8:15 a.m.

She's known him since forever, but it felt like she had hated him for longer.

It was easier to grit her teeth and ignore him for most of the time, but being a slave to the tyrant meant that she would actually have to be nice to him... and for some inexplicable reason, he liked to call her in often.

Befuddling, because she remembered clearly him saying once when he was in a particularly pissy mood, that she was 'obnoxious and loud, rude and bossy'... and her face 'makes him lose his appetite'.

She had threw a stapler at his head then. It had connected, so it was satisfying.

Thus, there was no reason for him to call her in so early to see her ugly face if it threw him off his breakfast. No other reason... except it was probably to torture her. It was likely that he was gaining some sadistic pleasure by bossing her around and reducing her to a dog who only fetched stuff for her master. It figured that he would suffer her presence only if he gets to make her miserable.

“Coffee, Eunji.”

She gritted her teeth but couldn't ignore the call.

“Coming.”

He had a coffee machine in his office. It was less than ten steps from his desk. She knows this, because she had counted. He would actually call her into his office, and had her make him coffee with the machine in his office. It was utterly ridiculous and infuriating.

'Lazy .' Was an insult that she always gave him in her head whenever he called her for a coffee run. (Or was it coffee walk?)

Two usual knocks on the door and she was turning the ornate brass door handle without waiting for his permission. Who else would it be, anyways?

He didn't look up when she entered--not that he usually does. She was grateful for this, for various reasons and one of them was so he didn't see her glower and scowl; in her head, she had killed him fifty-two times.

And each time was glorious.

Walking to the coffee machine and automatically counting the steps (Seven. Seven steps), she prepared his coffee in a monotonous, routine manner. Dash of milk, five sugars--Eunji would've liked to spit in it too but there was no way she could with him in the room.

His coffee was delivered in fine, white china. There were extra sugar cubes in his saucer; the man had a sweet tooth. She had no idea why he drinks three to four cups of the stuff everyday if he doesn't even like the taste.

Probably to look even more pretentious and snobby.

“Clean this,” his eyes were still alternating scanning documents and checking his tablet, but Eunji knew what he meant perfectly well.

She gathered up the half-eaten plates of scones, croissants, and an untouched yogurt parfait—leftover of a breakfast he had barely eaten.

“Anything else?”

He waved her away without once sparing her a glance. She bowed as gracefully as she could with her hands full, and quickly left the room.

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