Leonard Zhang had many talents—charming people, closing deals with a smile that could disarm a room, and annoying his younger brother, Ryan, a pastime he considered both an art and a public service. But being an intern? That was a whole new level of performance art. He had to play the role of the bumbling, clueless assistant, and he had to sell it. Sell it like a used car salesman trying to convince someone a lemon was a vintage masterpiece, but with more charm and less rust.
Which is why, ten minutes into his first real task—sorting files, a task that should have been as simple as breathing—he managed to spill coffee all over the office printer. It wasn't just a spill; it was a caffeinated tidal wave, a dark, sticky mess that threatened to engulf the entire machine.
"Oh, for the love of… are you actually trying to sabotage this place?" Sophia groaned, rushing over as the printer made a series of distressed beeping sounds, its screen flashing error messages like a dying robot trying to communicate its final thoughts. "Leon! What did you do? Did you mistake the printer for a self-serve coffee station?"
"I was just… trying to make it work," Leonard said, looking utterly unperturbed, like he was explaining why he accidentally launched a paper airplane into the CEO's fish tank. He held up an empty coffee cup, as if it was Exhibit A in his defense. "Turns out, printers and caffeine have a rather… volatile relationship. Who knew?"
Sophia closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, resisting the urge to strangle him with a roll of tape. "You are an absolute disaster. A walking, talking, coffee-spilling, document-destroying disaster."
"I prefer 'work in progress,'" he said with a grin that could charm the stripes off a particularly stubborn zebra. "A masterpiece in the making, a chaotic symphony of office supplies, if you will."
The disasters kept coming, like a poorly choreographed circus act. By lunchtime, Leonard had:
* Filed half the documents in the wrong folders, mixing up hotel maintenance reports with VIP guest complaints. It was like a chaotic game of paperwork Jenga, where the slightest wrong move could cause the entire system to collapse. He had even managed to file a complaint about a leaky faucet in the "Top Secret VIP Client Files" folder.
* Called a customer by the wrong name—twice. "Sorry, Mr. Johnson… or was it Mr. Jamieson? My apologies, Mr. Jam… uh… Smith?" He had even tried to recover by claiming he was testing the customer's memory.
* Nearly got stuck in a revolving door while carrying a stack of brochures, like a giraffe trying to do the limbo. It was a slow-motion disaster, with brochures flying everywhere like confetti at a very disorganized parade.
Sophia was reaching her limit, which was apparently as thin as a single strand of hair. She felt like she was trapped in some bizarre office-themed comedy, but she wasn't laughing.
"You are doing this on purpose," she accused, arms crossed, glaring at him like he had just insulted her favorite potted plant. "No one is this incompetent. Not even a squirrel trying to file taxes during an earthquake."
Leonard looked up from the document he was pretending to read, his expression a picture of wide-eyed innocence. "You wound me, boss. I'm really trying. I'm trying to embrace my inner chaos. It's a journey, you know."
"You are really trying—trying my patience," she shot back, her voice dangerously low, like a volcano about to erupt. "If you're not going to take this seriously, just quit now. Save us both the agony. I have a headache that feels like a tiny marching band is playing in my skull."
Leonard's playful expression shifted, like a mask slipping to reveal the face beneath. For a moment, the air between them changed, charged with an unspoken tension, a silent question hanging in the air.
"I may not be the perfect intern, but I don't quit," he said smoothly, his voice low and serious, a hint of steel beneath the playful facade. "Not when things get hard. And definitely not because someone underestimates me. I have a point to prove, and I intend to see it through."
Sophia blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. She had expected him to brush it off, to joke his way out of it like always. But there was something sharp in his tone, something that made her hesitate, made her wonder who he really was. Who is this guy? And why does he keep surprising me?
Before she could respond, he smiled again, the moment gone, replaced by his usual playful grin. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more documents to misfile. It's a delicate art, you know. A true test of organizational… disorganization."
Sophia groaned, rubbing her temples, feeling a headache trying to stage a full-scale invasion of her brain. This man was going to be the death of her, or at least the death of her sanity. She just hoped she had enough aspirin to survive the day. And maybe a very large cup of coffee. (Which she would keep far from the printer.)