Y/N's POV:
The first time I saw Hanni, she was a whirlwind of pink and lavender, a literal tornado of color in the sterile white of my office.
Her hair, a vibrant brown, was pulled back in a loose ponytail, bouncing as she made her way towards the reception desk. She was already late for her interview, and she didn't even seem apologetic.
In fact, she had the audacity to smile as she explained that her train had been delayed.
"I'm Hanni," she said, extending a hand with perfectly manicured nails painted a bright shade of turquoise. "Don't tell me you're Mr. Grumpy. I already know."
I blinked, taken aback by her directness. I was famous for my perpetual frown and gruff demeanor.
It was a defense mechanism, a shield to protect myself from the world. It was definitely not a charm.
"Mr. L/n," I replied, my voice as flat as my expression. "Head of Marketing."
"I know," Hanni chirped, her smile widening. "It's in the job description. Your profile picture is practically begging for 'Mr. Grumpy' to be engraved on your forehead."
I was speechless. No one had ever dared to call me Mr. Grumpy to my face. This woman was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.
"Well, Mr. Grumpy," she continued. "If you're offering me this position, you're obviously not too grumpy to recognize talent."
She was right. Hanni, despite her flamboyant personality and questionable punctuality, possessed a spark, a creative energy that was almost tangible.
She was a walking advertisement for the company she was interviewing for.
I hired her on the spot.
Hanni's POV:
He was everything I'd expected, and more. Mr. Grumpy, the elusive Head of Marketing, with his perpetually furrowed brows and a demeanor that could curdle milk.
He was intimidating, yes, but there was an underlying vulnerability that intrigued me.
His office was, in a word, spartan. A sleek, minimalist design with a single charcoal-grey desk that seemed to absorb even the faintest light.
The only color in the room was a small, framed photograph on the desk – a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile, looking remarkably like a younger version of Mr. Grumpy.
"I'm Hanni," I said, trying to inject some warmth into the chilly atmosphere. "Don't tell me you're Mr. Grumpy. I already know."
He looked at me, his eyes a sharp, glacial blue. He had a way of looking at people that made them feel like they were under scrutiny, like a scientist analyzing a specimen.
"Mr. L/n," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Head of Marketing."
"I know," I chirped, trying to ignore the sudden tremor in my voice. "It's in the job description. Your profile picture is practically begging for 'Mr. Grumpy' to be engraved on your forehead."
His expression didn't change, but his eyes widened slightly. I had a feeling I had just stepped on a landmine.
"Well, Mr. Grumpy," I continued, my voice gaining confidence. "If you're offering me this position, you're obviously not too grumpy to recognize talent."
He was silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering.
"You're hired," he finally said.
The relief washed over me in a wave. I had gotten the job, and more importantly, I had gotten Mr. Grumpy to smile.
