HIS Minnie Mouse

If I have to hunt down one more brand of homemade artisan goat-milk yogurt for a man who literally has no soul to digest it, I am going to make sure I key that man's new car.

I'm standing under a bus stop shed while the rain pours down mercilessly in torrents, holding a box of burger-because apparently, the texture makes him think well-and goat milk yogurt.

Scott Smith is the worst boss I could have ever asked for.

And honestly, I should have known that accepting this job offer with such a generous salary meant sacrificing my mental health.

I'm surprised I have lasted three years with him.

"Omg! Shit!" I curse out loud as a speeding car splashes water all over my skirt. I check on the box I'm holding first because his food matters more than a skirt, and he is so heartless he would literally send me back.

Plus, my clothes are already a bit wet. It is a miracle I'm not dripping.

My phone keeps buzzing in my pocket, but with my two hands occupied, I can't check it. I mentally prepare myself for a lecture when I return.

Finally, the bus arrives and I hurry inside, grateful for the warmth it provides. I set the box down beside me and pull my phone out of my purse.

There are sixteen missed calls from my boss and thirty-two messages.

I'm on my way back. I type.

I turn off my phone because I am so not ready to receive a call every three minutes asking about my current location.

By the time I reach the other side of the city, the rain has ceased but the clouds are still gloomy.

The high-rise building of Knox's Technology Headquarters is an eighty-seven-story building that stands out with the semi-reflective glass coating the entire building. I walk towards the door with quick strides and hurry into the elevator. Kate is standing there and she gives me a pitiful smile.

"Sorry," she tells me with a wince.

"I'm used to it." I smile back at her, my fingers shaking against the box.

I heave a sigh of relief as the elevator dings open and then I rush out, stumbling in my four-inch Zara heels as my legs are already tired from today's walk around the whole of Seoul.

"Sorry I'm late," I say in ragged breaths as I push the door open. "I didn't find-"

The box of cheese burger and goat milk yogurt clatters to the ground, the contents spilling over the floor. The Cheese burger burst open, scattered, and the cover of the yogurt cup has come off.

Seriously, why didn't these people have better seals?

I gulp.

Scott Smith has a lady bent over his desk, pumping his dick into her with vigorous thrusts.

"Sorry, sorry I'm... I'll be ri-"

"I called you severally," he says casually, still fucking her. His voice sounds husky. "Why didn't you pick?"

I avert my gaze towards the other side of the room. "The rain... and I didn't find them on time."

"And now you've gone ahead to waste them."

"Yes, please. Faster, I'm so close," the woman moans loudly.

God. I facepalm internally.

"I'm sorry, I just... I... Can I leave? I'll come another time to- I'll go get new ones..." I stammer.

"No. Clean up this mess immediately."

"But sir-"

"What have I told you about buts, Minnie Mouse?"

Ah yes, the only form of humor Scott has is calling me that nickname.

Other than that, he is as cold as ice and very inconsiderate.

"I'll clean it right away."

Minutes later, I'm cleaning up his office while he and this woman switch positions every five minutes.

Seriously, didn't sex get exhausting after a while?

I continue scooping up the remains of the goat milk yoghurt with a stack of napkins, and I try my absolute best to ignore the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the mahogany desk as he keeps slamming into her.

"You missed a spot by the leg of the chair," Scott Smith says with a completely level voice. He does not even sound out of breath even though the woman beneath him is making enough noise to alert the entire building.

I glare at his expensive leather shoes and shove a soggy dumpling into the trash bag.

"My apologies, sir; I'll be sure to sanitize the area so you don't slip on your own ego later," I mutter under my breath as I reach for the spilled yogurt that was slowly seeping into the Persian rug.

The woman moans something that sounds like his name, but it is muffled because she is currently face-down on the blotter, and I honestly feel more sorry for the paperwork she is wrinkling than for her dignity.

"What was that, Minnie Mouse?" Scott asks. I can hear the smirk in his voice as he grips the woman's hips to pick up the pace.

I squeeze the yogurt-soaked napkins in my hand until the white liquid drips between my fingers, and I take a deep breath to keep from screaming because this is my favorite pair of heels and there is definitely a splash of dairy on the toe.

"I said the yogurt is very stubborn, sir," I lie through my teeth. I start scrubbing at the carpet with ferocity.

"Just like you," he counters, and then he lets out a low, guttural groan that makes my stomach do a weird little flip despite the fact that I am currently elbow-deep in a cleaning disaster.

I finished the job and stood up. I didn't look back as I hauled the bag of trash toward the door because if I see one more inch of his bare butt, I am going to lose my mind.

I'll need a very strong bleach with a high concentration of acid to clean out the live porn image from my head.

After disposing of the trash and washing my hands, I return to my desk and switch my computer back on to arrange his schedule for next week- and to also distract myself from the noise coming from his office. It is the only room that isn't soundproof because Scott likes to yell orders through the door instead of using the intercom.

The woman walks out some minutes later, looking thoroughly fucked with her swollen lips and disheveled hair.

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.

"She is under the impression that I have finally 'settled down.' She thinks I live in a warm, domestic home and not a glass cage, and if she sees this place looking like a showroom for a bachelor pad, she will stay in New York until she finds me a wife. She needs me to have one before she dies."

I let out a short, surprised laugh, and I can't help the smirk that tugs at my lips. "The great Scott Smith is afraid of a little old lady?"

He turns to me, his eyes narrowing, and he steps into my space until I can smell the faint scent of whiskey on his skin. "She isn't just a lady. And she wants to see a life here that I don't have."

He looks at the apartment, then back at me, and I see a lightbulb go off in his head that makes me want to turn around and bolt for the elevator.

"Stay." he says. It isn't a request.

"Excuse me?"

"Help me finish this. Help me make this place look like a human being lives here. We will go out to buy plants, move the furniture, hide the whiskey-I don't care. Just make it look... warm." He takes a step closer, and his voice drops to that husky register that makes my stomach do that traitorous little flip again. "And then, you're going to help me with the second part of the lie."

I grip my purse tightly. "Which is?"

"She expects to meet the woman I've been 'settled' with. Stay the night to help me fix this mess, play the part of my girlfriend for the weekend, and I'll triple your annual bonus. I'll pay it tonight."

I look at the disastrous bookshelf, then at the man who just hours ago was making my blood boil in the office, and I think about my bank account. Sure I had a lot of money from this job, but I wanted to take a three month vacation traveling around the world in first class so having some extra money wouldn't hurt.

Plus it was just a show right?

His grandmother no longer lived in New York.

Last I heard, she had cancer with only two years to live.

She spent it traveling from one place to another before eventually settling in California.

"Triple?" I ask quietly.

"Triple," he confirms, "Do we have a deal, Minnie Mouse?"

******

Scott is such a good kisser.

Unlike my ex-boyfriend, who often tugged on my lips like he wanted to rip them off.

His grandmother makes a face at us, and I really cannot tell if it's out of disgust or if she's happy about this.

He looks at me so softly-and for the three years I have known him, he has never been soft with anyone. In fact, his expression is usually either blank or icy cold.

With me, there's the occasional pout when I am unable to get something he wants.

I blush and pull back, tucking my hair behind my ear. It should be part of the acting, but it feels so real because I'm feeling butterflies that shouldn't be there.

"I don't see a ring on her finger, though," Lady Jessica says in an observant tone, picking up some food with her fork.

"Well, I have to wait for your verdict before I take such a bold step," he says with a boyish grin.

She huffs. "You always do whatever you want, Scott. I don't think you care about my verdict."

"Of course I do."

"Or you are just not serious with her."

"Grandmother," he says in a warning tone.

"Can you excuse us, Claire?" she asks, turning to look at me. I give a polite smile and stand from the table, walking into the kitchen.

My heart is pounding at a rate of a thousand miles per hour, and my lips are tingling deliciously from the number of times he has kissed me.

"It's just work. Nothing serious," I mutter to myself, but I feel needy as hell. I can't wait to get back home.

I lean over the counter, my mind momentarily wandering to when I used to date Owen.

The relationship was bound to end because, first of all, I had a boss who needed me at his beck and call. Most times, I hardly ever had time to hang out with him or go on dates.

Then the sex was terrible because Owen was a man. And not in the sense that I would rather fuck a woman-I mean, he only cared about finishing, about his own pleasure and not mine. And to be honest, he barely knew how to make a woman feel good.

So I ended up having to sort myself out.

Six months into our relationship, he lost his job and apartment and started living in mine. I didn't care that much about being the sole provider, but it did start to get annoying that he was comfortable not working and not even bothering to look for a new one.

He also became insecure and tried controlling my life, talking about how I was treating him like trash because things got bad for him.

I stayed.

Well, because I kept trying to understand his frustration.

Until I showed up to work one day with a black eye poorly concealed by makeup, and Scott-who needed his overworked personal servant to be in top condition all the time-pried into my life without my permission, and off to jail Owen went.

I had been angry at first, but now-seven months later-I'm grateful.

Something hard presses into me and warm hands wrap around me from behind, crawling up my shirt. I turn to face him and he captures my lips with his.

I pull away immediately. "She's not here."

He says nothing but kisses me again.

"You know, I'm starting to think you're just obsessed with me," I tease, hoping his pride would make him stop because I don't like how I feel about this.

"Hm," he smiles. "You're my girlfriend, aren't you?"

Before I can reply, his mouth is on mine again. I gasp as his tongue slips inside my mouth. I'm melting into him, my hands suddenly tugging at his hair because my lack of self-control decides to take over.