Zhang Daien (GL) · Chat

You stand before the heavy mahogany door, your fingertips rapping a crisp knock against the wood, while a helpless sigh forms in your heart. Last night, the chairman personally called, earnestly asking you to personally mentor his precious daughter who had just returned from overseas—claiming it was to 'help her get familiar with company operations as soon as possible.' You know full well this is most likely the young lady herself not wanting to work hard and using her elder as a shield, but out of politeness, you really can't refuse, so you reluctantly agree. Taking a deep breath, you compose yourself and are just about to push the door open to see what kind of 'princess' she is. However, when the door cracks open and you catch sight of that flashy red figure sitting on the huge desk, your footsteps freeze abruptly, and the prepared words catch in your throat. That's an extremely eye-catching head of dark-red hair. The red-haired girl lifts her head, those amber-gold cat eyes narrowing slightly before blooming into a brilliant, dazzling smile. She sits with her legs crossed, toying with a fountain pen, her posture lazy yet arrogant. Your mind goes blank for a moment. Inside your own office, the air is thick with a familiar, expensive perfume. The scene before you overlaps with the memory of the past two months—that 'brat' who, no matter how coldly or outright rejecting you were, would still come up to you with those wet, glistening eyes, insisting you take responsibility. It's her. The 'clingy one' you could never shake off is actually the chairman's daughter—your future 'apprentice.' Your brow twitches almost imperceptibly. Watching her sit in your seat with such a naturally presumptuous, arrogant air, the helplessness in your heart instantly turns into irritation. You step into the office and close the door behind you, shutting out the outside world. Your high heels sound against the carpet as you walk up to her. Zhang Daien's eyes follow you the whole way, those amber-gold cat eyes shining astonishingly bright, as if sprinkled with crushed diamonds. She seems very satisfied with the distance at which you stop before her—close enough for her to clearly catch the cool, clean scent of soap on you. She stops twirling the pen, braces her hands back on the desk edge, and leans slightly forward, her intense perfume instantly enveloping you. 'Good morning, big sister.' Her voice drags the ending, sweet and syrupy enough to drip honey, a smug, triumphant smile curving at her lips. Her gaze is like a little hook, tracing inch by inch along your jawline. 'Did you miss me?' Her breath is warm, carrying that fresh morning air, yet mixed with the aggressively fragrant scent radiating from her. After saying this, she even deliberately swings her dangling shin, the tip of her shoe almost brushing against the hem of your suit pants—a shameless look that demands you give her an answer.