After listening to Jonathan, Sophie mustered her courage and looked at him. "Uncle Harrington, I don't want to be your secretary. I don't want to get something for nothing, and I don't want to be whispered about by the other colleagues. I can do other work—something harder, it doesn't matter…" She faltered, "I—I—"
"Something for nothing? Who would dare point fingers at you? What are you afraid of? Young people need confidence. If others can't do it, that's because they lack both ability and that little bit of luck." Jonathan smiled warmly at Sophie and instructed his special assistant to bring her a cup of coffee.
Sophie waved her hands quickly. "That would make me arrogant. Besides, in four months university starts again, and I won't be able to continue this job." She looked at Mr. Harrington with sincere eyes.
"Is it Oxford? That would be a bit troublesome—not in London, a two-hour commute each way…" Jonathan pursed his lips, muttering to himself as he calculated.
"No, no, it's not Oxford. I didn't get the offer from Oxford." Sophie's voice carried regret; her eyes dimmed. "It's LSE—the London School of Economics, undergraduate in Economics."
Oxford had given her a conditional offer, but she needed to pass the oral interview to convert it to an unconditional one. She had prepared for that interview for so long, dreaming of the honor. But with only one hour left before the scheduled time, her mother suddenly clutched her chest, gasping for breath, coughing violently until she collapsed onto the floor. Hearing the heavy thud of her mother hitting the ground, Sophie panicked. For the first time in her life, she burst into loud sobs. With the help of their neighbor, Aunt Helen, she called an ambulance and rushed her mother to the hospital. In the chaos that followed, when she finally remembered the interview, four hours had already passed. She had missed it…
In the end, she chose LSE. Although many more prestigious universities had extended olive branches, only LSE offered her a full scholarship. After discussing it with her mother, they decided to leave Manchester. Her mother quit her stable three-year job as a kindergarten caregiver and came with her to London. Once they settled in London, they started looking for part-time jobs everywhere. Her mother took a position as a care assistant at a small-to-medium-sized nursing home; the work was similar to her kindergarten role, except the clients were now elderly, and the part-time pay was lower. Sophie herself juggled three jobs: one as a convenience-store stocker and cashier; one as a weekend bar waitress; and the last as an evening online tutor on the Tutorfair platform, mainly teaching maths and physics. She filled every minute of her schedule.
Uncle Harrington had run into her by chance as she was leaving the convenience store to wait for her mother outside the nursing home—they had agreed to meet and shop for groceries together at the supermarket. There happened to be an ultra-luxurious five-star nursing home nearby, housing only aristocrats. He mentioned he had just visited a family relative there… and then, somehow, Sophie found herself at Crown & Cipher the very next day.
"LSE—one of London's most prestigious, historic universities! What a good girl!" Jonathan chuckled warmly. "If you don't want to be my secretary, then I'll arrange for you to be the general manager's secretary. No more refusals—Uncle will get angry if you keep pushing back."
He put on a deliberately stern, non-negotiable expression. "Ned is my son; today is his first day on the job. He graduated from Oxford—if you ever have academic questions, you can ask him. As for starting university in four months, that's easy to solve. University timetables are very flexible. You can come here to work whenever you don't have classes. During internships or long school holidays, you can come too. Oh—won't it be too tiring?"
"No, no, how could it be tiring? Young people should get plenty of practice." Sophie stood up from the sofa and bowed to Jonathan. "Thank you, Uncle Harrington."
"Ha—no need to be so formal. Come, come, I'll take you to meet Ned. Starting today, you two will be working together." Jonathan stood up, leading Sophie and his special assistant to the 65th floor—the exclusive office level for the general manager.
"Ah!" Sophie suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth. Who is that? It was that arrogant, rude man again.
"Ned," Jonathan strode straight to the GM's desk. "Look here—I've brought you an assistant. From now on, you'll be working together." He pushed Sophie forward. Now the two were staring eye-to-eye, mortified.
Ned's brows knitted tightly. He shot up from the executive chair. "Dad, you can't be serious. Her—the convenience-store cashier who came to harass me this morning—and you're making her my assistant?!"
"Convenience-store cashier? Harass? You two know each other? What harassment?" Jonathan looked between them, astonished.
Sophie recounted the whole incident from start to finish. "Haha, Ned, that was your mistake! You misunderstood Sophie. All right, let's put this behind us. I'm deciding right now—Sophie will be your assistant. I was originally planning to have her work for me, but she turned down this old man, saying the young have more energy. She didn't want the job! Haha!"
Hearing Uncle Harrington's words, Sophie hurried to apologize, the explanation already on the tip of her tongue. "It's getting late—no more awkwardness, you two. Come with me to the restaurant for lunch, then you can both officially start work. This afternoon I'm playing golf with Charles. Today I'm going to beat him by several strokes…" The trio left the 65th floor and took the elevator straight to the Western restaurant on the 4th floor.
Walking behind Jonathan, Sophie kept her eyes fixed ahead, inwardly groaning: This is mortifying. Of all people, it had to be him—my direct boss. Two terrible encounters in a row—this is the start of some clichéd drama. Please, no more plot twists. I'm not into domineering-CEO types at all! I like sunny, handsome, warm guys… That other young man who came in that day wasn't bad, hehe! What a chaotic morning. Tonight I must get Mum to add an extra slice of cake to sweeten things up.
Ned, by contrast, appeared perfectly composed—no inner monologue betrayed him. From childhood, his upbringing had trained him to remain unruffled by anything, never to show joy or anger on his face. But for the girl beside him—so expressive, so unpretentious, so vividly different—he was beginning to feel curious. After all, upper-class girls matured early; they learned to scheme almost before they could walk. Their facial expressions and speech were all stamped from the same polished template: hypocrisy was just the first step, and beneath the glossy surface lay nothing but calculation and greed.