2 Six Years Later

"Secretary Andrew," a stern and low voice in Andrew's Bluetooth earpiece interrupted his inner monologue. "Give me an update now."

His hands gripped the steering wheel with such friction the leather made noise against his skin. The van he drove overtook slow moving cars with ease, but the journalist and media people inside the van didn't think so.

"Sir Allen," he replied, calmly. "I've got the media and the shovel. Is the team with you? Good. Please put me on speaker phone."

"Andrew!" A group of panicked voices called out to him from the other side of the call. "Tell us what to do."

Andrew didn't watch all those Fast and the Furious Movies for nothing. He drifted the van on a sharp corner as the passengers were flung to the side by gravity. The wheels skidded on the asphalt and horns were blared in the freeway. With confidence, he shot rapid-fire instructions to the team, but not forgetting to check on the mirror if his passengers were alright. They gave him a shaky thumbs-up. He finished off his instructions until only one voice remained: Sir Allen's. "Secretary Andrew," he said. "I'll hold-off all the executives as long as I can. Make sure when I open that door to the construction lot, the media will be there. Understood?"

"I got this, Sir Allen." And Andrew will stop time while he was at it, loser boss. Andrew stepped on the gas and the van drove off, until they finally reached an empty construction lot. There was a small bare building off the distance and a small stage set up on the center of the lot. Andrew got off the van, slid open the passenger door, and guided a huge group of windswept medias out from the passenger seats and into a cordoned-off portion of the empty lot. Around a pathetic, but symbolic mound of dug-up dirt.

Just in time the door of the building burst wide open and a train of high-profile individuals streamed out from the building. They made their way towards stage, flashing wide grins to the media. He could pick out his teammates scurrying around. While some made conversation with the audience.

"Fucking baked mac," he cursed under his breath. He forgot the shovel. He turned around and dashed towards the haphazardly parked van on the side of the road. He grabbed the shovel—damn, it was heavy—and dashed back. But how would he stab this thing on the mound of dirt without getting noticed by the mob of media he set up?

A round of applause stole Andrew's attention for a moment. He glanced at the subject of all the clapping. A well-groomed man, in a corporate attire, was walking up on the stage. Sir Allen's entire being just screamed 'Successful son of a successful mogul'. He stood on the podium and began his spiel.

Andrew stepped away from the crowd and did a small wave of the shovel. Sir Allen immediately locked eyes with Andrew's. Kind of creepy but super convenient. He nodded his head towards the mound. There was a sign of recognition on Sir Allen's fiery dead eyes.

"I have three simple words for the Philippine's first eco-breathing tower." Sir Allen raised three fingers.

"First, clean." He curled one finger down.

"Beautiful." He curled the second finger.

"And, sky-high." He curled his third finger and made a grand gesture to the sky. Everybody craned their heads to admire the empty sky with new-found valor. And while everyone was distracted, Andrew sprinted from his spot and shoved the shovel into the mound. He sped out just in time when Sir Allen announced to start the ceremonial first dig.

Bright lights flashed for the group of executives circled around a mound of dirt. and the poker-faced Sir Allen curled his lips a little for the cameras.

Despite the setback, Andrew considered the event a roaring success. And his mind wondered how good it would feel if he slapped his resignation letter across Sir Allen's face at this exact moment. He sighed. He couldn't quit just yet. But a little more savings and he's well on his way to freedom.

But of course, Andrew and his boss were back in their office. Where the team received a barrage of rage-filled sermon from Sir Allen. Someone even sniffled. "I expect nothing less than perfect from this team," he snapped at them. "Giving the wrong address is an intern level mistake. I do not want to—stop sniffling—I do not want to hear any more goddamned excuses. And this mistake shall be your last. Now everybody get away from my sight."

That's what he said, yet he was the first to leave with Andrew close behind him, and the faint 'sorry' of the team echoing in their private office space. Just for a moment, Andrew turned around and flicked a black card from his coat. He grinned and winked at his shocked teammates. They buried their smiles and shuffled back to their desks. He hid the card back in his coat just as quick as took it out.

He glanced at his own desk. His eyes gravitated to the new yellow note posted on his stationaries. Good work, today. Honestly, those little notes of encouragement from his team would always make his day. Though he didn't who exactly from the team it always was. It was always in a different handwriting.

He hurried forward to the executive elevator and keyed-in the code to open it. Once they got inside, silence blanketed the two. Someone should really install some music in this joint, a Shakira song once in while should be nice. Just to lift the mood. Maybe a ringtone. Anyway, the elevator doors slid opened, and they headed for the lobby entrance. Employees scurried away like players jumping out of a speeding dodgeball, lest they incur the glare of Sir Allen.

Andrew pushed the lobby doors, and a sleek black car was flaunted in the front driveway. A suited man stood by the back door, then opened it to let Sir Allen in. Once inside, the tinted window slid down to reveal Sir Allen's resting bitch face. He asked, without looking at Andrew like the asshole he was, "Are you certain you wouldn't like to join us for dinner? I'm sure my parents would be thrilled to put a face to the mysterious secretary Andrew after all these years. Especially after this project."

Sir Allen had a beautiful face paired with an intellectual mind. If some other rich and motivated guy invited Andrew to meet their parents, he would have done so in a heartbeat.

Andrew flashed his signature courteous grin. "I'd like to remain a mystery for just a little while, Sir Allen." Andrew put in a small chuckle for good measure. "Enjoy your family dinner. Please send my regards to Mr. & Ms. Lopez and Luiz."

Sir Allen nodded, primly. "Alright, enjoy your farewell party for Kris. Send him my regards. Oh, and do remind me to discuss those illegal lenders poaching our employees."

"No problem, Sir Allen. Have a good night."

And thank you for letting the team use your card.

Andrew smiled at him, then nodded at the driver. The car window slid up and the car drove out into the road. Andrew's eyes gaze lingered for a moment. Every time he waves goodbye to his boss, he wonders if it would be the last.

"Bend over and die, Sir Allen," Andrew mumbled.

Andrew turned around and saw his team along with a crowd of employees waiting for him. He grinned and threw his fists in the air.

"Devil is out and on the way to hellsville! Let's get retarded, whores!"

He was met with a resounding cheer.