7 SLEPT AT WORK

I decide to check on his work first. Ugh! This is... I can't think right now. It requires focus and a clear head, and I'm not ready for that. Or maybe I'll just do a little bit now and save the rest for when I feel like it.

I grab his laptop. Crap! Password? There's no way I'm going back to his office—he's the last person I want to see right now. I'll deal with it later.

I set his work aside and decide to focus on my clients instead.

"Wedding plan for Carl O'Brien and Ryan Harvoth... Wait, what?! A gay couple?!" I accidentally shout, raising my head to see everyone staring at me.

"Sorry," I mumble, quickly looking back at the papers.

Whoa, this is new. I've never seen or heard of a gay couple getting married! Then again, maybe it's because I've never paid attention to such things.

Is this going to be harder or easier? Maybe easier, because men aren't as stubborn as women, who always want ridiculous things like, "Draw our real faces on the cake," or, "We want our wedding in the clouds."

Oh, wait! I've got an idea! A rainbow-colored cake! I'm a genius. They're going to love me as their wedding planner.

I read through the documents... and the next thing I know, someone is screaming in my ears. I jolt awake, lifting my head off the desk in one swift move.

"Oh, please! You've got to be kidding me! The clients have been calling for the hundredth time now! They say they can't get through to you, and here you are, snoring like a pig?!"

Oh no. This is bad. When did I fall asleep? The last thing I remember was reading the documents. Wait... where are they? I look around but can't find them on the desk. I stand up and accidentally step on something. It's the papers—on the floor. Crap!

Mrs. Henderson walks away furiously, leaving me scrambling to pick up the scattered pages.

But I still feel someone's presence behind me, so I turn around. The sight shocks me so much that I stumble backward and hit my butt on the desk.

"G*d damn it! You scared the hell out of me, man."

"I've been waiting."

"Your laptop locked, and it needs a password. I don't know—"

"I'm giving you thirty minutes to send me that work. And when I say thirty, I mean thirty—not thirty-one. Send it even one minute late, and I'll fire you. And you know very well what will happen to your career if I throw you out of this company. Don't, even for a second, think I'll hesitate to do it."

"But I have a meeting with—"

He ignores me completely, walking away with his laptop.

I grab my laptop and realize it's going to take forever to get it ready. It's filled with movies, series, songs, games, and everything stupid!

Just as I take the papers to start entering data, my phone vibrates. It's a new number. I think about ignoring it but realize it might be the clients, so I pick up and press it against my ear with my shoulder while typing with the other hand.

"Oh! You finally pick up! Is this how you treat your clients? Like they're trash? You think we don't have other things to do? We've been waiting for over an hour! I'm not wasting any more time with your company. Cancel us—we're going somewhere else!"

What a guy! I'd have understood if it were a woman screaming like that.

"No, wait, please! Something came up, but I'll be there in a few minutes. I'm on my way, just a few more minutes. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience," I say while rushing to the elevator.

He clicks his tongue and hangs up. Is he waiting or not?

Once outside, I flag a taxi, give the location, and tell the driver to speed up. Meanwhile, I stew in anger. That so-called CEO guy... he's a heartless cricket! Does that even make sense? I don't care.

"We're here," the driver says, stopping abruptly.

"Oh, thanks." I open the door and rush out.

"Hey! You haven't paid!"

"Oh, sorry!" I pat my pockets and realize I don't have any cash on me. Maybe I can transfer money through my phone, but I don't have time to fiddle with it now.

"Give me your number. I'll transfer it."

"No! I want cash!"

"Oh, come on, man. I'm in a hurry! I promise I'll transfer it later."

"No!" he says, stepping out of the taxi.

While I'm still panicking about what to do, two men walk out of the restaurant nearby. One of them looks furious, clicking his tongue in irritation.

"You? Aren't you the one from morning, acci—" one of them starts, recognizing me, but I cut him off.

"Yes! Yes, it's me. Do me a favor—lend me some cash, and I'll transfer it to you later. I'm really in a hurry!"

"How much?"

I tell him the amount, and he hands it to the driver without even many questions.

"What are you doing here? I thought you worked for that company that's been playing games with us."

"It's you, isn't it? My clients?!" I ask, shocked. He doesn't look gay at all. Wait, what do I even mean by that? How does a gay person "look," anyway?

"Don't tell me you're our planner..." He frowns, eyebrows knitting together.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to be this late!"

The angrier one steps closer to me. "Your apology isn't going to work. You know what? We've already booked somewhere else. Just because my fiancé almost hit you in that small accident doesn't mean I'll change my mind. Come on, babe, let's go!"

"No, wait! Hold on. I know sorry won't fix anything, but seriously, I've been looking forward to this wedding ever since I was assigned to you as my clients. I've even brainstormed a few ideas. They're just suggestions—it's not like I'm dictating what you should do. For instance, I was thinking of a rainbow cake. What do you think?"

His face softens a little at the mention of the idea. Whoa, I'm a genius, aren't I?

"Not bad. Let's go back, then," he says, taking his fiancé's hand and walking back into the restaurant.