The rich aroma of braised meatballs drifted through the air, and before she could stop herself, Hailey Tang swallowed reflexively.
Okay… maybe she was a little hungry.
Ethan noticed, and without a word, he reached over and placed one of the meatballs directly into her lunchbox. "Eat up. Official working hours don't resume until 1:30 p.m. You've got plenty of time to enjoy it slowly."
The unspoken message: Don't rush like you did yesterday.
But of course, Hailey missed the subtle jab and simply dug in with gusto.
She took a big bite and immediately melted, eyes closing in bliss. "Oh my god… this is so good!"
Ethan couldn't help but smile. Watching her eat like a happy squirrel was somehow inexplicably satisfying.
"If you like it that much," he said, his tone uncharacteristically warm, "I'll have it delivered for you every day."
Hailey stopped chewing.
"No, thanks."
He blinked. "Why not?"
"If I eat this every day, I'll get sick of it. And when that happens, I won't want to eat anything at all. I like having something to look forward to."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Fair point."
But then his gaze darkened slightly. "You don't seem to like the cafeteria food, though. I could have our housekeeper bring your meals from now on."
She shook her head again, even firmer this time.
"I never said I didn't like the cafeteria food. It's fine. And besides… I'm just an employee now. Like everyone else, I should eat what the staff eats."
He nearly laughed.
Just an employee?
She was the president's wife—the so-called "Mrs. Yu"—a title that could make half the HR department break into cold sweats. But Ethan didn't argue. If she wanted to blend in and be low-profile, he would let her.
For now.
Without a word, he picked out more of her favorite dishes and placed them into her lunchbox.
"Eat up," he said. "And once you're done, I'll teach you how to draft architectural designs."
Hailey stopped mid-bite. "No thanks."
Before she could even finish her sentence, Ethan's face darkened.
"Hailey Tang," he said with a frown, "do you have to reject everything I offer? Do you think just anyone gets the chance to learn from me? One hour with me is worth more than a month of self-study."
She looked up at him, amused. "Why are you so grumpy? I meant I don't want your food—I've already got plenty."
Ethan froze.
"Oh."
Then, slowly, with exaggerated calm, he picked up every meatball he had added to her box and moved them back to his own plate.
"Hey!" Hailey cried. "What are you doing? Those are mine!"
"You said you didn't want them," he said coolly. "So I'm taking them back."
"Give them back!" she growled, half standing.
She held her lunchbox defensively in both arms like it was some sacred treasure and even leaned away from him to protect it.
Ethan chuckled. "Okay, okay. I won't fight you over meatballs."
She gave him a look, then slowly resumed eating.
But she was still grumbling under her breath. "You said I could eat slowly. Now you're rushing me again."
After lunch, the air shifted.
Ethan Yu, billionaire CEO, cold-hearted businessman, ruthless negotiator, transformed into… a teacher.
A very strict, impatient, short-tempered teacher.
He sat beside her and opened a clean sketchpad. "Let's start with the basics," he said, and began explaining how to draft blueprints—line by line, layer by layer.
Hailey listened attentively. Or tried to.
But soon her eyebrows drew together.
"Wait," she interrupted, pointing at one of the angles he'd drawn. "Why is this part like that?"
Ethan suppressed a sigh. "I literally just explained that."
"You did?" she asked, eyes wide with innocent confusion.
"…Yes. Just five minutes ago."
"Oh," she muttered, flipping back through her notes. "I must've missed that part."
Ethan stared at her.
He was beginning to realize something crucial: Hailey Tang might be smart in many ways, but when it came to architectural theory… she was hopelessly lost.
"Let me say it again," he said, trying to stay patient. "This part needs that angle because of load distribution. It stabilizes the central axis."
"Got it," she nodded.
Five minutes later.
"But what's the theory behind this part?" she asked, tapping a new diagram.
Ethan's eye twitched.
"We went over that. Twice."
"But this looks different from the last drawing."
"The drawing is different. The principle is the same."
Hailey's face scrunched up. "But why would you draw something different if it's the same principle? That makes no sense. You should just explain it clearly from the start!"
Ethan stared at her.
He was a man who once lectured at Yale.
Who was invited to teach masterclasses in France.
Who designed some of Asia's most iconic buildings before the age of thirty.
And yet—
She thought he couldn't explain clearly?!
If his subordinates heard this, they'd probably faint from secondhand embarrassment on his behalf.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Let me break it down again," he said slowly, as if speaking to a child. "This part of the structure relies on parallel force distribution. That's why the shape looks different—it adapts to the surrounding load, not the principle itself."
"Ohhh…" Hailey's expression finally shifted. "So you're saying it's like… same math, different question?"
"…Exactly."
She looked thoughtful.
"Why didn't you just say that earlier?"
Ethan slammed his pen down.
"Because I did, Hailey."
To her credit, Hailey was trying. She leaned forward, studying the diagrams with furrowed brows, asking endless questions—some smart, others… not so much.
But something about the way she bit her lip when she concentrated, or how she refused to pretend she understood when she didn't—it tugged at something inside him.
He found himself softening.
Maybe this was why people taught. Not for the result, but for the moment when someone tried. When they wanted to grow.
And Hailey was trying to grow.
Even if she was the slowest damn student he'd ever had.
"You're not completely hopeless," he said finally, after she correctly labeled a support beam on her third try.
"Gee, thanks," she muttered sarcastically.
"But," he added, "you still have a long way to go."
She smirked. "As long as you're not charging me by the hour, I think I can afford it."