Chapter 6 — Mistaking a Group of Close Friends for a General Boss

Because... Ta Trinh had taken off his vest, leaving only a black shirt, and the sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up. With each graceful stroke of his pen, the muscles in his back clearly tense under his shirt, carrying a kind of silent but restrained strength. Not skinny, but the toned and strong physique of someone who is always strict with himself. I could even hear the sound of the shirt fabric gently brushing against his skin, a very small rustle but like electricity. If it is said that men's attractiveness also has levels, then Ta Trinh's current state is the top level of "King of Glory":

— Working to clear the mind and fruit of desire (calligraphy), but it releases hormones that make people unsteady.

Especially those hands. His right hand holds the pen, blue veins clearly curl on the back of his hand, extending to the prominent wrist joint. And the black men's string symbolizing sexual prohibition, swinging around the wrist, each time it moves, it collides, emitting a deep, vague, seductive sound. I couldn't bear it and swallowed my saliva. No wonder in the story, every female monster wants to eat Tang Monk. When biting into this piece, the flavor must be rich to every fiber. If that waist tightens, those hands grasp the bed sheet—

“Assistant Giang.”

The cold voice suddenly rang out, pulling the brakes on the sports car that was plummeting in my head at the death curve on Akina Pass. I was startled and shook my hand, sprinkled a drop of ink out to study: "Yes!" Ta Trinh still did not raise his head, his pen was still dancing like a flying dragon and phoenix, his voice was calm and cold:

“The saliva shrinks a bit. The ink in the study is enough, there is no need to add more of your body fluids.”

My face burned on the spot, the top of my head seemed to be emitting smoke:

"Boss, you misunderstood! I was just... thinking about how to write a report!"

“Oh?”

Finally, he stopped writing and turned to look at me. Not wearing glasses, her long, narrow phoenix eyes were completely naked, locking onto me, her eyes not concealing their assessment at all: Looking from my collar down to my waist. That look... It's not like a boss is looking at an employee. It's like a seasoned hunter evaluating an item that's about to go downhill.

“Write a report?” He put down his pen and conveniently pulled out a tissue to wipe his hands, "I see your eyes... as if you're thinking about whether or not you should include me in your biological map."

“D-don't dare…” I shrank back like a mouse meeting a cat.

“Come here.” He suddenly called.

I walked forward stiffly step by step.

“Help me see what this word looks like.” He pointed to the words on the paper.

I bowed my head to look - on the proclamation, four words were written in flying handwriting: Careful speech and action - Speak carefully, act seriously. This is not a word. This is clearly a talisman taped directly to my forehead!

"Very beautiful! Very well written!" I unlocked flattery mode:

“The brushstrokes are strong and sturdy, like drawing iron from silver, it's true—”

“I told you to look at this.”

Ta Trinh suddenly raised his hand, his long index finger lightly touching the edge of the paper. I looked... stunned. A box of exquisite Cantonese pastries, placed next to a glass of milk tea. The glass is also labeled full sugar, no ice. In this general manager's room filled with the smell of incense and meditation, the cup of milk tea was extremely out of place, as if someone had placed a disco ball between the Buddha statue.

“I don't eat sweets.” Ta Trinh monotonous voice, "Partner gives, but giving up is a waste."

“You handle it.”

Me: “???” Tell me to eat? Right in the general manager's office? In front of you?

"General Manager Ta, this... doesn't seem right? Working hours..."

“Assistant Giang.”

Ta Trinh leaned against the table, his long legs comfortably crossed, the line from hip to thigh clearly visible under the shirt.

“Obeying orders — is also part of the assistant's responsibilities.”

As he spoke, his beaded hand picked up the glass of milk tea, without the straw, and brought it directly to my mouth. The glass was cold and pressed against my lips.