Chapter 7: Who Asked You to Play Secretary?

Ivy quirked an eyebrow at the receptionist, a playful skepticism painting her face. "Is your CEO really as remarkable as you make him out to be?" "Absolutely!" The receptionist's eyes, brimming with adoration, almost spilled over with emotion, sending a shiver of goosebumps across Ivy's skin. The mention of Cecil seemed to inject the receptionist with a dose of adrenaline, but Ivy, in a flurry, interrupted, "We've arrived." "Eh?" The receptionist blinked in confusion, then turned to realize they were at the CEO's office door, quickly regaining her composure. "Ms. Ashford, please, go ahead." It must be said, despite the receptionist's somewhat lovesick demeanor, when she got down to business, she was quite the professional. The receptionist delicately tapped thrice on the door, and only upon hearing a terse "Enter," did she gesture towards Ivy with her eyes before making her exit. Ivy observed the receptionist's departing figure before pushing the door open and stepping inside. The man seated before the desk was clad even more formally than at their first encounter, his aura of authority undiminished. Ivy instinctively stood a tad straighter. "I believe the resume I submitted was for a position in design modeling," Ivy stated, cutting straight to the chase without any desire to beat around the bush. Cecil, hearing her voice, glanced up briefly before returning his gaze downward. Just as Ivy was about to repeat herself, a crisp sound cut through the silence. Keys? Ivy tilted her head, momentarily distracted by the object Cecil had just placed on the desk, forgetting her initial inquiry. "Your new home," Cecil finally looked up from his work, pen set aside, arms crossed as he watched Ivy. At his words, Ivy paused, a blush creeping up her cheeks, "You had someone follow me?" "Would you have your employer crane their neck to look up at you?" Cecil countered, nodding towards a chair with his chin, "Sit." Ivy felt as if her punch had landed in cotton—furious but unable to vent. "Sitting down doesn't change the fact you had me followed," Ivy retorted, pulling up a chair and seating herself with composed grace. Cecil toyed with his pen, his gaze circling Ivy before speaking in a calm tone, "It was protection." ... "Hooligan," Ivy said, though she quickly added, "No need, those people aren't capable of forcing me out." Though she had moved out of The Ashford, after cooling down, she decided not to let Tristan off so easily and planned to move back after work. Cecil's smile betrayed his anticipation, yet he casually tossed the keys into Ivy's lap, "Keep them, lest your grandfather reproaches me for not caring about you." Ivy's fingertips brushed against the cold metal of the keys, her touch gentle as she mockingly pursed her lips at the man before her. Grandfather, always the grandfather. It was hard to believe that her adorable granddaughter was left here while he gallivanted abroad. This was not something she could easily be soothed over. Yet, Ivy silently pocketed the keys—freebies were not to be declined, considering them a conciliatory gesture from her grandfather. "Alright, you may begin your work," Cecil indicated, making a dismissive gesture as if to send her away, prompting Ivy to remember her initial question. "Why am I to act as a secretary?" Ivy's gaze filled with complexity, directed at Cecil. After all, a man who had her followed—protected—surely had no reason not to investigate her further. "I'm hardly cut out for secretarial duties," Ivy quipped, smacking her lips at Cecil in a manner that screamed, "It's not that I can't do it, it's that you're not worthy." "Who said anything about making you a secretary?" Cecil's slender fingers rhythmically tapped on the desk, a playful gaze fixed on Ivy. Ivy's eyes sparkled with realization. "Well, I'll be damned! Cecil, you sly dog, you've really outdone yourself this time!" she exclaimed, closing the distance between them in a few brisk steps. The more Ivy spoke, the more animated she became, even contemplating throwing a punch at his chest in her excitement. "Here I was, thinking you were just another business associate of my grandfather, extending me a courteous hand. But to think, you'd offer me a sinecure, complete with its own salary—just for me!" Her enthusiasm was nearly tangible, her face on the verge of splitting into a grin. "Do you even know what our company does?" Cecil knew all too well the whimsy of her thoughts. "Develop games, right?" Ivy replied, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. "And your major is?" Cecil subtly stepped back, putting some distance between them. "Design," Ivy responded, now thoroughly confused. "Then who better to be a modeler than you?" Cecil declared, smoothly grabbing a stack of documents from a nearby table and thrusting them into Ivy's arms. Feeling the hefty weight in her embrace, Ivy realized the situation was far from straightforward. "So, you're saying, masquerade as a secretary, draw a secretary's salary, but work as a modeler?" The moment Cecil nodded, Ivy wished she could wring his neck. Modelers not only had a heavier workload but also earned more than secretaries. This arrangement was clearly Cecil's way of taking advantage—outright bullying. She retracted her initial praise—far from commendable, he was just a miser at heart! "And this misdirection with the secretary title was for what exactly?" Ivy was beginning to see why this man got along so famously with her grandfather. They were wolves in sheep's clothing. "To keep you from being ostracized at the company," Cecil confessed. The Warrington Group was a coveted workplace, where many would kill to get in, let alone be the CEO's secretary—a position that could intimidate the bravest of souls. Ivy understood the logic all too well. Cecil, with his just cause, claimed to act in her best interest. After all, it's hard to slap a hand when it's presented with a smile. Anything was better than having her bank account frozen and starving to death.