The sun hit half my face like it was personally offended I was still alive.

I groaned, rolled over like a burrito of failure, and stared at the clock.

“OH MY GOSH!?! I’M LATE!!”

Cue the chaos.

I launched myself out of bed, washed my face in 2.5 seconds (RIP left eyebrow), yanked on something that didn’t smell like laundry regret, and bolted downstairs.

Halfway down, bam. My ankle kissed the floor. Loudly.

“OW—OW—ow.”

Mom didn’t even blink. “Can’t you be careful for once?!”

She shoved a piece of fruit in my mouth like she was feeding a farm animal. “And you’re LATE AGAIN!”

“Mffph—bye, Mom!” I shouted with a mouthful and an aching foot, stumbling out the door like I’d been thrown from life itself.

“LILYYYY!!”

Raven. My chaos twin and unlicensed Uber driver.

“Where you limping to? A modeling gig for disasters?”

“Work!” I gasped.

“Get in, you mess.”

She drove like she was auditioning for Fast & Furious: Friendship Edition. I prayed to every god, real or imaginary.

She even handed me a banana from her bag. “Eat this before your stomach growls in front of your boss again.”

I love her. But also—rude and true.

Then: NOVE. A sleek designer company with standards way too high for someone who regularly eats cereal for dinner and styles her hair with hope.

I burst in like a dramatic entrance was gonna save my job.

“Come in,” said Ducky, the CEO. Translation: You’re dead.

After a meeting that felt longer than my student loan debt, he said, “Everyone may leave... except Lily.”

Oh no. Ohhh no.

I sat down like I was bracing for impact. “Sir, I—”

“Late. Again. You’re either allergic to clocks, or cursed.”

“I’m really sorry. I—”

“No. Instead of firing you, you’re being moved. You’ll assist someone. New department.”

I wanted to scream. Cry. Maybe run. But I couldn’t.

Because I needed this job.

---

And just like that, the humor in my chest died a little.

I needed this job more than sleep, more than pride.

Because back home, three younger siblings were waiting for me to pay their school fees.

Because my dad—my strong, stubborn, unbreakable dad—was lying in a hospital bed after the accident, and the bills didn’t stop just because life did.

Because the nights I cried into my pillow, I didn’t cry for love or loneliness—I cried because I didn’t know if we’d make it to next month.

Because the world doesn’t pause for people like me.

So no. I couldn’t lose this job. Not even if it meant swallowing every bit of my ego.

---

Ducky led me to a new department and pushed open a door.

And there he was.

Black suit. Sharp jaw. Dangerous dimples. The kind of man who makes women trip over flat floors.

He looked up.

“So… you’re my new assistant?”

"Yes."

And that’s all I said. What more should I have said? Hi? Hey?? Oh gosh, this is so embarrassing.

Both Ducky and my boss stared at me. I just stood there like a lost intern who forgot how words work. My face felt like it was on fire.

"I'm Rocky," said my boss, calm as ever. "And you're… Lily, is it?"

"Yes."

Yep. That again. Super original.

"Take the papers on my desk and submit them to me tomorrow morning."

I rushed over, grabbed the papers like they were mission-critical, and slipped out of the room as fast as I could. No tripping. No looking back. Just go.

His tasks weren’t as hard as I expected. Organizing files, editing some layouts, scheduling a few calls—basic stuff. Kind of satisfying, actually.

Now it was night. The office was quiet. Everyone had gone home, but I was still near my boss’s office, finishing things up. The light from my desk lamp made everything feel extra dramatic, like I was the lead in some office drama. But with less scandal and more… formatting.

“Ahhhh, what a hectic day!!” I flopped back in my chair, stretching dramatically. I deserved an award for staying awake.

Just as I was about to recheck the final set of papers, someone placed a juice bottle on my desk. Quiet. Smooth.

My eyes immediately went to his hand—those hands were way too pretty. Masculine, clean, confident. The sleeve looked familiar too…

Wait. No. Oh my God.

I slowly traced my eyes up from his wrist, to his forearm, to his jawline—

And boom. Eye contact.

Rocky.

I flushed instantly, like someone had just turned the heater on max. “Here—take your juice—I mean, I’m not the juice, it’s… it’s on the table,” I stammered, internally begging the floor to open and eat me whole.

He said nothing. Just pulled out a chair next to mine and sat down, eyes scanning my half-finished work like it was his job. (Okay, technically, it kinda was.)

"T-thank you," I mumbled. That was all I could say. Again. Ugh.

He didn’t even blink. Just stayed quiet, calm. Like always.

I cleared my throat. “W-what are you doing here? Aren’t you going home?”

That came out too fast. Too loud. I immediately regretted opening my mouth.

“I’m checking your progress,” he said plainly, eyes still on my screen.

“Oh.”

I nodded like that made total sense. Of course. Why else would a boss sit next to his very sweaty, very overwhelmed assistant at 9:43 p.m.?

He reached over and adjusted the spacing on a title in my document without asking.

“That’s misaligned.”

“Ah—right! I was just about to fix that. Totally noticed it.” (I didn’t.)

He leaned back, still watching.

I could feel my heart thudding. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, pretending I wasn’t panicking about every pixel on the screen.

“Do you… stay this late often?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Sometimes.”

“Oh. Cool. Same. I mean—not always, but—today. Just today. I don’t always stay late, unless there’s like, late things. And this is one of those days. I guess.”

With the silence still lingering, I continued my work. It was almost done anyway, and right before I could overthink again, he said quietly,

“Just imagine I’m not here. I’ll wait.”

So… I did exactly that. Well, I tried. I mean, how do you pretend your boss isn’t sitting next to you, watching your every click?

Still, I finished. Papers neat. Files saved. Desk cleared.

When I headed to the garage, he followed. I didn’t think much of it—until he stopped by his car and said,

“Come. I’ll drop you.”

“Wha—no, you don’t have to—” I started, waving my hands like a windmill. But he just interrupted, flat and firm:

“Let me, milady.”

Milady??

Oh wow. Oh okay. Sir Rocky’s in his chivalrous era now?

I blinked, then nodded like I wasn’t internally screaming. I slid into the passenger seat (yes, like a lady), and he got into the driver’s side. Click. Seatbelts on.

And then… silence. Again.

The engine purred to life. The dashboard glowed softly. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. Hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. Completely unreadable. Seriously, how does one person contain that much calm?

“So… do you always say ‘milady’? Or was that just a one-time limited edition moment?” I asked, grinning at him.

“No,” he replied, eyes straight ahead.

Wait—no what? No he always says it? No it was a one-time thing? No I should stop talking?

“Uh—cool,” I said, nodding at nothing.

A beat passed. I looked out the window.

“I really thought I’d mess everything up today,” I added softly. “But your tasks were… manageable. Surprisingly not scary. Except the part where you’re watching over my shoulder like a bossy ghost.”

His lip twitched. Barely.

“You type loudly,” he said.

I blinked. “Wha—excuse me?! My typing is... passionate.”

He said nothing. Just kept driving.

“I feel judged.”

Still nothing. This man was built from silence.

So I huffed a little and crossed my arms. “You know, most people say things like ‘good job today’ or ‘thanks for not burning the office down.’ Just saying.”

The car slowed at a red light.

He glanced at me. Eyes calm. Voice even.

“You didn’t burn it down. That’s a start.”

Oh.

OH.

Was that a compliment? From him?

Next Day

Yesterday just… passed. Like poof.

I woke up way earlier than usual. Washed up, took a quick bath, and headed straight to the kitchen to make something before the chaos started.

Sure enough, it didn’t take long.

“Oh, you woke up early?” Mom greeted me, still yawning.

“Morning,” I smiled. “Want some tea?”

“Yes! With biscuits, please!” chimed in Billy and Becky—my two little siblings, who somehow had more energy than coffee.

I made tea for everyone, dropped a few cookies on their plates, and sat down for a minute. Mom soon took over cooking breakfast, and I just watched the scene—warm and messy, like always.

Then I glanced at my phone.

Oh shoot. Time to get dressed.

“Gotta go, Mom!” I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and hugged my siblings, who smelled like milk and mischief.

Mom waved at me with a spatula. “Drive safe!”

I grabbed my keys, slipped into my heels, and headed out.

At the office…

“Morning,” I said, walking past the front desk and into the open workspace.

My boss—Rocky, in his usual perfectly pressed shirt and neutral face—looked up from his screen.

“Morning,” he replied simply.

I went about my usual tasks: sorting emails, answering calls, organizing files, and reviewing the schedule he gave me. I was actually getting the hang of this assistant thing… kinda. Okay, maybe I wasn’t amazing, but I hadn’t been fired, so that was something.

“Lily.”

His voice called out from his office.

I grabbed my notepad like it was a sword and rushed inside. “Yes, is there anything I could do for you?”

“What time’s my meeting?” he asked, eyes still on his tablet.

“You’ve got thirty minutes. Then tonight, there’s a dinner meeting with a few CEOs from Sunra Tech and Medallia Corp,” I said, flipping through the schedule. “They confirmed just an hour ago.”

“Good. Thank you.”

I gave a quick smile. “Okay then… I’ll see myself out—”

“Wait.”

I froze.

He reached beside his desk and handed over a folder—thick, like ‘this will ruin your day’ thick.

“Prepare these reports. Clean and summarized. Before lunch.”

I looked down at the stack.

...Help.

But I nodded like I totally knew what I was doing.

“Of course,” I said. Internally? I was screaming

Twenty Minutes Later

And boom. Done.

Don’t ask me how, but I finished the reports in exactly twenty minutes. Maybe I blacked out and unlocked some kind of office superpower? Like a paperwork ninja? Assistant Mode: Activated. I didn’t even drink coffee.

I double-checked the formatting, straightened the papers like I knew what I was doing, and knocked lightly on his door.

He looked up as I entered. No smile, no compliment—just a small nod. But trust me, in boss language, that was basically a standing ovation.

“You’re coming with me,” he said, standing up and grabbing his coat.

“Wait—me? To the meeting?”

“You’re my assistant.”

Well. Okay then.

I power-walked behind him like a baby duck in heels, holding my tablet and praying I wouldn’t trip on the elevator carpet. We got into his car and headed to some big glass building with lots of important-looking people in suits walking around like they were late for saving the economy.

The meeting room? Freezing cold. The air conditioner was set to “arctic tundra.” I was definitely not dressed for that. My arms were goosebumpy and I couldn't even focus on what anyone was saying because my brain was just chanting, "Soup. Blanket. Soup. Blanket."

I sat beside Rocky and pretended to take notes. Most of it went way over my head. They were talking about numbers, projections, integrations, marketing flows—I wrote down the word “integration” because it sounded smart.

After what felt like three years, the meeting finally ended. People shook hands, clapped backs, and Rocky gave one of his cold, polite nods that somehow intimidated a whole room.

We walked out, and I was already dreaming about a hot chocolate and maybe a nap on my desk when—

“Lily,” he said, holding out a list.

Here we go again.

I took the paper and squinted at it. It was… names. A whole list of names.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“People we’re designing uniforms for. They need to be measured. You’ll take care of it.”

“Oh.” I blinked. “You want me to take people’s measurements? Like… tape measure and all?”

“Yes.”

“But what if someone takes off their shirt?!” I blurted.

He didn’t even blink. “Be professional.”

Sir. You just gave a whole job to someone who can’t even fold a fitted sheet without crying.

—

Later That Day

There I was, in a corner office with a measuring tape in one hand and my phone in the other, Googling "How to measure a person without looking awkward."

The first person on the list was a very cheerful intern named Kevin who kept flexing every time I got near his bicep.

“Ma’am, do you want me to take off my—”

“Nope!” I cut him off. “We are staying fully clothed in this establishment, thank you.”

Next came Sarah, who brought her lunch with her. She chewed while I measured her shoulder span.

Then came Mr. Jun, who was about eight feet tall and wouldn’t stop asking if he should “squat a little so it’s easier.”

By the end, I had tangled the measuring tape into a weird knot, dropped my phone twice, and written down someone’s height as “tall-ish???”

Assistant of the year. No doubt

Back at the Office…

I walked down the hall looking like a knock-off tailor who moonlights as a confused intern. The measuring tape was still around my neck like a weird scarf. My bun had somehow turned into a side puff. My clipboard had doodles on it. I was this close to asking someone to measure my stress levels.

I pushed open the office door without knocking. Professionalism? Who’s she?

“I’m back!” I announced. “And everyone’s still fully clothed. Success!”

Rocky looked up from his laptop. Blank expression. Classic.

I held out the clipboard. “Here’s your data. I wrote things in actual numbers and not vague descriptions like ‘tall-ish.’ I’m proud of me.”

He took it without a word. Just a nod. Again with the nods. Does this man own emotions? Feelings? A ‘wow, good job’?

Nope. Just another—

“You missed someone,” he said, flipping to the last page.

“What?” I snatched the sheet back. “No, I did not! I double-counted and everything. One, two, three—wait...”

There was a name scribbled at the very bottom. In tiny letters.

Rocky.

Oh no.

“Oh no.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You want me to take your measurements?” I asked, clutching the tape like it might save me from spontaneous combustion.

“You’re the assistant.”

“But like... can’t we just... guess?”

Silence.

I sighed dramatically and mumbled, “Okay, milord, raise your arms or whatever…”

And just like that, I started measuring my boss while pretending I was in a parallel universe where I wasn’t red in the face and muttering things like “broad shoulders, okay flex much” under my breath.

Just as I was trying to get the shoulder width—without touching him too much or too little—the office door suddenly swung open.

“HEY LILY! You forgot your—”

It was Kevin. Intern Kevin. The very same guy I’d measured earlier.

He froze. I froze. Rocky blinked.

Kevin looked from me, to Rocky, to the tape measure hanging between us like some weird tension line.

“Oh. My bad,” Kevin said slowly, grinning way too much. “Y’all busy?”