"SECRETARY ANDREW!"

Sir Allen's voice booming voice rang out through the entire office floor. The whole team shriveled upon hearing his voice, especially after a long time of terror-free office. Andrew had been waiting in front of the printer that took him almost an hour to fix. Andrew addressed the bullpen of the team of seven. "Don't be afraid. The printer smells fear."

He stared as the last pages came out. He swiped it from the tray, stacked his documents, and headed to Sir Allen's office in significant strides. Sonna held out a stapler from her cubicle, which Andrew used, then tossed back. She fumbled wildly as she stretched to catch it back.

The door to Sir Allen's office burst open, and an unknown man in tears sped away from their office. There goes another one.

Andrew knocked twice on Sir Allen's office door and came in. The office was dominantly varnished dark wood. Bookshelves lined the walls, awards on display on a high glass rack in the corner, and the opposite wall was a view of the beautiful cityscape of the business hub. There was a small seating area where Sir Allen accommodated guests and held short meetings and a modest bar used by Andrew to prepare food and beverages. The owner of the office was in his seat with his head bent-down, glaring at a sea of contracts and note-worthy news. One even involved his brother, but Andrew was sure it went ignored.

Sir Allen was such a waste of oxygen in this world. Bend over and die, idiot boss.

Andrew sighed. He had told him to wear more colors in the office. Andrew marched to Sir Allen's desk and handed him the Torch Loan Business Analysis report.

"Why are you wearing so much black again?" Andrew asked as he squatted down to get a glimpse of the color of Sir Allen's slacks.

"Their dark navy," replied Sir Allen. He scanned the report as he flipped through the pages quickly.

Andrew fired off a quick summary of the report as usual. "Torch Loans is simply a loan shark with a mobile lending platform. Ian Algencia is registered as its owner, but there is no available information for this person. It's a front for some rich company that wants another income stream. Focusing on quick loans targeted for the lower brackets. I wouldn't say they're specifically targeting Lopez Co. employees...But they seem to attract a lot of employees unto their platform."

Sir Allen clicked his tongue. He eyed the lengthy list of employees who had borrowed from Torch Lending and had declared their employment under Lopez Co.

Based on Andrew's experience, the company could raise the minimum salary of rank & file employees or offer a low-interest salary loan to avoid so we can solve the root cause of this problem. But those at the top never bothered with those at the bottom.

Sir Allen exhaled through his nose. He nodded at Andrew. "Good work, Secretary Andrew."

Andrew was bewildered. He glanced over his shoulder and confirmed there was no other secretary Andrew in the room. "Did you just praise my work? Inside the office? Are you alright?"

"Yes," said Sir Allen, waving Andrew off. "I simply gave you an acknowledgment for your excellent report. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"The only acknowledgment you have ever said to me was the word, adequate."

"False. I have always seen you in a good light. Just like this report you passed, which seemed to be completed during our small break. I remember specifically asking you not to accomplish any work as we did our mission."

"Yeah, I remember you saying that, and yet you were replying to every work email, ensuring that I wasn't copied on any of it. Don't know if it's sweet or stupid."

"Did you just call me stupid?"

"Yes, why is that so hard to believe?" Andrew was about to leave when he had remembered their promise. "Sir Allen, will you be joining us for lunch?"

Sir Allen perked up. He nodded and took out a small bag from the fridge behind him. "Yes, as we've discussed, I've brought a packed lunch for today. I cooked it myself, even."

Andrew and Sir Allen headed for the pantry with their lunches. Andrew cracked the door open and peeked inside. There was the bespectacled Dennis with the funny neckties, the petite Claire with her bob cut from the '90s, and Mike. Just Mike. They were all consoling a gloomy and bare-faced Sonna.

Sir Allen, who was still hidden behind the door, had decided to also pop in his head above Andrew's to see the delay, causing Sonna's audience to freeze. Sonna waved a hand in front of them. When she got no response, she followed their frozen eyes. She turned around. Her eyes popped out. Andrew could understand their reaction. You'd also be surprised if you were happily eating your lunch and Darth Vader had decided to show up out of nowhere.

"Hey guys," greeted Andrew, stepping into the pantry with Sir Allen behind him like a tall shadow. "It's good to have lunch with you guys again after such a long time. Oh yeah, Sir Allen here will be joining us for lunch. He even packed a lunchbox and everything."

Andrew cast everyone an apologetic look as he sat down with Sir Allen beside him next to a quiet Sonna.

"Hi Sir Allen, you're not going out today?" asked Dennis, their art director.

"No Dennis. I'll be here with you for lunch." Sir Allen waved to the rest of the team: Clair, Mike, and Sonna. From his small bag, Sir Allen took out a five-layered tower of tin containers. He laid out each one in a meticulous manner, revealing scrumptious meals one after another. Its drool-inducing smell pulled out a round of growling stomachs. Andrew licked his lips, his microwaved pasta lay forgotten for the shining pork steak in front of him. His hand slowly inched towards it.

Claire peered down her salad. Then she stole a peek at Sir Allen's lunch. She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Did...Did...you cook that Sir Allen? No, it was probably your chef, right?"

"He doesn't have a chef," Andrew interjected before Sir Allen could say something scathing to the poor Claire. Sir Allen raised his eyebrow at Andrew, but Andrew ignored him.

"I prepared a lot to share with everyone," announced Sir Allen. He used two fingers to push the containers to the center of the table. Andrew acted immediately; he used a clean spoon to scoop a serving from each meal to the plates of his teammates. They were probably bat-shit afraid.

Mike, who watched the whole thing with serenity, took a scoopful and waved it below Sonna's nose. Once she got a whiff, her face reanimated. She looked around the room, sniffing.

"That smell," she said, her voice cracking. "That scent's familiar...The scent of my ex-boyfriend who played me like a toy."

She sniffed her way to Sir Allen who only looked down on her.

Sonna threw her hand in the air and howled in sorrow as threw herself to Sir Allen. Sir Allen didn't move a muscle in response as Sonna used his shoulder to cry on. Claire and Dennis gasped in horror. Mike paled.

"The same perfume," she bellowed out. "The smell of the rich!"

Sir Allen glared at Andrew and jerked his head towards the sobbing Sonna.

Andrew swallowed his laughter. He mouthed the words, "Comfort her."

Sir Allen awkwardly raised his hand. Andrew held his breath as he expected the tyrant to push her away. But instead, Sir Allen slowly patted her head. Her curls flattened with Sir Allen's gentle caress. Andrew's shoulder sagged in relief, and so did the rest of his team. Sonna took the comforting gesture to thresh out the rest of her story.

"He always asked me about my day," she exclaimed between sobs. "Hic—He, he, would always come by and pick me up. Offer to help me with my work, do some of my work for me," she mumbled the last part. "But that liar suddenly broke up with me over the phone!" Sonna has always been perky and chatty, but it usually takes a certain amount of alcohol for her to have this level of chattiness.

Sir Allen struggled to find words as his hand hovered above her head. "It's, um, alright, Sonna. I do understand why he would leave you. What? Why did you step on my foot? Alright, alright." After his little debate with Andrew, he let out a weary sigh, tapping his finger on the edge of the table. "There, there. You may cry all you want on my shoulder."

And she continued to do so. Amused, Andrew cackled, while the rest resumed their meals and started a new conversation like Sonna wasn't there. A drunk Sonna was a messy Sonna. Best ignored. Sonna lifted her head, cheeks flushed and eyes red. She cast an apology to the team.

She noticed the wet patch on Sir Allen's sleeve.

"Oh no I got you all wet," she exclaimed, flustered. She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at the mess she had caused. "This must have been expensive. I'm so sorry Sir—Is that a tattoo?" Her sobs outright stopped and transformed into shock as she stretched the wet patch of cloth to see the tattoo. Everybody else who didn't know about it homed in on Sir Allen's tattoo. Dennis, their art director, had asked its history.

"Initially, I had decided to get anything," Sir Allen answered. He ignored Sonna who kept staring at his tattoo. "But in the end, it was Andrew who had come up with the final design since I have always trusted his creativity and artistry. Andrew, I never asked how you came up with this specific design."

Andrew, who was silently devouring his lunch and stealing bits of Sir Allen's lunch, choked on a mouthful of rice because of the unexpected revelation.

After overcoming the threat to his life with pure spite and willpower and a little bit of saliva, he cleared his throat and glared at the fiends who didn't help him. He helped himself to their lunches in revenge, but upon Sir Allen's questioning eye, Andrew had no choice but to answer.

"Well getting any tattoo seemed a waste of perfectly good money, so I came up with something that will motivate you to achieve your dreams. A little encouraging symbol."

There was a small upward tick in Sir Allen's lips. "And how did you know what my dream was?"

Andrew snorted. "We've been together for six years, of course, I know what your dream is. Always asking the chefs on our business trips for tips and recipes is a dead give-away. But ultimately, it's when your cooking, I don't see the uptight boss I usually see." Andrew gave a half-shrug and resumed his meal. He glanced at his teammate's soft imploring eyes directed at Sir Allen.

A small, and rare smile on Sir Allen's otherwise delightedly surprised face appeared. "That's right," a soft murmur from Sir Allen's lips. "My dream is to cook that makes people appreciate good food."

Andrew grinned and said, "Then give me some of your lunch." He took a bunch of meat from Sir Allen's Tupperware and shoved it into his mouth. He moaned, savoring the flavors in Sir Allen's cooking. The man was like Gordon Ramsay. It thoroughly beats Andrew's money-saving lunches.

"I'd also want to be a cook if the one I was feeding was like that," murmured Sonna. Dennis elbowed her, and immediately asked, "Sir Allen, why didn't you pursue being a chef?" Claire panicked. Dennis grunted in pain. His body bent in pain as he rubbed his foot. Claire let out a too obvious laugh. She gave a dismissive wave. "You don't have to answer that Sir Allen."

Sir Allen puffed up his chest and crossed his arms. "It's alright. It's a valid question. One frequently asked between colleagues."

Ah. Did Sir Allen google how to talk to co-workers? That explains the 'I have prepared for today'' line.

"It is because I am the eldest son," replied Sir Allen with an expressionless face. "I have prepared my whole life to run the business. We might be financially wealthy, but chasing my dream was a luxury I could not afford—But do not worry," he rushed out when he noticed the crest-fallen expressions that overtook the team's faces. "I'm taking small steps in achieving my dreams. No need to worry."

Andrew sipped on his drink. If hiring your alcoholic secretary to be your fake trashy boyfriend was a small step, Andrew wondered what could be considered big steps.

The conversation pivoted into lighter topics of conversation where everyone has happily engrossed in, even though Sir Allen's expression never changed. When Sonna pointed out that they had already extended their lunch break, Sir Allen responded with: "Oh. You don't have to do any work. I'm suspending work for the rest of the day."

Dennis perked up. "Can you do that?"

"Of course, my family owns the building."

Sir Allen's humble statement was met with loud cheers. Their first weekday day-off was forever captured by a selfie involving a luxurious packed lunch, a wet sleeve, Claire's awful haircut, Sonna's sore eyes, Sir Allen's glare, and Andrew's happy smile. The first photo of their team after six years of working together. Though Sonna could only remember bits and pieces.

Later that day, by routine, the fearsome tyrant Allen could be seen marching through the main lobby, escorted by none other than his loyal secretary Andrew. Employees cowered away from his path. Their heads bent down to avoid eye contact with the owner's scowling son.

It was a usual sight. A daily occurrence for most.

What wasn't normal was the president and his wife lingering by the main entrance, waiting for their son. Andrew couldn't even form a coherent response as he was shoved out of sight and into a surprised group of employees. He regained his composure and apologized to them. They offered him pats on the back and sympathetic glances as they walked away.

Andrew was about to pop out when Mrs. Lopez's bubbly greeting to her son echoed throughout the lobby. He stuck himself on the wall as much as he could. He tried to listen in, but only caught bits and pieces of the conversation.

"Why...here...at home?"

"Alfonso..."

"Why don't we pick him up then," declared Mr. Lopez in his booming voice.

"...In the car," came Sir Allen's barely heard response.

Andrew sprinted to the elevator, politely responding to inquiries about being pushed by his boss. He took delight in describing the abuse until he reached his floor. His feet ached in protest as leather shoes were not made for marathons.

He used the five million reward as a boost of adrenaline as he darted to his desk that perpetually faced Sir Allen's room. He kicked off his leather shoes, discarded his polo, and his accessories which gave an office worker vibe. He slipped his feet into his running shoes, which gives him the freedom to maneuver during his commutes and took out his wallet, keys, phone, and a small, gift-wrapped box from his drawer.

As he tried to catch his breath, he noticed a yellow note on his desk.

Thank You was written in fine penmanship. He shook his head. Thank you for what? Bringing their boss to their lunch?

Andrew took out an inconspicuous box inside his pedestal, but when he opened it—stacks of yellow notes filled it to the brim. There were faded and new ones on top. He placed the Thank you note and hurried out of their office.

Andrew went back down and left the building through the back, so it doesn't look like he came from the building. He circled to the main entrance until he stopped by the Lopez car with Sir Allen waiting for him outside. Andrew's chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. Sir Allen covered Andrew from the employees going in and out of the office with his body.

The car window slid down and Mr. Lopez's grinning head popped out. "Hello, Andrew. Oh, that's alright catch your breath. We've already explained it Allen where we're going but let me tell you again—"

Mrs. Lopez cut him off by shoving him back to the seat and leaning forward towards the window. "We're going to have dinner!" She yelled from her seat. "Our chef is on vacation in the tropics, so this is the perfect opportunity to cook for my children."

Mr. Lopez winked at Andrew like two children hiding a secret. Andrew tried to wink back between gasping breaths and dripping beads of sweat.

"It's been so long since we've eaten together. Oh, why don't you invite Secretary Andrew?" Mrs. Lopez's face brightened.

Sir Allen pinched the bridge of his nose. "That won't be necessary, mom. He's headed home."

"Too bad," said Mr. Lopez. "It's because you keep inviting him, Allen. He's become scared. Why don't you both sit here with us? The four of us can scooch together to fit."

Andrew took a quick look at the front seat. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Lopez. I can seat in the front." Andrew ambled to the front and opened the door. He motioned to sit but paused when he caught a glimpse of Sonna across the street caught in a heated argument with a man who had his back to Andrew. It was probably Sonna's ex. It seemed to be escalating.

Andrew's hand tightened on the car door.

"Alfonso?" Sir Allen called from the back seat with an impatient drawl. "Anytime soon?"

Andrew mustered up a smile. "Yeah, let's go, Sir Allen."

When he looked back across the street. Sonna was gone.

It was probably nothing.