Heart Over Heels

Chapter 10

The day kicked off like a bad sitcom rerun, one of those classics where the main character can’t catch a break. I’d been up late last night, double-checking client reports, organizing schedules—trying to make sure today would go smoothly, which was, in retrospect, a huge waste of my precious energy.

Just as I walked into the office, a chain of chaos unleashed itself, starting with the coffee machine’s mini-explosion. "Wwooah.-"

Now, I’m no caffeine fiend. Not really. But when hot coffee sprays over half the stack of files you’d carefully assembled the night before? It’s hard to take it lightly.

There I was, trying to blot coffee stains off a ruined budget proposal, while steam still hissed from the machine behind me like some kind of high-stakes horror film set in an office break room.

Just as I was in the thick of it, my boss, Max—the universally envied king of effortless cool—strolled in, freshly pressed, coffee-free, and smirking like he hadn’t a care in the world. He paused, taking in the mess around me, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Rough morning?" His voice was laced with that maddening tone of amusement. It wasn’t a question; it was an invitation to explain why exactly I looked like I’d just lost a wrestling match with a coffee pot.

“Well,” I sighed, staring at the brown splotches blooming across my stack of files, “depends on how you define ‘rough.’ I’d call it an unfortunate side effect of caffeine addiction.”

Max chuckled, and I realized I was holding a coffee-soaked report in one hand and a dripping paper towel in the other. Fabulous. As if my dignity hadn’t already taken a hit. I dabbed at the files, attempting some semblance of damage control.

"Need some help?" He offered, though he didn’t exactly look eager to roll up his sleeves.

I waved him off. "Nah, this is a one-woman job. Wouldn’t want you to break a sweat."

He smirked. "I wouldn’t dream of it."

Satisfied he’d had his morning entertainment at my expense, Max turned back to his desk, leaving me to continue my coffee-stain triage in peace.

I huffed, mentally cursing the coffee machine and reminding myself to add “exploding appliances” to my list of job hazards.

Finally managing to clean up, I grabbed my planner and followed Max to his office. I could practically see the string of meetings, calls, and commitments buzzing around his head as he checked his phone, making edits to his calendar with an intensity that would’ve impressed even the world’s most dedicated personal assistant. He didn’t look up as he scrolled, so I cleared my throat, hoping to grab his attention.

“All right, today’s agenda: back-to-back meetings with only a 30-minute lunch break, if you’re lucky,” I said, my voice thick with sympathy. “And, well, at least two of those meetings look like they could go into overtime.”

"Perfect," he murmured, not sounding the least bit daunted. In fact, he seemed a little too unfazed.

I raised an eyebrow. "You act like this is your ideal schedule."

“Who needs lunch, anyway?” He shrugged, still scrolling through the digital maze of appointments.

“Oh, just regular people who eat,” I shot back, trying to keep my tone light. "But hey, what do I know?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Someone sounds hungry already.”

“Starving,” I deadpanned. “But that coffee spray was actually quite filling.”