My Tyrant Boss Was My Roommate

At that, the hard lines of his face seemed to soften, just a fraction.

I was useless at housework, but thankfully, his apartment was a showcase of high-tech smart home gadgets. The robotic vacuum and dishwasher were lifesavers.

Then I stepped into the kitchen.

As a recent graduate, I survived on a diet of company cafeteria food and takeout. I’d never actually cooked a real meal. Still, how hard could it be? You put food in the oven, you press some buttons, and voilà, right?

I spent an hour poring over a recipe, pulled the ingredients from the fridge, and prepared to work my culinary magic.

But the moment acrid black smoke began billowing from the oven, any semblance of control went up in flames—literally.

In my panic, I’d forgotten to preheat it and had instead cranked the temperature to its absolute maximum, causing the chicken on the baking sheet to instantly ignite.

As I stood there, frozen and clueless, Alexander yanked me back, shielding me with his body.

I stared, dazed, at the broad expanse of his shoulders.

He moved with swift efficiency, cutting the power to the oven and dousing the small fire with a damp cloth. Only then did he turn to face me.

I am so fired, I thought.

A girl in the secretarial pool had once been fired on the spot for handing Alexander his coffee with the mug handle facing the wrong way.

Ever since, the entire office had learned to give him a wide berth, terrified of being axed for some minor infraction.

This time, I was the only one unlucky enough to be tasked with delivering documents in a blizzard.

And now, I had nearly burned his penthouse down. My career was toast.

Just as I was bracing for the inevitable explosion, Alexander finally spoke.

“Are you hurt?”

I shook my head, my eyes fixed on the floor.

He let out a long, weary sigh. “Forget it. Just… don’t do it again.”

I looked up, stunned.

He was letting me off? Just like that? He was being… lenient. This was not the ruthless tyrant my colleagues whispered about.

A wave of guilt and gratitude washed over me. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kane. I’m just not used to cooking. Please, let me try again!”

He completely ignored me, steered me out of the kitchen with a firm hand on my shoulder, and proceeded to cook dinner himself.