Chapter 4. Sir, spank me

Miley's POV.

I hurried into the lobby, clutching the paper bag that carried the food I’d bought for Mr. Clifford. It was almost noon, and I was certain he hadn’t eaten yet. Traffic nearly trapped me on the way back since the restaurant I’d gone to was quite a distance, but I didn’t mind—it was the one place I trusted. My old boss used to love their dishes, and I thought maybe Mr. Clifford would enjoy their fresh salad and warm soup too.

I was almost at the elevator when two women suddenly stepped into my path. One had a long chin that reminded me of a popular comedian, while the other’s pale, almost ghostly face looked straight out of a horror film—her mismatched foundation and strange lenses making her appear more eerie than elegant. Their drawn-on brows arched as they swept their gazes over me from head to toe.

“So, you’re Millicent Evangelista?” the one with the long chin sneered, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yes, that’s me. Now, would you kindly step aside? I need to get through.” I kept my voice steady, not wanting to waste time sparring with them.

“And what if we don’t?” the pale one asked, smirking.

“I don’t have time for your games. If you’ve got business with me, say it. Otherwise, get out of my way.”

They exchanged a look before grinning. I rolled my eyes and tried to walk past them, but one of them yanked my arm, making me stumble. The paper bag slipped from my grasp, spilling food across the floor.

“Oops. Sorry,” they sang in unison, covering their mouths as though shocked—though their laughter gave them away.

I dropped to my knees, furious but silent, gathering what I could. Do you even know whose food that was? That was for Mr. Clifford, you idiots.

“Ma’am Miley, let me clean that up,” said Kuya Rommel, the janitor, rushing to my side to help me stand. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Chelsea watching from a distance.

Ah. So this was her doing.

I turned my glare on the two women, my patience snapping. “Next time you choose a side, make sure you’re siding with an angel, not a devil.” With that, I left them behind.

Inside the elevator, I leaned against the wall, weakness spreading through my limbs. Why did there always have to be so much cruelty in the world? I exhaled deeply, bracing myself for what I had to do next: admit to Mr. Clifford that I had failed to bring him lunch.

By the time I reached the top floor, my nerves were coiled tight. He was at his desk, eyes fixed on his laptop, his presence so commanding that I hesitated before stepping closer.

“E-excuse me, Mr. Clifford?” My voice cracked slightly. “Could I… talk to you for a second?”

Those hazel eyes lifted to mine, calm and unbothered, and my chest tightened. My heart raced, but I forced myself to breathe.

“Say it,” he said simply.

“I—I’m sorry, Sir. I wasn’t able to bring your lunch. It spilled on the way here.” The words tumbled out quickly, my embarrassment sharp.

He gave a slow, deliberate nod. That was it. No irritation, no scolding.

My lips parted slightly in surprise. Why isn’t he angry?

“Th-thank you, Sir,” I stammered, bobbing my head before turning to leave. But his voice stopped me.

“Miley,” he said.

I froze. My name—his voice wrapping around it like it belonged to him.

“We’re staying for overtime later,” he added.

For a heartbeat, I couldn’t move. It was the first time he’d called me by name.

“Are you okay?” he asked when I didn’t respond immediately.

“Y-yes, Sir. Overtime. Later,” I said quickly, forcing a small smile before retreating to my desk.

Oh my god, Millicent. What are you doing? You just broke up, and now you’re—what? Flirting? I buried my face in my hands, groaning softly.

By 7 p.m., the office was quiet except for the clacking of keys. Everyone else had gone home. Only Mr. Clifford and I remained, bound by looming deadlines. It was only his second day as CEO, and already the weight of unfinished tasks pressed heavily on his shoulders.

I found myself sneaking glances at him now and then. The way his brow furrowed beneath his reading glasses… the sharp set of his jaw… the quiet focus radiating from him—it all made my stomach twist in unfamiliar ways.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his skin sun-kissed and his nose sharply defined, Mr. Clifford was striking even in stillness. His suit only concealed what I imagined was a strong frame underneath. He hadn’t smiled since I met him, his expression always serious, unreadable. Yet somehow, that only drew me in more.

“Miley.”

Just the sound of my name on his lips was enough to stir something dangerous in me.

“Millicent Evangelista…” His voice was suddenly close. My heart jolted. I turned, startled, and found him standing beside my desk.

“S-Sir, spank me—” My hand flew to my mouth. Horror shot through me. “I—I mean—”

Kill me now.

“I’ve been calling you. I need you to print last month’s financial reports,” he said evenly, turning away without another glance.

As soon as he walked off, I slapped my own lips, stifling a squeal. What is wrong with you, Miley?!

My knees trembled when I tried to stand. Heat flared in my face, and I had to take several deep breaths to steady myself. Was it his fault for startling me—or mine, for letting thoughts like that creep into my head about him?

At the copier, I felt a prickling on my skin, the weight of someone’s gaze. I turned slightly, and there he was—watching me. His eyes met mine only for a fleeting second before he looked away.

But it was enough.

The air between us shifted, thick and unspoken. Awkward. Charged. Dangerous.

I could only pray he’d forget what I had just blurted out.