No strings attached |(UNDER REVISION)

Chapter 7- Jealous

I exhaled sharply.

Fine.

If Mikha wanted to play this game, she'd find out soon enough-I wasn't the same woman she left behind.

The knock on my door came exactly five minutes later.

I didn't react. I didn't allow myself to.

"Come in," I called, my voice even, composed.

The door swung open, and there she was.

Mikha Dela Cruz.

Her white blouse was crisp, tucked neatly into high-waisted slacks that hugged her figure just right. Her hair was swept back, effortless yet polished. But it wasn't her outfit that caught my attention-it was the way she looked at me. That same playful glint in her eyes, the same confidence in her stance.

"Good morning, boss," she greeted smoothly, a teasing edge in her tone as she stepped forward and closed the door behind her.

I didn't flinch. Didn't let her see the way her presence shifted the energy in the room. Instead, I picked up a folder from my desk and pushed it toward her.

"Sit," I instructed.

Mikha arched a brow, clearly amused but complied, settling into the chair across from me.

I clasped my hands together on the desk, meeting her gaze with the same cold professionalism I gave to every other employee in this company. "Your responsibilities are straightforward. You'll handle my schedule, screen my calls, and ensure that everything in this office runs efficiently. Understood?"

Mikha hummed, flipping open the folder lazily, her fingers skimming over the papers inside. Then she glanced up, lips quirking. "So, basically, I run your life."

I narrowed my eyes. "You assist me. There's a difference."

She grinned, leaning back in her chair. "Sure. If that helps you sleep at night."

I ignored her. "I expect complete professionalism from you, Mikha. No distractions, no unnecessary conversation, and definitely no blurring of personal and professional lines."

Mikha tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to think. "Hmm. No unnecessary conversation? So, I can't ask how your morning's been? Or if you've been thinking about me since last night?"

I stiffened, but I kept my expression blank.

Mikha smirked, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk. "Because, you know, boss, I think you have."

I met her gaze head-on, refusing to waver. "Your job is to work, not to flirt, Ms. Dela Cruz."

"Flirting? Who said anything about flirting?" she mused, tilting her head. "I was just making an observation. You're the one assuming things, Ms. Navarro."

I exhaled slowly, placing both hands flat on the desk. "If you're not going to take this seriously-"

"Oh, I am," Mikha interrupted, her voice dropping slightly. "I take my job very seriously."

And then, before I could react, she reached forward, her fingers lightly brushing against mine as she slid the folder back toward herself.

It was intentional. A deliberate test.

I didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't give her the reaction she wanted.

Instead, I simply leaned back, crossed my arms, and arched a brow. "Then start acting like it."