Day three of the bet began not with a bang, but with a grimace.
Mia was barely two sips into her lukewarm morning coffee when Kris appeared, impeccably dressed as always, folder in hand and that insufferable smirk already in place. He didn't even say hello.
"Princess," he began, using the nickname like a weapon. He dropped the heavy manila folder onto the table in front of her with a satisfying thud. "Congratulations. You've been promoted."
Mia raised an eyebrow, more out of reflex than curiosity. "To what? Your ego's personal valet?"
Kris grinned wider. "Today, you're representing me."
Mia's stomach dropped. "Representing you... where?"
"Dean Harrison just informed me of an unavoidable conflict," he said, feigning regret. "There's a critical logistical briefing for the Case Competition this afternoon. Unfortunately, it overlaps with my pre-competition interview with a very important sponsor. Non-negotiable." He opened the folder and flipped through the densely packed documents—technical diagrams, schedule matrices, and what looked like enough bureaucratic nonsense to drown in. "So, you'll be attending the briefing in my place."
Mia stared at him as if he'd just asked her to perform brain surgery. "Me? At a business logistics meeting? You're joking."
"Deadly serious." Kris's tone dropped, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's a two-hour masterclass in riveting topics like venue acoustics, catering protocols, and the inner workings of inter-university data firewalls. I trust that your deeply artistic mind will rise to the challenge."
Her jaw opened slightly, the disbelief written all over her face. "This is your revenge for the monkey drawing, isn't it?"
"I don't believe in revenge," he replied, with all the fake sincerity of a villain in a corporate rom-com. "But if I did, this would be deliciously fitting."
Before she could protest further, Kris tapped the folder with a perfectly manicured finger. "Take meticulous notes. Every detail counts. My reputation, and potentially the entire competition's execution, hinges on this. Deliver your notes to me before the rehearsal tonight."
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, utterly smug. "Welcome to the thrilling world of business logistics, Assistant."
The conference room smelled faintly of lemon-scented disinfectant and quiet despair.
Mia sat at the long U-shaped table, surrounded by student volunteers in matching polos and administrators who looked like they'd been cryogenically frozen in the mid-2000s and thawed just for this meeting. A massive screen displayed a PowerPoint titled "CASE COMPETITION 2025: OPERATIONAL FRAMEWORK & EVENT FLOW LOGISTICS."
She hadn't known it was possible to be this bored and overwhelmed at the same time.
Her pen scratched furiously across her notebook as the presenters launched into a monologue about directional signage placement and acoustic absorption coefficients in large venues. Then came an in-depth explanation of "coffee service cadence optimization," which, apparently, required coordinating six-minute intervals between table replenishments. Six minutes. Between coffee. Who thinks like that?
At some point, a spreadsheet was passed around detailing the wireless microphone rotation schedule—color-coded and cross-referenced with delegate mobility tiers. She wanted to cry.
To keep herself sane, Mia briefly entertained the idea of drawing a second monkey caricature—this time with a clipboard and a Bluetooth headset—but she knew Kris would absolutely demand to see the notebook afterward. Instead, she doodled an angry-looking espresso cup in the margins and labeled it "Emergency Caffeine Protocol."
By the ninety-minute mark, her brain felt like it had been wrung out like a wet towel. The only thing keeping her upright was the faint hope of petty victory: turning in a flawless, impossibly detailed report and watching Kris's eyebrows twitch in impressed disbelief.
That thought alone gave her just enough strength to endure the final portion: a long-winded debate over whether the refreshment tables should have black or navy-blue skirting to best represent the "pan-academic professionalism" of the event. Someone used the word "aesthetic synergy." Mia almost laughed out loud.
When it finally ended, and the attendees began gathering their materials with the collective relief of prisoners being released early, Mia sat frozen for a moment, staring at her pages upon pages of notes. Her hand ached. Her soul ached. She hadn't been this tired since she pulled an all-nighter painting James's birthday mural.
And yet... she'd done it. Thoroughly. With flair, even.
Three hours later, Kris flipped through her notebook in the rehearsal space, his mouth tightening ever so slightly as he scanned her neatly labeled diagrams, bullet points, and event timing annotations. He said nothing at first.
Mia leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, still radiating mild resentment but also pride. "Any questions, sir?"
Kris closed the notebook slowly, tapping the cover once before meeting her gaze. "You took color-coded notes."
"Used three highlighters. I expect hazard pay."
He chuckled, handing the notebook back. "You may have a future in logistics."
She scoffed. "If I ever say the phrase 'data exchange firewall' in casual conversation, you have my permission to stage an intervention."
A pause.
Then, to her surprise, Kris's expression softened. "I owe you. That was a big ask."
She shrugged, suddenly unsure what to do with his sincerity. "Yeah, well... next time, maybe skip the glitter bomb."
He grinned. "No promises."