Now, obviously, Ian had to think things through.
He could still hear that doctor's words echoing in his mind: "You'll have to make some lifestyle adjustments. So, no alcohol, no smoking, and please, limit your intake of coffee—but really LIMIT IT."
'Limit my intake of coffee? OHOHOO, they must want to see me go feral! I can already see myself not making it to the end of the WEEK!'
As soon as he got home, he threw himself onto his bed, making weird, complaining noises. He stayed like that for less than five minutes because, even though his life had just become as complicated as a Lady Gaga choreography routine, the world wasn't just going to stop and wait for him.
He dragged himself up and looked around his room with judgy eyes. There were clothes scattered all over the place, drawers left wide open, a mountain of dishes waiting in the kitchen sink, and his desk? A complete nightmare. It was buried under piles of paperwork he didn't even have the energy to look at. They practically screamed "bureaucracy!"straight into his face.
He stared intensely at the mess with judgy eyes.
"..."
'I forgot I have work tomorrow.'
He hurried to take a shower and started trying to organize his tasks for the next day. He still had a few assignments to take care of, several meetings to attend—as well as scheduling those exact meetings—plus making a few calls, budget oversight, proofreading documents...
Just a mountain of things.
Ian started sorting through the pile of documents on his desk and sat down with a heavy sigh. "And if that wasn't enough, I still have to arrange that stupid flight... BECAUSE THAT ASSHOLE CAN'T DO ANYTHING BY HIMSELF!!!"
Ian was the personal secretary to the CEO of a new entertainment company. A huge deal, actually. But as a matter of fact, because the company had one of those rare, youthful "prodigies" as their CEO, it naturally meant Ian ended up doing absolutely all of his work for him.
"I HATE THAT IMMATURE MENACE!!!"
"Aghh, seriously, why can't he just go *** and *** himself, and then **** his **** by another ****** and end up ***** by ******* and just go to **************************?!"
...
Ian was usually a very steady and polite person. It was just that he kept everything to himself. If he seemed like a nice, refined professional from the outside, it was only because nobody could actually hear his internal monologues.
'Okay... I need to calm down. I really need to. I still have to work tomorrow, deal with that immature brat of a boss, and just get through it like any other day.'
'Yes, that's pretty much exactly what I'm going to do.'
'And then, once things are a little more calm and organized, I'll start worrying about the invader in my belly.'
'It's fine, right?'
"..."
He was asking the wind.
'...I need to call someone.'
*and after ten minutes of exaggerated gasps and excessive screams.
"WHAT??!! YOU'RE WHAT???" Clara shouted to the phone.
"STOP! REWIND AND TELL ME AGAIN!"
"I already told you, DON'T make me say it again. And also, stop screaming. I can hear you from miles away."
"Ian..." suddenly Clara adopted a more concerned tone.
"Yes, I know. It's really something I didn't plan at all."
"You didn't even know you could get pregnant! You always treated it like a thing from another world, or maybe from another reality—NOT THIS ONE."
"You know what? I don't think we should be talking about something like this over the phone." Ian emphasized with a exhausted tone.
"You're right. Tomorrow after your work, I'm going to come pick you up."
"You can just come to my house, there's no need—"
"NO, IAN. I AM GOING TO PICK YOU UP." Her voice carried the sheer determination of a hundred soldiers ready to charge into battle. "End of discussion."
"O-Okay... but just wait outside. DO NOT ENTER."
"Understood!"
Ian smiled. "See you tomorrow!"
"See you tomorrow! And hang in there, my captain!"
"Yes, bye Clara." He ended the call and dropped his arm down.
Ian sat on his bed, staring blankly out the window.
"Tomorrow is gonna be a long day..."
By the time it was morning, Ian, who tried to sleep as much as possible, woke up incredibly annoyed, feeling like murdering absolutely everyone. His body felt completely devastated, as if his muscles had collectively decided to go on strike.
He marched straight into the kitchen to prepare himself a nice, comforting cup of coffee, only to remember that he couldn't actually drink it anymore. With a face of pure disgust and heartbreak, he guiltily spilled it down the sink, feeling like he was on the verge of tears.
"T-there g-goes my dear coffee..." he whimpered, almost sniffing.
Moments later, he made his way to work. As if possessed by a whimsical witch, his entire behavior and posture shifted into a picture-perfect professional the exact second before he entered the building.
Sterling and Movies entertainment.
They managed some prominent artists and had a few films distributed to more than one country. They even represented major celebrities, like former pop stars and famous show hosts, even if they were actually just a humble company.
As Ian passed through the main entrance, employees greeted him with eyes full of deep respect and admiration. Even the security guards were incredibly friendly with him.
He swiped his badge to pass through the security gates to the main floor, navigating the hallways until he reached his level. Right outside the CEO's office sat a large, formal front desk complete with a small coffee table. This was Ian's workstation. And since a vast majority of the company's daily operations relied entirely on his capability, he was treated as a literal savior—even by his own boss.
After dropping his bag at his desk, he stood in front of the main office door and adjusted his collar before stepping inside.
"Good morning, Mr. Winston—"
He was cut off by a loud *THUD, instantly followed by a heavy weight desperately latching onto his legs.
It was a very clingy, very annoying weight.
"WAAAA, IAN!!! HELP MEEE!!!! THEY WANT ME TO ATTEND ANOTHER EVENT IN FRANCE! PLEASE TELL THEM I DON'T WANT TOOOO, AHHHHH!"
The grown man clinging to Ian's legs as if his life depended on it was none other than his boss.
Winston Sterling.
A massive guy with blond hair and blue eyes. He was an Alpha, twenty-four years old, and possessed absolutely zero concept of personal boundaries. His actual executive abilities? None. Future business projections? None. Hobbies? Watching sad dramas alone at home while sobbing into tubs of ice cream because the movies "broke his heart," which he constantly insisted they did.
Ian bit his lower lip hard, trying to suppress the violent urge to kick him across the room.
"Mr. Winston, please. Could you kindly let go of me before I kick you and personally hand you over to the Human Resources team?"
Winston immediately let go of his leg and shot him a desperate, puppy-dog look.
"You have to go," Ian said flatly. "You promised them you would definitely be there and bring gifts."
"Did I say that?"
"YES. After you got drunk with their executive team and went your merry way to a nightclub. It was almost a public scandal."
"Oohh! I remember now!" Winston said, clapping his fist into his open palm. "BUT I STILL DON'T WANNA GO!!"
"YOU. WILL." Ian deadpanned.
Winston snorted dramatically.
"But not before you accept a meeting with one of the company's main investors," Ian continued. "They've been trying to reach you since last week."
"And?..."
A visible vein throbbed on Ian's forehead. "You made me cancel it. Four times."
"Okay, okay..."
Ian was about to continue when he noticed how Winston suddenly stepped closer to him, taking him completely by surprise, as he started sniffing the air around him.
"I've been wondering since the start of the week... you smell a little different somehow..."
At that exact moment, Ian feared for his life. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His soul was preparing to wave goodbye, and his mind was about to meet Buddha.
"S-stop smelling me."
"No, but really, I swear I smell something different on you..."
Ian grabbed his CEO by the shoulder. Still biting his lower lip, he forced a rigidly polite, terrifyingly corporate smile. "Boss... don't you have work to do? Or somewhere else to be? Now that I think about it, have you actually looked at the latest proposal from the marketing team?" Ian asked, his smile straining with maximum difficulty.
"Ah! Right... I think I have to go meet with... uh... another person! What was his name? Ah, right! Timmy! I have to go see Timmy and—"
"Read the proposal, Winston. Otherwise, I am leaving you completely alone. With Human Resources."
"Okay..." Winston whined.
He slumped over to his desk, sat down, and opened the document with the most profound lack of interest Ian had ever witnessed in his life.
"It's not fair!" Winston muttered.