﹒⟢ STARRING—ceo!jeno, fem!reader, co-worker!haechan, friend!yunjin, friend!ryujin, friend!jungwoo, co-worker!doyoung, friend!mark, co-worker!nayeon, co-worker!jaemin
﹒⟢ GENRE—modern!au, work!au, fluff, drabble
﹒⟢ CAUTION—profanity, nsfw
⤷ MUSIC: best lover — BIBI
cotton candy — LOOSSEMBLE
𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 . ݁₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ . ݁₊ ⊹ 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 . ݁₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ . ݁₊ ⊹ 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 . ݁₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ . ݁
YOU twirl your phone around your fingers, lying with your head pressed softly into the pillow, eyes fixated on the message jeno sent you last night.
no smiley face. no punctuation. just three words, sharp and commanding—like everything else about him.
you let out a groan, dragging your hands down your face. what kind of boss texts like that? worse, what kind of man you’ve already slept with once gets to be your boss now?
still, you can’t deny the way your stomach twists, half nerves, half something you don’t even want to name.
by the time you’ve dressed in your most professional fit—silk blouse, fitted skirt, blazer sharp enough to slice—you’re rehearsing lines in the mirror.
“yes, i’ll get right on that, mr. lee.”
absolutely not: “remember that night, mr. lee?”
you shake the thought out of your head and grab your bag.
the drive to the office feels quicker than yesterday, but your pulse only quickens as you step into the building again. the receptionist, seulgi, gives you a knowing smile. “good luck,” she says sweetly, like she knows you’ll need it.
you mutter a thanks and head toward the office, each step making your heels echo louder against the marble floor.
jeno’s door is cracked open. you push it slightly, peeking in, and there he is. navy tie, crisp shirt, silver hair catching the morning light. head bent over a folder, pen in hand.
“you’re late,” he says, without even glancing up.
your brows knit. “it’s 6:58.”
finally, his eyes lift to yours. slow, deliberate. his gaze trails from your heels up to your face, and he smirks like you just proved his point for him.
you open your mouth to argue, but he’s already standing, walking over to you in that maddeningly calm way. before you can stop him, his fingers brush against your collarbone as he adjusts your blazer, tugging it into place like it belongs to him.
your breath catches, but you don’t move.
“better,” he says, almost to himself, before stepping back. “don’t make me repeat myself next time.”
your jaw tightens, but all you manage is, “yes, mr. lee.”
jeno chuckles, low and satisfied, before returning to his desk. “good girl. now, let’s see if you can keep up.” he pushes a stack of files toward you without another word.
you stare at them, then back at him.
day one, and you already know this is going to be hell. the kind of hell you might secretly like.
you eye the stack of files on his desk like they’re your sworn enemy. contracts, reports, proposals—you can already tell. it looks like something meant for a whole team, not one brand-new intern who barely got through the door this morning.
“start with these,” jeno says smoothly, sipping his coffee like he hasn’t just handed you a death sentence. “highlight everything that doesn’t make sense. i’ll check your notes later.”
you blink. “you want me to read all of these? today?”
he doesn’t even look up. “was i unclear?”
you grit your teeth. “no, mr. lee.”
for the next hour, you sit across from him at a smaller desk in the corner of his office, drowning in paperwork while he makes calls in that low, commanding tone that fills the room. every so often, you catch him watching you—just a flicker of silver eyes when you tuck hair behind your ear, or bite your lip in concentration.
you try to ignore it. but you fail, miserably.
by midday, you’ve sat in on two meetings. you take notes as fast as your hand will allow, but mostly you’re distracted by the way jeno commands the room. calm. precise. never raising his voice, yet somehow everyone listens. you’re almost impressed—until he leans over mid-discussion to murmur, “fix your pen grip, you’re holding it like a child.”
you choke on air, cheeks heating, and he grins before returning to business like nothing happened.
the rest of the day is more of the same. calls, meetings, paperwork. you run files to other departments, get coffee (black, two sugars, extra hot), and somehow find yourself adjusting faster than you thought. still, by the time six o’clock rolls around, your head is pounding and your legs ache from those damn heels.
jeno dismisses you with nothing more than a casual, “don’t be late tomorrow.”
you don’t even dignify him with a reply—you just grab your bag and bolt.
the moment you sink into the driver’s seat of your ford, relief washes over you. exhaustion presses heavy on your bones, and all you want is a shower, food, and sleep.
your thumb hovers over decline, but you hesitate and swipe accept instead. “hello?”
his voice is smooth, annoyingly calm. “there’s a company dinner tonight. you should come.”
you pinch the bridge of your nose. “i’m so exhausted—”
“great, i’ll see you there.”
the line clicks dead before you can protest.
your screen lights up again—this time with a text. a pinned location. a five-star restaurant downtown.
you let out a long sigh, forehead dropping against the steering wheel.
day one, and already he’s dragging you into his orbit again.
by the time you make it back to your apartment, every nerve in your body is screaming at you to collapse face-first into bed. you toss your birkin onto the couch, peel off your blazer, and beeline for the shower.
the hot water works like a miracle. it melts away the ache in your muscles, rinses off the stress of the day, and when you finally step out, steam clinging to your skin, you almost feel human again.
you wrap yourself in a robe and pace your closet, gnawing your lip as you scroll back to jeno’s message. five-star restaurant. company dinner. half of you wants to ignore it, the other half knows he’ll make tomorrow a living hell if you don’t show.
so you compromise—if you’re going to drag yourself out again, you’ll at least look good doing it.
you slip into a sleek black dress that hugs your figure in all the right ways, a little more daring than you’d usually wear, but something tells you jeno deserves the headache. your heels click as you move back and forth, layering gold jewelry, styling your hair until it falls effortlessly, and sweeping just enough makeup across your face to bring everything together.
when you finally grab your bag and catch your reflection in the mirror, you allow yourself a small smirk. you looked gorgeous. untouchable. exactly the energy you need to walk into a room with him.
the restaurant is buzzing when you arrive, fifteen minutes late. soft jazz hums from the speakers, waiters float between tables carrying glasses of champagne, and every head seems to turn when you step through the door.
jeno’s head is the first.
he’s already seated at the long polished table near the center, navy tie loosened around his neck, wine glass in hand. his expression doesn’t falter—cool, unreadable—but his eyes follow you all the way to the table.
“so nice of you to finally join us,” he murmurs as you slide into the empty seat beside him. his tone is laced with something—mockery, maybe, but you catch the flicker of his gaze as it drags over your dress before he looks away.
“sorry,” you say sweetly, reaching for the menu. “some of us actually needed to shower after working all day.”
you hear someone snicker across the table—your coworker haechan, probably.
“shower or not,” jungwoo chimes in smoothly from two seats down, “you look really good tonight. seriously—are we sure you’re an intern? feels like you should be the face of the company.”
your cheeks warm despite yourself, and you laugh lightly. “thanks. i’ll take that as a compliment.”
jeno’s glass hits the table a little too sharply. “her position is already decided,” he says flatly, cutting his eyes at jungwoo. “she’s here to work. not be the face of anything.”
jungwoo just grins, unbothered. “work and beauty aren’t mutually exclusive.”
you nearly choke on your water at the tension.
jeno leans back in his chair, arm brushing against the back of yours, his voice low enough that only you catch it. “don’t entertain him.”
you blink at him, lips parting. “excuse me?”
“you heard me,” he mutters, eyes trained on his plate though his jaw is tight. “you’re mine to deal with.”
your pulse skips. heat creeps up your neck—not entirely from embarrassment.
jaemin cracks a joke to break the moment, yunjin and ryujin dive into their own conversation, and doyoung raises a glass to toast something about new beginnings. the group laughs, the atmosphere loosens, but jeno never once removes his arm from behind your chair.
jungwoo suddenly tilts his head at you, his smile charming in a way that makes you a little nervous. “so, y/n, what do you do for fun? hobbies? besides… you know, filing contracts all day.”
you laugh softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “hm… mostly reading, sometimes sketching when i actually have time.”
jungwoo’s eyes light up. “no way, i sketch too. maybe we should compare sometime—”
jeno’s arm shifts behind you, the edge of his fingers brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. “she won’t have time for that,” he cuts in, voice cool. “her schedule’s already full.”
you whip your head toward him, brows knitting. “jeno—”
“mr. lee,” he corrects smoothly, taking another sip of his wine without sparing you a glance.
you force a smile back at jungwoo, trying not to let your irritation show. “maybe i’ll find time anyway.”
jeno’s glass sets down again, heavier this time. “doubt it.”
your jaw tightens. “what the fuck is your problem?” you whisper sharply under your breath, leaning slightly toward him.
he finally turns to look at you then, and his smirk is infuriating. “just keeping my intern in check. that’s my job, isn’t it?”
you let out a humorless laugh. “funny. because it feels a lot more like babysitting rather than managing.”
mark, who’s unfortunately close enough to overhear, nearly chokes on his drink. haechan starts wheezing, and even nayeon hides a smile behind her champagne glass.
jeno’s eyes narrow just a fraction, but then he leans in closer, voice dropping so low only you can hear. “careful. you don’t want me to actually start treating you like a brat.”
your breath catches—whether from anger or something else, you’re not sure.
you straighten up, biting back a retort, and plaster on your brightest smile for jungwoo. “so. you were saying about sketching?”
jungwoo chuckles, clearly entertained by the silent sparring match happening right beside him.
jeno doesn’t interrupt this time. he just sits back, jaw tight, one hand draped behind your chair like you’ve already been claimed.
the table is buzzing with chatter, laughter spilling over glasses of red wine and plates of half-eaten appetizers. you can still feel the weight of jeno’s arm stretched lazily behind your chair, not quite touching you but close enough to make your skin tingle. it’s infuriating—he’s been half-ignoring you, half-staking a claim on you all night.
“okay, serious question,” haechan says, leaning forward like he’s about to deliver a groundbreaking theory. “if you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”
“pizza,” mark says immediately.
“boring,” ryujin cuts in, rolling her eyes. “at least pick something creative.”
“cream cheese bread,” doyoung answers calmly, swirling the wine in his glass like he’s been waiting all evening for someone to ask him that exact question.
“iced americano,” yunjin adds with a laugh, and half the table groans.
the conversation spirals from there, everyone tossing in their favorites, debating sauces versus sides, while you sip your drink quietly, feeling a little more comfortable now that the attention isn’t squarely on you.
jungwoo leans closer, lowering his voice so only you hear, “you didn’t answer. what about you?”
you hum, tilting your head in thought. “probably… pasta. simple, but you can never really get tired of it.”
“ah, classic.” his smile widens, and there’s a spark in his eyes. “you’ll have to sketch it for me sometime. you know, since you mentioned drawing earlier.”
jeno’s hand twitches against the back of your chair.
jungwoo’s grin only deepens when he notices your hesitation. “actually—” he pulls out his phone, screen lighting up the table, “why don’t i get your number? then you can send me one of your sketches and i’ll send you mine.”
the table quiets just a little at his boldness. jaemin whistles under his breath.
jeno’s arm finally drops, his hand brushing deliberately against your shoulder as he leans forward. “she’s not here to network,” he says smoothly, his voice edged with steel. “she’s here as my intern.”
you blink at him. “jeno—”
“mr. lee,” he corrects again, his eyes flashing at you before flicking back to jungwoo. “and my intern doesn’t give out her number to just anyone.”
jungwoo raises his brows, amused. “just anyone? i thought i was your friend.”
jeno’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “friends don’t mix business with pleasure.”
the words hang heavy between the three of you, sharp enough that even haechan stops mid-joke.
your chest tightens with irritation. you grab your wine glass, taking a long sip before setting it down with a soft clink. “i can actually speak for myself, you know.”
jeno turns his head slowly toward you, his smirk infuriatingly calm. “can you?”
heat rushes to your cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from sheer frustration. you force a tight smile, ignoring him completely as you look at jungwoo. “maybe later. we’ll see.”
jungwoo just chuckles, clearly entertained, before leaning back in his chair.
jeno doesn’t say another word, but you feel his hand slide beneath the tablecloth, his fingers brushing against your thigh under the table, a warning disguised as casual contact.
you shift in your seat, trying to brush him off without drawing attention, but he doesn’t move.
instead, he leans back in his chair, voice smooth as he joins the group conversation again—like nothing’s happening beneath the tablecloth.
“yunjin, you’re seriously telling me you’d survive the rest of your life on iced americanos?” jeno says, lips twitching into a grin. “that’s not even food.”
everyone laughs, and you force a polite smile, though you can barely focus. his hand is still there, casual yet deliberate, like he’s testing how far he can push you.
“at least it’s consistent,” yunjin shoots back.
“more consistent than mark’s love life,” haechan chimes in, sending the table into chaos.
mark groans. “dude, no one asked you.”
the laughter swells again, and for a moment you almost relax—until jungwoo speaks up once more.
“so, y/n,” jungwoo says, leaning on his elbow with that same easy smile. “if pasta’s your comfort food, maybe i should take you to my favorite spot sometime . . . it’s the best pasta in seoul.”
jeno’s fingers tighten against your thigh, his smirk fading as his jaw clenches.
“or maybe not,” jungwoo adds teasingly, “since apparently i need ceo approval for that too.”
the jab lands, and everyone at the table ooo’s in unison, feeding off the tension. haechan even mutters, “someone’s gonna get punched tonight.”
your face heats. you slam your napkin onto the table and push your chair back, the screech of metal against tile silencing the whole group.
“you know what?” your voice comes out sharper than you intended. “i don’t need this right now.”
jeno’s eyes widen, just slightly, but he doesn’t move.
you snatch your bag, ignoring the way everyone stares as you stand. “thanks for dinner,” you bite out, though your gratitude is directed more at the food than at him.
without waiting for a response, you spin on your heel and storm toward the door, your heels clicking angrily against the floor.
behind you, you can hear haechan whispering, “damn, she’s a badass,” before someone—probably doyoung—hisses at him to shut up.
but you don’t look back. not once.
the night air outside is sharp against your skin as you step onto the street, your chest heaving. you don’t even know where you’re going—you just need to get away. away from him, away from the suffocating tension, away from the way his touch made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.
your phone buzzes in your hand before you’ve even flagged a cab.
you hit decline, jaw tight.
seconds later, it buzzes again. a text this time.
you scoff, shoving the phone into your bag and walking faster—ignoring the stares from pedestrians.
your bag bounces against your hip as your heels click faster against the pavement. the cool night air does nothing to calm the heat burning through your chest.
just as you reach your car, a shadow falls across the sidewalk.
you freeze, your stomach twisting. he’s there. jeno. navy suit jacket slightly unbuttoned, tie loosened, hair falling perfectly even though he’s been in that same restaurant. his presence is impossible to ignore—dominant, magnetic, infuriating.
“jeno—” you start, exasperated, but he cuts you off with a raised hand.
“don’t start. i followed you.”
“why?” you snap, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way your pulse spikes.
his lips curl into that smirk you’ve learned to hate. “because i don’t like watching you walk away.”
you step around him, but he moves, closing the space. he’s too fast, too precise, and suddenly the street feels too small for the both of you.
“you can’t just… follow me,” you hiss, finally spinning to face him. “this is ridiculous.”
“ridiculous?” he echoes, voice low, almost teasing. his thumb brushes against your jaw lightly, tilting your face up. “i think this is the most honest thing i’ve done all night.”
your heart is hammering in your chest, a mix of fury and something else you refuse to name. “honest? it’s… possessive, that’s what it is.” you pause, catching your breath, fingers tightening on your bag. “we slept with each other once. that… that doesn’t give you the right to—”
he chuckles, low and dark, eyes glinting with amusement. “once? and yet, somehow, you’re still standing here. i’d say that counts for something.”
you roll your eyes, trying to shove past him again, but he grabs your hand—not roughly, just enough to stop you. “don’t run from me,” he says, thumb brushing your knuckles. “i told you at dinner—you’re not giving your number to anyone else. and i meant it.”
you yank your hand back, hands on your hips, cheeks heating. “i don’t need you babysitting me!”
“oh, i’m not babysitting,” he murmurs, stepping closer so that his chest nearly brushes yours. “i’m… claiming.”
your mouth drops open, but before you can respond, he tilts his head, eyes sparkling with amusement. “and yes, that includes keeping jungwoo’s hands—and everyone else’s—off you.”
you groan, exasperated and flustered, and shove at his chest lightly. “you are impossible.”
his smirk softens just a fraction, eyes warming.
you groan again, exasperation mixing with the heat crawling up your spine. “i hate you so fucking much.”
he leans in, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, voice dropping. “oh… i don’t think you hate me. not really.”
and just like that, the street fades away. it’s just the two of you, standing in the night, tense and too close.
your phone buzzes again—probably another message from work, another reminder of reality—but for a heartbeat, neither of you cares.
until finally, you rip your gaze from him, shove your hands into your bag, and mutter, “get out of my way, jeno.”
jeno doesn’t move immediately. he just watches you, smirk lingering, like he already knows he’ll see you again. and maybe, just maybe, he wants you to.