Page 22 of Grumpy Orc CEO

“Well… uh… I think,” I stutter, fumbling over my words. The room feels like it's closing in on me. “The adjustments… they’re reasonable considering our projections.” My voice sounds shaky even to my own ears, and I can’t help the feeling that I've just exposed some deep vulnerability.

“Just reasonable?! Jarvin is the man…well, orc!” Greg jokes and the room erupts again. Jarvin laughs along, but his eyes find mine and I have to suppress the shiver that runs through me.

I force myself to look away from him and down at my notes, hoping to find some semblance of composure there.

Jarvin nods thoughtfully at my response before moving on to another topic, but I can still feel his eyes on me for a fraction longer than necessary. It’s irritating how much he affects me. I convince myself it’s nothing—anything but acknowledging how he makes me feel so unguarded and seen.

As he continues with the meeting, effortlessly steering the conversation from one agenda item to another, I force myself to stay focused on taking notes. My irritation simmers beneath the surface, masking the true nature of my discomfort: fear of vulnerability.

Days pass, and my irritation grows like a weed. Every time Jarvin’s deep voice carries through the office, it grates on my nerves. I snap at minor inconveniences, like when the printer jams shooting paper flying across the office.

“That’s the sign of a good secretary, working so hard the printer can’t keep up!” someone jokes.

The rustling of paper falling to the floor adds insult to injury. The soundtrack to my humiliation. “Are you serious!” I exclaim as the flush of frustration rises to my face.

Jarvin comes striding over brushing past me and easily solves the problem.

Of course he has to make it look effortless too while I’m gathering what’s left of my dignity from the ground.

“Gotta take it easy there Lucy, you almost flooded the whole office,” he says, chuckling as he helps me gather the papers.

My colleagues exchange wary glances but say nothing, probably chalking it up to stress from the workload.

Jarvin’s presence looms large in every corner of the office. It feels like he’s always there, a constant reminder of the complicated feelings I’m trying to bury. His casual “Good morning” and polite "how are you” feel like needles pricking at my carefully constructed armor.

One afternoon, while working late on a project, I hear his footsteps approaching. My shoulders tense instinctively.

“Need any help with that data analysis?” His tone is firm, leaving little room for refusal.

I don’t look up. “I can manage,” I reply curtly, my fingers gripping the edge of my desk. The air between us thickens with unspoken tension.

He stands there for a moment, taken aback by my sharp response. I sense him regaining his composure quickly.

“Alright,” he says, his voice measured and calm. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

As he walks away, guilt gnaws at me. My clenched fists tremble slightly as I try to suppress it. It’s easier to tell myself I’m annoyed by his constant presence than to admit the real reason behind my behavior— I like him.

At home after work, I sit on my couch, a glass of wine in hand, staring blankly at the TV. The movie I put on for background noise barely registers. My mind keeps drifting back to Jarvin, his presence haunting me even in the quiet of my apartment.

His confident demeanor is impossible to ignore. The way he walks into a room and commands attention—it’s like he was born to lead. His easy smile disarms people, including me, despite my best efforts to stay aloof. And those eyes... they’re so piercing, like they can see right through my defenses.

“We’re too different,” I mutter to myself, taking a sip of wine. “He wouldn’t understand me.”

I think back to the moments when his kindness felt too intense, like when he brought me that cup of coffee and left that note. It’s these small gestures that make me feel exposed, vulnerable in ways I’m not ready to confront. His actions are genuine, but they chip away at the walls I’ve built around myself.

But even I know it’s just a convenient excuse. The real issue isn’t his wealth or confidence—it’s my fear of rejection and vulnerability.

What if he’s the complete opposite of what he’s shown me? And then I have to quit my job and change my name.

I shake my head at my own dramatics and take a sip of wine. He’s confident, he’s successful and he’s nice. He’s perfect. But that still doesn’t change anything, I just need to do better at not letting him affect me.

The next day at work, I’m determined to keep my distance. I bury myself in spreadsheets and reports, avoiding unnecessary interactions. But it's impossible to ignore the constant undercurrent of tension whenever Jarvin is nearby. I catch a glimpse of him through the glass walls of his office, my resolve wavers just a little.

Around mid-morning, I find another note on my desk. This time, it’s a simple thank you for my hard work on the Henderson project. My heart races as I read it. The bold handwriting and the thoughtful words send a rush of conflicting emotions through me.

For a moment, I hold the note in my hand, torn between keeping it and discarding it. But then I remind myself that getting involved with Jarvin would complicate everything. I crumple the note and throw it in the trash, telling myself it's for the best.

Just as I'm starting to regain my focus, Jarvin approaches my desk. His presence looms over me, demanding attention.

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