HIS Minnie Mouse

I recognize her as Rose, the daughter of the Kim family. She gives me a glare and sashays away. Seriously, what for? Scott steps out a minute after her, giving me a long stare. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Is there any problem, sir?" He cocks his brows at me, still saying nothing. I stand clumsily, gripping the table for support. "Sir?" Still silent. Did I forget to mention that Scott loves to make people guess his mind? His silence makes me know I have done something wrong, but the problem is I am not sure what. Is it walking in on him fucking? Why then did he not send me out? Is it because I spilled the cheese burger and yogurt? "Shi- sorry, yes sir. Right away, sir," I say, trying to hurry past him. How could I forget that I was to get a new one for him? Scott stops me from moving as his cold and large hands grab my arm gently. I swallow hard. "Sir?" I squeak. "You're shivering," he comments, his warm breath fanning my neck. "And your clothes are wet." For some reason, I feel warmth between my legs instead. What the hell is wrong with me? I hate myself for this, because of Scott? Of all people? "The rain was heavy, sir." "I see." He still doesn't let go of my arm. "Sir... I'd like to be on my way..." "You're not going anywhere," he says, looking at my hair, which I know is a frigid, humid disaster. And then his eyes drift down to my wet translucent blouse that clings to my lacy red underwear. I gulp. "You must be really cold," he continues, still looking. "Your nipples are hard. I hear it can get like that when the weather is gloomy." Fucking hell. "Except there's another reason why, Minnie Mouse," he mutters, tucking a strand of wet hair behind my ear. "This is highly inappropriate, sir," I manage to mutter, taking a step back, forcing distance between us. Despite the heat in between my legs and the traitorous way my body reacts to his proximity, I know this is a line I cannot afford to cross. I am going to see him every goddamn day. That is not what unsettles me the most though. It is the fact that Jin-hoo prides himself on discipline- rigid, controlled, almost frighteningly composed. For a man like him to make such an advance, to corner his own secretary like this, something was fundamentally wrong. Or maybe he was just like every other man, thinking with his dick when he thought no one would call him out on it. And I had always been wrong about him. "I was simply asking a question," he says, his voice flattening. I know it is a lie. We both do. Still, I nod, choosing the safer path. What am I supposed to say? I see through you. You're only pulling back because I caught you. "It was merely an observation," he adds, eyes unreadable. "Agreed, sir," I reply quietly. ***** Deliver Cheese burger to my house. I stare at the text for a long second and a string of colorful words pour out of my mouth. I have just gotten to my apartment complex and I'm waiting for the elevator so I can take a shower and sink into my bed after a long and exhausting day- finding relief in the new pink vibrator I just bought. Scott flashes through my mind. Suddenly, I'm imagining him using it on me. A ping snaps me back to reality. It's him of course. I know you're reading my message Minnie mouse. Do it immediately. With yoghurt too. So I turn around immediately because going upstairs means not wanting to come back down. Fuck this man really. I'm almost like a personal slave. It's easier to get what I need this time though, because I already know exactly where to look. Forty five minutes later, I am standing in front of the heavy mahogany doors of his penthouse, and I am seriously considering just leaving the bag of dumplings on the floor and running away. My body is screaming for a hot shower and the soft buzz of my new purchase, but instead, I am standing in a hallway that smells like expensive cologne. I press the buzzer and wait, and then I hear something heavy hit the floor inside followed by a string of curses that definitely didn't sound like Scott. The door swings open and I almost drop the bag again. Scott is standing there with his tie gone and his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal forearms that have no business being that vascular. His hair is a messy disaster and there is a smudge of something dark on his forehead, and for a second, I just stare because he looks entirely too human. "You're late," he says, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "I was at my own front door when you texted, sir," I reply, stepping past him into the foyer without an invitation because my feet are killing me and I am officially over being polite. I stop dead in my tracks when I see the living room. The sleek, minimalist penthouse that usually looks like a scene from a sci-fi movie is currently a war zone of cardboard boxes and Styrofoam peanuts. A half-assembled bookshelf is lying face-down on the rug, and there are several Allen wrenches scattered around. "What is... all of this?" I ask, gesturing to the chaos. "It's a bookshelf, Minnie Mouse. I assume you've seen one before," he snaps, but there's no real bite in it. He looks frustrated, and he actually looks a little bit desperate. "I know what a bookshelf is, but why are you trying to build it yourself? You have people for this. You have a literal army of people for this," I say, setting the cheese burger down on a marble countertop that is currently covered in instruction manuals. "I don't have time for 'people.' My grandmother is arriving tomorrow morning," he says, and he runs a hand through his hair, making it even messier.