful jerk!" he mumbles the last words, but I still hear them.

This is getting way too far—it's getting too comfortable!

"What did you call me again?"

"Huh...? I..." A knock on the door cuts him off.

Ugh! Who is it now? No one bothers me after work hours.

"Yes?" I give permission to enter.

A guard?

"I'm so sorry, sir, for the interruption, but there are two people at the gate who are claiming that their son works here. He hasn't gone home yet, and his phone is off, so they want..."

He cuts him off. "Ah... that must be me. Sorry about that. Tell them I'll be out in a minute," he tells the guard.

When the guard leaves, he turns to me. "I..."

"A minute is already over."

"Oh, c'mon, we were just fine, talking fine. You should really stop sending me away every time I come in here. And now that today we've been all friendly, I'm curious about something: When are you planning to get off work? Or rather, when do you take a break from work?"

"We're not being all friendly. Get going, Wilson."

"You know, we really make a good pair of friends. Trust me, I'm the best friend you could ever have."

"Friends? We are not friends! Let me remind you who I am to you in case you're forgetting..."

"No, don't. Fine, I'm leaving. But you need to get off that chair now before you become a cripple!" he says, heading out. "Have a good night, H.H."

"H.H?! What on earth is that?"

"Friends give each other nicknames." And just like that, he disappears.

H.H? What on earth does it mean?! And I should get off the chair before I become a cripple?

I take the coffee and gulp it all down my throat—both tins. How refreshing. Ah...

I adjust my face immediately when I realize I'm smiling for no reason. He is really getting to me, isn't he? Anyway, I should go back to work.

•••

Twenty minutes later, I realize I'm staring at one page without reading anything. His silly words keep replaying in my head several times, and his smiling face is plastered on my brain.

What on earth am I doing? I should just leave because, honestly, it's a waste of time sitting here.

I decide that I'll work from home, thinking that maybe when I drive and get out of this environment, everything replaying in my head will vanish.

But even so, I still can't concentrate from home.