Mr. Jerk | Jaywon

CHAPTER 6: mimosa 2

JUNGWON

When the elevator doors slid open on the 30th floor, I strode down the hallway, the glass of mimosa in hand. This time, I didn't bother knocking. My frustration bubbled beneath the surface, and I wasn't in the mood for formalities.

As I entered the CEO's office, the door creaked open, catching his attention. He glanced up from his work, clearly taken aback by my unannounced entry. I could see a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with his usual cold demeanor.

Without a word, I walked up to his desk and placed the mimosa down beside him. My movements were controlled, but the annoyance still lingered in the air. The clink of the glass against his desk echoed louder than I intended, but I didn't care. He wanted a mimosa? Fine. He got one.

I stood there for a moment, my eyes locked on the drink as I mentally willed myself to keep my mouth shut. It would have been so easy to say something—anything—to vent my frustration. But I couldn't. Not here. Not in front of him. Talking back to him would be a sure way to jeopardize my job, and losing this job was the last thing I needed.

"Your mimosa," I said curtly, my voice as neutral as I could manage.

His eyes flickered back to the mimosa, then to me. His jaw tightened, and I could sense the anger simmering just beneath the surface. He was trying, I could tell—trying not to explode in that icy, controlled way he had perfected. But the longer the silence stretched between us, the more I could feel his patience slipping.

"What is this?" His voice was low, almost too calm. Dangerous.

"A mimosa, like you asked for," I replied, crossing my arms. My tone was sharper than it should have been, but I was too frustrated to care. "But a healthier version. I thought you might—"

He cut me off with a harsh laugh. "Healthier? Do you even listen when I talk? I didn't ask for a lesson in nutrition. I asked for a damn mimosa."

The sudden sharpness in his tone caught me off guard, but I didn't back down. "You didn't hire me to be your bartender, Mr. Park. I'm hired to improve your health, and that's exactly what I'm doing. If you want to ruin it, then fine. But I'm not going to stand by and let you make that choice so easily."

I knew I was crossing a line, but the words came out before I could stop them. His expression darkened, and for a moment, I thought he was going to throw me out of his office on the spot. His hands clenched into fists on his desk, his thick eyebrows drawing together, eyes blazing with restrained fury.

"You think you can tell me what to do?" His voice was low, dangerously cold. "You think you know better?"

I bit back my retort, but the frustration bubbled over. "I'm doing my job. You're not just a CEO—you're a human being, and you need to take care of yourself. You asked for my expertise, so let me do my job!"

"I asked for a mimosa," he snapped, his tone sharp as a knife. "Not a lecture."

I felt my heart race, the tension between us thickening. "And I'm giving you more than that," I shot back. "You want someone who just follows orders without thinking? Then maybe you should find someone else."

He stood up, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. "Maybe I should."

His words cut deeper than I expected, and for a moment, I was stunned into silence. The room seemed to pulse with the heat of our argument, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken things. But I couldn't back down now, not after everything I'd invested in this job.