Rozenn Eirwen woke to the blare of her alarm and the blinding realization that she hadn't dreamed it.
He really had given her cupcakes.
From that patisserie.
The one with the line that curled around the block every weekend, where people queued like it was a Beyoncé concert for the mere chance to taste a lemon custard tart. That one.
She sat up slowly in bed, blinking, half-expecting a parchment scroll to roll out beside her with the words: You are cordially invited to your own delusions. But no. Her kitchen still held the dainty white box with its gold crest logo. Empty, of course, because Tammy had eaten half of them and then apologized while licking buttercream off her index finger.
Still.
She buried her face in her hands. "I didn't hallucinate it."
Tammy's voice rang from the kitchen. "Rozz! You're not gonna believe what's trending on our floor's internal group chat."
Oh God. Rozenn yanked on a sweater and stumbled out, her dark curls wild from sleep and her face still bearing the pillowcase imprint of someone who'd been dreaming about proximity. Proximity, of all things. His proximity. The moment Mr. Evander Grey had leaned close, brushed a crumb from her blazer, and looked at her like—
"—like a man starving in a bakery," Tammy said, finishing the thought aloud with a grin as Rozenn walked in.
Rozenn groaned. "Please don't. Please."
Tammy, perched on a barstool in leopard-print pajamas, grinned into her coffee. "Lisa posted a meme. 'When your boss gives you designer cupcakes and also looks like a forbidden Renaissance oil painting'."
"Kill me."
"Oh, and someone made a bingo card: 'Grey Glances,' 'Sudden Cupcake Gifting,' 'Brooding Silence at Lunch,' and my personal favorite—'Unexplained Elevator Chemistry.'"
Rozenn turned to the toaster, hoping it would swallow her whole.
Tammy crossed her legs. "He likes you."
Rozenn's head whipped around. "What?"
"He does." Tammy sipped. "In his emotionally repressed, slow-burn, I-will-suffer-in-silence way."
Rozenn snorted. "Mr. Grey is my boss. He is a Harvard Law graduate. He doesn't 'like' me. At best, he tolerates me between existential sighs."
"He got you cupcakes."
"He got the whole office cupcakes," she tried, weakly.
Tammy raised an eyebrow. "Which only you received."
Rozenn shoved her toast in her mouth. "Coincidence."
Tammy stood and kissed her on the forehead. "Delusional."
Rozenn barely managed to swallow around her laughter and humiliation. "Get out."
But all the way to the Law Firm, she thought about the way he'd looked at her. About his hand grazing hers when he passed her the cupcake box, as if that little touch had been unintentional. She'd told herself it was a gesture of politeness. Professional courtesy. But she hadn't slept properly because of the way his thumb had brushed her wrist. That was not professional.
She swore she could still feel it.
By the time she reached the 19th floor of Grey Law Firm, her cheeks were already warmed with anticipation and residual mortification.
The elevator ride—long and awkward as always—deposited her into the hustle of morning murmurs, keyboard tapping, and the smell of brewed bitterness only law associates could produce from their Nespresso pods. The moment she stepped in, the teasing began.
"Morning, Rozenn," Kim greeted, her eyes twinkling. "Any sweet deliveries today?"
Larry coughed behind his coffee mug. "Check the reception desk—there might be chocolate truffles from 'a friend.'"
Rozenn rolled her eyes and marched to her desk. "You're all children."
Lisa called out. "Children who saw you blush harder than a Valentine's Day reject when you opened that cupcake box!"
Alan chimed in. "The office pool now has a betting category: 'Days Until Grey Cracks.'"
Onda added sweetly, "My guess is Thursday. Full moon. Heightened emotions."
Rozenn covered her face. "I hate all of you."
Soren leaned over the cubicle wall. "You'll thank us when you're co-running the firm and renaming it Grey & Eirwen."
That made the whole department erupt in scandalous glee.
The laughter died down as they settled into morning tasks, the familiar rhythm of legal briefs and calendar alerts guiding them through the hours. For a time, everything felt normal again. Until the elevator pinged around 11 a.m., and a voice that absolutely did not belong to a client or intern called out, "Where's my darling brother?"
The collective heads of the 19th floor turned.
Rozenn looked up from her monitor to see a woman striding confidently into the office like she owned the building—and possibly the city. She was tall, with a mane of dark waves, a killer navy pantsuit, and a pair of sunglasses so large and dramatic they could've filed for their own tax bracket.
"Oh no," Lisa whispered with glee. "The Queen has arrived."
"Who?" Rozenn whispered back.
"Elia Grey Sanders," Kim whispered like she was summoning a ghost. "Mr. Grey's older sister."
Rozenn blinked. "Right. He does have a sister."
Alan laughed. "Oh, she's nothing like him. Prepare yourself."
Elia swept through the office, greeting everyone like a visiting diplomat with an espresso martini in one hand and charm in the other. She stopped in front of Rozenn, pulled off her sunglasses, and tilted her head.
"You must be Rozenn."
Rozenn blinked. "Uh. Yes."
Elia broke into a slow, delighted grin. "You're adorable. No wonder he's cranky. He's been trying not to smile."
Rozenn turned a shade of red that should've been classified as a public hazard.
"Elia," a familiar baritone called from behind them. Mr. Grey.
He appeared at her side with the usual dark suit, the usual slightly rumpled tie, and the very unusual expression of someone trying not to strangle his sibling in a professional setting.
"Elia," he repeated, tighter this time.
"Oh darling," she said, air-kissing both his cheeks like they were in Monaco. "Still brooding for sport, I see."
He exhaled. "Why are you here?"
"Because I missed you," she said brightly. "And also because I was in the building. I have a meeting on the 21st floor, and I thought I'd say hi to your charming team. Who, by the way, should all come to lunch with me. Including cupcake girl."
Rozenn froze. She really had said it. Cupcake girl. In front of Mr. Grey.
His eyes flicked to Rozenn for a brief second—blank, unreadable—and then to Elia. "I have work."
She smiled, all teeth and cheek. "Of course you do. But they don't. Come on, Rozenn. Bring your coworkers. I insist."
And when Elia Grey Sanders insisted, even the firm's partners probably obeyed.
By noon, the group had migrated to a chic rooftop bistro four blocks from the firm, a place with lemon trees in pots and waiters who looked like off-duty models. Rozenn couldn't stop staring at the view—or the woman seated beside her, who'd already ordered them all sparkling water "because hydration is glamour."
Elia was chaos wrapped in couture. She told stories like she was directing a movie, complete with reenactments, accents, and sound effects. And her favorite subject?
Young Evander Grey.
"Oh you have to hear about the trench coat phase," she told Kim, who was halfway through her beet salad and crying with laughter. "He watched The Godfather once—once—and started speaking like a mob boss for a month. Wouldn't answer unless you called him Don Evander."
"Shut up," Alan wheezed. "No way."
"Oh yes. And he wore a long coat everywhere. To school. To the store. To the dentist."
Rozenn nearly choked on her lemonade.
"He also tried to make our dog an 'enforcer,'" Elia added with a grin. "Taught him to sit when people said 'capisce'."
Soren had to excuse herself from the table for air.
"Oh, and then there was the poetry period," Elia said, leaning conspiratorially toward Rozenn. "He was thirteen. Wrote love poems to a girl named Marlena and left them in her locker anonymously. Only, he accidentally dropped one in ."
Lisa shrieked. "NO."
"'Your eyes are galaxies and I am lost in orbit,'" Elia quoted dramatically. "It was printed in the school newsletter."
Rozenn clutched her stomach, laughing so hard she thought she might genuinely need legal assistance.
"He must hate you," Larry said admiringly.
"Oh, with all the fire of a thousand brooding suns," Elia said fondly. "But that's what siblings are for."
As dessert arrived—miniature pavlovas with edible flowers—Elia turned to Rozenn with a sly smile.
"I like you."
Rozenn blinked, mouth full of meringue. "Me?"
"Yes. You have that look."
"What look?"
"The look of a woman who makes a man nervous."
Rozenn flushed. "I don't—"
"You do. He's very careful with you. It's obvious. I saw it the moment I walked in. Evander is a fortress. But you? You're a locksmith."
Rozenn swallowed hard.
"I'm not saying he'll admit it. God forbid he feel anything in public. But if he ever does something stupid—and he will, he's a Grey—just remember this lunch."
"Why?"
Elia winked. "Because every great love story starts with an embarrassing cupcake."
—————————————————
Absolutely—here's the second half of the Tuesday chapter, continuing from lunch and taking us back to the firm, into a quietly electric moment between Rozenn and Mr. Grey, and finally to a hilarious debrief with Tammy. This continuation maintains the emotional depth, humor, and rich character interactions, keeping it professional yet undeniably charged.
Chapter: Tuesday – Part II (The Return, the Gaze, the Debrief)
The walk back to the office after lunch was a flurry of laughter, recounted quotes, and borderline disbelief.
"Did she really say he wore a cape?" Lisa asked for the fifth time.
"It was a trench coat," Rozenn corrected between giggles. "A mafia trench coat."
"She said he called himself Don Evander," Alan repeated. "I'm not getting over that."
Soren was typing furiously on his phone. "I'm updating the office Grey Lore archive. This is vital documentation."
Rozenn floated somewhere between secondhand embarrassment and complete adoration for a man who, if he ever found out what had been said, might self-combust on the spot. She couldn't help but wonder what Mr. Grey would do if he knew that half the department now referred to him as "Don Evander" behind his back.
She didn't have long to wonder.
The moment they stepped onto the 19th floor, everything snapped back into the firm's default state of elite legal intensity: focused, sharp, and slightly over-caffeinated.
Elia had parted ways at the elevator, blowing kisses like a Broadway star and promising a "next time" that Rozenn couldn't decide whether to look forward to or fear.
Rozenn returned to her desk, still glowing with laughter. She'd barely settled back in when she felt it—him.
She looked up.
Mr. Grey was standing by the conference room window. He wasn't looking at her, not directly, but there was something about his stance—shoulders slightly stiff, hands in his pockets—that made her skin buzz.
And then he did look. Just for a moment.
Their eyes locked.
He didn't smile. Of course not. He barely ever did in the office. But there was something in his gaze. Not annoyance. Not disapproval. Something quieter. Darker. Like he'd overheard every word at that rooftop lunch and was trying to decide whether to rewrite the firm's confidentiality clauses to cover family-related emotional damages.
She nodded, politely. Professionally. Like a model employee who definitely had not spent the last hour learning about his anonymous middle school poetry scandal.
His expression didn't change. But the silence between them thickened, heavy like velvet.
He turned away.
She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
A moment later, an email pinged.
From: Evander Grey.
To: Rozenn Eirwen.
Subject: Case Brief – 2:30 Review.
Body: Conference Room 2B. Bring the updated deposition notes. EG.
Totally normal.
Totally fine.
Except it was currently 2:17, and she hadn't updated the deposition notes because she'd been too busy laughing over the fact that Mr. Grey once trained his family dog to respond to "capisce."
She scrambled.
By 2:28, she was in the conference room, pretending to be calm. She arranged her papers, fixed her posture, and prayed her face didn't look as flushed as it felt.
The door opened precisely on time.
He entered in silence, his footsteps controlled, the air shifting the moment he walked in.
"Ms. Eirwen," he said, voice low.
"Mr. Grey."
He sat across from her, folded his hands, and began reviewing the file.
They went through the motions. It was business. It was legal precision. It was completely not a replay of the way his sister had described him composing hormonal sonnets in a janitor's closet.
She was doing fine. Holding steady. Until he said, in a clipped tone, without looking up:
"So. Lunch was eventful."
Her hand jerked. A pen clattered to the floor.
"Sorry," she muttered, bending to pick it up. "Yes. Um. Very."
He turned a page in the file, his expression unreadable. "Elia tends to dramatize."
Rozenn cleared her throat. "She's very… charismatic."
A pause.
"She likes you."
Rozenn's heart stopped.
"She said so," he added, eyes still on the paperwork. "Quite clearly. Over text. Eight times. With emojis."
Rozenn bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "She's… very expressive."
Another pause. This one longer.
Then, softly, without the armor of his usual tone, he said, "She doesn't do that. Bring people to lunch. Not unless she means something by it."
Rozenn didn't know how to respond. So she didn't.
He finally looked up.
And just like that, the air in the room shifted again. It was no longer formal. No longer clinical. His gaze lingered, flicking from her eyes to her mouth, then back—fast, but unmistakable.
"About the cupcakes," he began.
Her breath hitched.
"I hope it didn't cause you… discomfort."
She blinked. "Discomfort?"
"I realize it may have seemed… personal."
She stared at him. "It was personal."
His jaw tightened. He looked down, then back at her. "I didn't mean to make you a target of office gossip."
Rozenn leaned forward, emboldened by the thrum of something she couldn't name. "But you didn't deny it, either."
He looked at her for a long moment.
And then—barely perceptible—his lips curved. Not quite a smile. More like a fault line cracking under years of pressure.
"It's not something I regret."
Silence.
Rozenn felt her pulse in her throat, loud as a war drum.
"Good," she said softly. "Because I didn't regret eating them."
He stood suddenly, gathering the files. The room felt too small now.
"2:30 meeting," he said, voice rougher than before. "I'll send a follow-up."
He walked out without another word.
But this time, Rozenn was the one smiling.
That evening, Tammy greeted her at the apartment door like a detective waiting for the suspect to break.
"Spill."
Rozenn dropped her bag. "What?"
Tammy folded her arms. "I saw the timestamp on your location. You got back to the firm, then didn't move for a full hour. Conference room lockdown?"
"It was a review meeting," Rozenn said innocently.
Tammy narrowed her eyes. "Uh-huh. Did he confess his undying love?"
Rozenn flopped onto the couch. "Not exactly."
"Did he touch your hand again?"
"No, but—"
"Did he call you cupcake girl in front of HR?"
Rozenn burst into laughter. "Tammy, no!"
"Then what, Rozenn? What happened in that conference room?"
Rozenn looked up at the ceiling. She thought about the tension in his voice. The way he'd admitted he didn't regret it. The look.
"He said he didn't mean to make me a target for gossip."
Tammy groaned. "Classic emotionally constipated Grey."
"And that he didn't regret the cupcakes."
Tammy gasped so loud the neighbor's dog barked.
Rozenn smiled, turning her head to hide it. "Then he said nothing else. Just left."
Tammy grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. "This is better than Netflix."
Rozenn closed her eyes.
She could still feel the weight of his gaze.
And somewhere, deep in her chest, she realized something else:
She didn't regret it either.