Chapter 5

Jarima slowly edge-walked toward the massive Italian leather couch as if it were rigged with landmines. Naupo siya sa mismong dulo, keeping her knees locked tightly together, her tote bag clutched against her chest like a bulletproof vest.

Rafa walked over, carrying two delicate porcelain cups. He placed one in front of her on the glass coffee table before sinking smoothly into the plush armchair directly opposite her. He leaned back, crossing his long legs, and took a slow sip.

The silence that followed was suffocatingly awkward.

Jarima blinked, looking at the steaming porcelain cup on the table, then back at him. "Kayo po... nagtimpla ng kape para sa 'kin?"

"Consider it part of my 'civic duty'," Rafa teased smoothly, picking up his own cup. "Drink it. We have a lot to talk about."

"Ah, opo. Opo, Mr. President," Jarima stammered. Hands trembling, she reached out and picked up the tiny, fragile porcelain cup. Pinagmamasdan niya ito na parang mamahaling paso na kapag nabasag niya ay ipapakulong siya agad ng Presidential Security Group. She took the tiniest, most microscopic sip known to human history.

"How is it?" Rafa asked.

"Napakasarap po. Lasang... lasang gobyerno," Jarima blurted out instantly.

Rafa froze, his cup halfway to his mouth. "Lasang gobyerno?"

Jarima wanted to slap her own mouth off her face. Jusko, Jarima, ano na namang pinagsasabi mo? "I mean... refined po! Lasang mamahalin! 'Yung tipo pong coffee beans na hindi binibili sa bangketa! Hehe..."

Rafa let out a short, quiet chuckle, setting his cup down. "It's just an Ethiopian roast, Jarima. Nothing political about it." He rested his chin on his palm, leaning forward slightly. "Tell me about yourself. What do you do when you're not accidentally harassing federal offices?"

For the next thirty minutes, the absolute absurdity of the situation unfolded.

Jarima sat on the leather couch of the Executive Palace, sipping coffee brewed by the President of the Philippines, while he casually asked her about her life, her job, and how she managed to survive her chaotic landlord.

Away from the cameras, Rafa was mischievous, witty, and surprisingly relatable. He stole a pastry from the plate, made terrible jokes about government bureaucracy, and laughed openly whenever Jarima let her feisty words filter slip through her initial fear.

For a moment, Jarima completely forgot who he was. She found herself laughing, bantering back, and enjoying his sharp, challenging intellect.

Jarima cleared her throat, adjusting her posture. "Ah, Graphic Artist po ako. Freelance. I design brand layouts, social media posters, food packaging... gano'n po."

"Graphic Artist," Rafa repeated, genuinely interested. "So you're creative. That explains why your excuse to the hotline staff earlier was so elaborate."

"Sabi ko naman po sa 'inyo, naduling lang po talaga ako sa G****e!" depensa agad ni Jarima, her natural feisty tone momentarily slipping past her fear. "Tsaka nagmamadali po kasi ako! Akala ko talaga customer service! Malay ko ba na 'yung number ng Malacañang Records at 'yung hotline ng bangko ay magkaiba lang ng isang digit?"

"One digit makes a huge difference in government, Jarima," Rafa teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "One wrong digit and you get an executive order instead of an OTP."

"Kaya nga po lesson learned na!" Jarima groaned, leaning back a fraction of an inch before realizing she was relaxing in front of the Head of State, making her instantly snap straight again. "Bakit po ba niyo ako tinatanong tungkol sa buhay ko? Hindi po ba kayo busy? Di ba dapat nagpapatibay kayo ng ekonomiya o pumipirma ng mga batas ngayon?"

"I just signed four executive orders before noon," Rafa replied smoothly, picking up a small silver plate from the side table and offering it to her. "And right now, my schedule says I am allowed a thirty-minute coffee break. I choose to spend it being entertained."

On the plate was a flaky, freshly baked almond pastry. Jarima blinked at it, then up at him.

"Kuha ka," utos ni Rafa, though his voice was warm. "I saw you eating that questionable convenience store waffle earlier. You need real food."

Jarima hesitated, then reached out and took the pastry. "Pinapanood niyo po talaga ako sa park kanina?"

"Federico was watching you," Rafa corrected effortlessly, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. "I was merely observing his terrible attempt at flirting."

"Hindi naman po masama 'yung attempt niya!" Jarima defended instinctively before she could filter herself. "Napakabait nga po ni Federico! Nagdala pa siya ng kape at pastry—"

"I brought you coffee and pastry too," Rafa interrupted smoothly, his voice dropping into a slightly lower, dangerous register. He gestured to the spread in front of them. "And mine didn't require you to sit in the humid afternoon heat."

Jarima’s mouth went dry. The sheer pettiness coming from the most powerful man in the country was so absurdly funny, yet the underlying competitive tone made her blood run hot.

Is he also flirting with me? The president? she thought hysterically.

"Mr. President... nakikipagkumpitensya po ba kayo sa kaibigan ninyo?" Jarima asked, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Rafa didn't hesitate. He took a slow sip of his coffee, looking straight into her eyes over the rim.

"I don't compete, Jarima," Rafa murmured softly, his baritone voice dripping with quiet confidence. "I govern."

"Jusko po," Jarima whispered under her breath, taking a massive bite of the almond pastry just to keep herself from saying another dangerous thing.

For the next fifteen minutes, the initial awkwardness completely dissolved, replaced by a surreal, chaotic rhythm. Jarima found herself passionately complaining about client revisions.

"Inutos po sa akin na gawing 'floating' 'yung pasta sa poster, ano 'yun, may magic?"

Rafa listened with dark, vibrating laughter, occasionally offering ridiculous presidential solutions like "I can issue a decree banning bad graphic design requests if you want."

Until Rafa’s personal phone on the desk suddenly began to ring.

Rafa glanced at the caller ID, and his amused expression subtly shifted into something cautious. He tapped the speaker button.

"Yes, Fed?" Rafa answered calmly.

Federico’s voice filled the room through the speaker. "Rafa, are you still in the study? The Security Council papers are ready for your signature."

Jarima froze instantly, her coffee cup hovering inches from her lips. She stared at the phone in total horror.

"Also," Federico continued over the line, his tone light and conversational, "I'm going to take a short leave on Friday afternoon. I'm planning to ask Jarima out for a proper dinner."

The air inside the quiet study instantly turned to ice.

Rafa’s hand tightened around his coffee cup. His eyes flicked sharply toward Jarima, who was currently sitting frozen on his couch, holding her breath. Hindi niya alam kung anong nararamdaman niya sa kaniyang narinig.

The silence stretched for three agonizing seconds.

"Rafa? You still there?" Federico asked over the line.

Rafa looked directly into Jarima’s eyes—his expression darkening into a sharp, fiercely competitive glare that sent a wave of sudden heat through her entire body.

Rafa leaned toward the phone, his voice steady, cool, and completely unbothered.

"Denied, Federico. I won't permit."

"What?" Federico sounded utterly stunned over the line. "Denied? Why?"

Rafa kept his eyes locked onto Jarima’s wide, terrified gaze as a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his lips.

"Because you have an urgent state assignment on Friday afternoon," Rafa lied effortlessly over the phone. "And I need you in the office."

"Rafa! That's completely unfair—"

"I am the President, Federico," Rafa said smoothly, tapping the screen to disconnect the call.

The room fell into a deafening, suffocating silence.

Jarima stared at Rafael Villareal, her jaw practically on the floor. "Sir Rafa... Bakit niyo po ginawa 'yun?"

Rafa set his coffee cup down on the glass table with a soft clink. He stood up, towering over her as he stepped closer to the couch.

"Because, Jarima," Rafa murmured, leaning down until his face was just inches from hers, his hazel eyes burning with a sudden, undeniable passion. "He asked first... but I don't intend to lose."

Before Jarima could even utter a single word, the heavy doors of the study suddenly clicked open.

"Mr. President, the Security Council—" Federico’s voice echoed as he stepped straight into the room.

Federico stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes widened in utter, speech-shattering shock as he looked at President Rafael Villareal leaning intimately over Jarima Carvajal—the exact woman Federico had been talking about all day—sitting on the President's private couch.

Jarima’s heart completely stopped.

Federico stared at Jarima.

Jarima stared at Federico.

And the President slowly straightened up, turning around with an unbothered, lethal grin.