Chapter Text
The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly as Jaemin Na stared at the spreadsheet, his jaw tight. Every line of figures felt like a personal insult.
“Mr. Lee,” he said, his tone clipped, “this report… it’s incomplete.”
Jeno’s shoulders slumped. “I-I thought I fixed everything, sir…”
Jaemin’s eyes didn’t soften. They never softened. “Clearly, you didn’t. How many times do I have to tell you to double-check before handing it to me?”
Jeno swallowed, fumbling with the papers. He looked exhausted—pale, tired, distracted—but Jaemin didn’t care. He couldn’t. Mistakes weren’t something he tolerated. Not once, not twice, not ever.
The office hummed around them, oblivious. People always tiptoed around Jeno’s clumsy movements, but Jaemin didn’t have the luxury of patience. Not with the numbers that could make or break deals, not with the deadlines that waited for no one.
“I… I’ll redo it right away,” Jeno whispered.
Jaemin didn’t answer. He turned back to the spreadsheet, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing his sharp features. He had no idea why this particular secretary, fragile and apologetic, kept slipping— but he couldn’t afford to fire him. Not when he is a rare secretary who didn’t quit a week after working for him.
Jeno shuffled out of Jaemin’s office, clutching the papers like they might slip away. He muttered a quiet, almost invisible apology as he passed the receptionist. His hands shook—not just from Jaemin’s sharp glare, but from the tiredness that had been building for weeks.
And… something else.
A faint, sharp scent hit him as he left Mr Na’s office. Rich, commanding… alpha. Jeno’s stomach flipped, a shiver running down his spine. He quickly looked away, blaming the chill in the air, though he knew it wasn’t that.
Jaemin leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. Jeno’s mistakes frustrated him… but there was something else too. Jeno always seemed so fragile, like he could break if pushed too hard. And for some reason, that got under Jaemin’s skin.
A soft ding from the elevator broke the silence. Jaemin ignored it, staring back at the spreadsheet. Numbers didn’t make mistakes. People did.
A few minutes later, Jeno returned, holding a corrected version of the report. His face was pale, dark circles under his eyes showing he hadn’t slept well.
“I… I fixed it, sir,” Jeno said softly, setting the papers on Jaemin’s desk.
Jaemin glanced at it. Not perfect, but good enough.
“Make sure this doesn’t happen again,” Jaemin said coldly. “I don’t care how. Just… get it done.”
Jeno nodded and walked away, trying to shake off the lingering warmth in his chest and the faint scent that seemed to cling to him.
Jaemin watched him go. There was something about the way he moved—careful, almost invisible—that made Jaemin uneasy. Not because of the mistakes, but something deeper he couldn’t name.
He didn’t understand it yet. Not like he wants to anyways.
The office hummed with activity, phones ringing, keyboards clacking. Jeno moved through it all like a shadow, trying not to draw attention to himself—or the way his chest fluttered whenever Jaemin passed nearby.
By mid-afternoon, a new problem appeared. A meeting Jaemin had scheduled had a missing file. Jeno’s stomach dropped. He knew he should have double-checked, but his mind had been elsewhere, tired, distracted… and maybe a little shaken by Jaemin’s scent earlier.
“Mr. Lee,” Jaemin’s voice cut through the room like ice. “Where is the Carter file?”
Jeno’s throat went dry. “I… I must have left it on my desk—”
Jaemin’s sharp gaze pinned him. “Your desk? You mean the one you left last week?”
The words hit harder than Jeno expected. He felt his hands go clammy, a shiver racing down his spine as the alpha scent lingered in the air around Jaemin. He forced himself to focus. “I’ll get it right away, sir.”
Jaemin’s jaw tightened. “See that you do.”
Jeno dashed to the storage room, fumbling through stacks of files until he finally found the missing one. Heart pounding, he rushed it back. The moment he placed it on Jaemin’s desk, he felt a flush in his ears, a strange warmth that had nothing to do with the office heat.
Jaemin barely glanced at the file. “Finally. Don’t let this happen again.”
“Yes, sir,” Jeno muttered, backing away quickly, trying to calm the sudden thrum of his heartbeat.
The rest of the day dragged on. Every time Jaemin walked past, Jeno felt that low, magnetic tension, the scent of alpha brushing against him like a storm he couldn’t escape. He tried to focus on his tasks, but even the simplest spreadsheet felt impossible to concentrate on.
By the time the office emptied and the fluorescent lights dimmed, Jeno was exhausted. He gathered his things, avoided making eye contact with Jaemin, and slipped out quietly, shoulders aching, mind swirling.
Jaemin remained at his desk, staring at the numbers again, but something had shifted. Watching Jeno leave, there was a tug in his chest he didn’t understand—or want to admit. The secretary’s mistakes, his awkwardness, his quiet presence… it mattered to him more than he expected.
And for the first time, Jaemin wondered if Jeno’s mistakes were purely accidental, or if there was another reason for his constant mistakes and lack of attention.