He chuckled, a hint of genuine amusent slipping through. "Yes, ma’am. My father used to say I was as sweet as one, hence the na."
Es’s lips curved into a smirk. "I see. But I also heard that eating too many mangoes could cause... issues."
Alphonso held her gaze, unflinching. "Depends on the person, ma’am."
"Interesting," she murmured, narrowing her eyes. He seed so... well-practiced. She wondered briefly how much he rehearsed before walking into her office each morning. "Now, Mr. Alphonso, if I’m not mistaken, my secretary used to be soone else—Mr. Joe? Or sothing along those lines. And yet, here you are. I don’t rember hiring you."
He stiffened, just for a fraction of a second, before bowing his head slightly. "I apologize, ma’am. I must have neglected to introduce myself properly. I’ve been your secretary for the past three months."
"Three months, hmm?" Es’s fingers tapped thoughtfully on the file as she absorbed this. "Strange how ti flies. I tend to forget people who don’t stand out." Her words were deliberately cutting, a casual dismissal, just to see how he’d react.
He only smiled, respectful as ever. "I’ll do my best to leave a more lasting impression, ma’am."
Her laugh was soft, almost genuine. "No need, Mr. Alphonso. I’d say you’re interesting enough for now." She leaned back, flipping through the pages before her. "You’re not married, are you?"
"No, ma’am," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
She picked up a pen from her desk, spinning it slowly between her fingers, her gaze locked on him with a lazy intensity. "And yet you’re... thirty-five? Quite unusual for a r to remain single at your age, isn’t it? One would think you’re either hopelessly career-focused or, perhaps, hiding sothing."
A flicker of amusent danced in his eyes as he responded. "I prefer to focus on my profession, ma’am. Love and marriage hold no appeal for ."
Her brow arched in intrigue, her smile turning sly. "Is that so? And yet I’d wager there’s been soone. You don’t strike as the type who’s gone this long without a bit of romance." She watched him, waiting for the smallest reaction.
He nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "Of course, ma’am. I think most people experience love at so point. But in my case, I find it... impractical. A distraction."
Es’s smirk deepened, but she let it go, shifting her tone abruptly. "Well, on to business. Mr. Alphonso, I’d like you to arrange a eting with our international clients from J Company."
He nodded. "Of course, ma’am. What ti would you prefer?"
Her gaze turned cold, her words clipped. "Three a.m."
For the first ti, Alphonso’s confidence seed to waver. His eyes widened just slightly before he caught himself, his brows knitting together in a flicker of confusion. "Three a.m., ma’am? Isn’t that a bit... early?"
Es’s eyes narrowed, her voice hardening with an edge that could slice through steel. "I don’t concern myself with what’s ’too early,’ Mr. Alphonso. If they wish to do business with , they’ll et at three a.m. sharp. And you will let them know that I am not accustod to being questioned on my decisions."
He swallowed, the mask slipping just slightly as he forced a smile. "Understood, ma’am. I’ll make the arrangents."
"Perfect," she replied with a faint, satisfied smile, watching him closely as he left, noting every detail of his carefully contained unease. There was sothing curious about him—a hint of sothing deeper than his polished responses and perfect posture. And Es loved a good mystery.
He hesitated briefly, a flash of sothing almost indecipherable crossing his face before he composed himself again. "Absolutely, ma’am," he replied, his tone unfaltering. "If it’s important, then it’s worth the effort."
Es leaned back, the pen twirling slowly between her fingers. "Good," she said, her gaze never leaving his. "Because, you see, Mr. Alphonso, only those willing to make sacrifices truly achieve sothing substantial."
Alphonso nodded, his smile remaining as polite and unreadable as ever. "Yes, ma’am. I’ll ensure everything is in place for the eting."
"Perfect," she replied, a faint glimr of amusent in her eyes. "And Mr. Alphonso, rember," she paused, letting the weight of her words settle, "mangoes are sweet... but only for a season."
As Mr. Alphonso turned to leave, Es’s hand shot forward, and with a swift, practiced flick, she sent her pen flying toward his back. She didn’t expect him to actually catch it; it was more a test of his nerves. But in an instant, he spun around, hand snapping up, catching the pen with an ease that defied his humble deanor.
Es’s eyebrows lifted, impressed, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Well, well. Quite the instincts you have there, Mr. Alphonso."
A glint of sothing sharper than amusent flashed in his eyes as he returned her smile. "Thank you, ma’am," he replied, a hint of pride behind his usual polish.
Es extended her hand with a raised brow. "Back."
He blinked, taken aback. "Excuse ?"
She pointed subtly, eyes flicking toward the pen. "My pen. Return it."
Realizing his montary lapse, he composed himself, nodding as he stepped forward to hand her the pen. But Es’s eyes didn’t miss the faint tension in his grip or the way his fingers held the pen just a fraction too tightly. He placed it in her hand carefully, as if trying not to leave a mark, before turning and leaving her office with his usual smooth gait.
As she watched him go, Es’s gaze dropped to the pen in her hand. The once smooth barrel bore the faintest indent where his fingers had pressed, almost close to breaking but not quite. The edges of her lips quirked up, her fingers absently tracing the faint mark.
"Interesting," she murmured to herself, a spark of curiosity lighting in her eyes.
On the other side, Ray was sitting in his study, looking at the monitor shortcut.
"What the heck?" he muttered, eyes narrowing in irritation.
"You damned woman!"
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