Rozenn floated into the office like someone who had either just been kissed under a waterfall or had entered a fugue state. She wasn't sure which, but Tammy had pushed her out the door with a wink and a whispered, "Text him good morning, you coward."
She had not.
Obviously.
She had stared at her phone, typed Good morning, hope your coat survived the PowerPoint, then deleted it like the panicked semi-professional she was.
The elevator ride to the 19th floor felt unusually long, probably because she kept having mental flashes of the message:
I want to.
She hadn't imagined it. He had really said that. The version of Mr. Grey who could vaporize interns with a single look had… texted her like a man who maybe, just maybe, wanted to flirt.
The second the elevator doors opened, she was greeted with chaos.
"Rozenn!" Kim called from the kitchenette. "Morning, Mafia Princess!"
Lisa waved a manila folder like a sword. "Larry tried to order cupcakes this morning and failed miserably. Apparently, not all cupcakes are created equal."
Rozenn smiled. "Did he try to match the ones from—?"
"The Very Fancy Gift Box?" Alan called from his desk. "Yeah. He ended up with a dozen stale muffins and a dented scone. Your cupcake legacy lives on."
Rozenn dropped her bag and slid into her chair, greeted by a conspicuously warm mug of coffee already sitting there.
She blinked.
"Um. Did someone leave this?"
Soren poked her head up like a meerkat. "Not I. I'm strictly anti-caffeine before ten."
Onda shrugged. "It wasn't me. My idea of morning beverage involves protein powder and regret."
"Kim?" Rozenn turned toward her.
Kim raised her brows, looking confused. "Wasn't me. I thought you brought it."
Rozenn stared at the cup. It was her exact order. Down to the light cinnamon dusting on the foam. Only one person knew her coffee preferences that precisely—and he didn't even drink coffee himself.
Surely… no.
No.
She took a sip. Perfect. Scandalously perfect.
And it was warm. Meaning someone had dropped it off within the last five minutes.
Lisa narrowed her eyes. "Rozenn. You look… guilty."
"Do I?"
"Yes. That's the face of someone who just received a love potion disguised as caffeine."
Rozenn flushed. "It's probably from Tammy."
"Tammy doesn't know where we keep the organic cinnamon dusting," Kim muttered darkly.
Rozenn was about to respond when her screen pinged with a meeting reminder.
10:00 a.m. – Review Session With Mr Grey.
She stared. She hadn't scheduled one.
Neither had he.
At 9:57, she was standing in front of his office door, heart doing Olympic-level gymnastics. She knocked.
"Come in."
She stepped in. He was standing by the window, back turned, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a tablet. His jacket was off. His sleeves were rolled up. His tie was loose.
Rozenn's brain said: No coherent thoughts, only chaos.
"Good morning," she managed.
He turned.
And looked at her.
Really looked.
"Morning," he said, voice smooth but quiet. "Sleep well?"
It was a question so ordinary—and yet so not professional—it made her toes curl.
She nodded. "Yes sir. You?"
His lips quirked. "Eventually."
The tension in the air was thicker than a legal brief.
He gestured toward the table. "I thought we could go over the Wellington file. The client's deposition has been moved up."
She sat, pretending she hadn't imagined that smile. Or that coffee.
As they worked, Rozenn couldn't help sneaking glances at him—how easily he explained complex points, how he ran a hand through his hair when he was thinking, how his gaze flicked to hers when she made a good observation.
And then, halfway through a paragraph, he said, "Did you like the coffee?"
Her pen slipped.
She looked up. "So it was you."
He didn't answer right away. Then he gave the smallest, most devastating shrug she'd ever seen.
"I remembered your order."
Rozenn blinked. "You don't even drink coffee."
"I don't. But I do pay attention."
The room spun.
She scrambled for words, breath, reality.
"Well," she said finally. "Thank you. It was… very thoughtful."
He didn't respond immediately. Just watched her with that unreadable expression.
Then: "You looked tired yesterday."
She blinked. "I did?"
"You hid it well," he said. "But I noticed."
Another silence. Then, softly:
"I always notice."
——————————————
It was around 1:20 p.m. when Rozenn emerged from the conference room, brain half-melted from back-to-back client memos and a policy review that could qualify as medieval torture. She was halfway to the kitchenette when she heard it:
"Rozenn!"
Only one person said her name like it was a toast at a garden party.
"Elia," Rozenn gasped, spinning just in time to be engulfed in a citrus-perfumed hug.
Elia Grey Sanders looked just as fabulous as she had the day before—her coat was emerald green silk, her heels unnecessary and glorious, and her lipstick a shade called unbothered.
"What are you doing here?" Rozenn asked, trying not to sound too delighted.
"I was in the area for a brunch-slash-board-meeting," Elia said, flipping her sunglasses onto her head. "And I thought: why not pop in and see my favorite associate?"
"I'm not an associate," Rozenn said, laughing.
"You will be," Elia said ominously. "Or I'll stage a coup."
They chatted for a few minutes near the hallway, where Lisa and Alan passed by giving Rozenn knowing thumbs up, and Onda mouthed: Why is she obsessed with you? Rozenn shrugged helplessly.
Then Elia said, "I was going to grab coffee and a pastry. Want to join?"
Rozenn hesitated. "I have a meeting in thirty—"
"It's next door. Five-minute walk. Ten if I see a cat I need to photograph. Come on. My brother's not the only Grey allowed to spoil you."
Rozenn blinked. "Excuse me?"
Elia grinned. "Oh, don't look so scandalized. You think I don't know that cupcake came from him? Please."
Rozenn turned red instantly.
"Let's go," Elia said, linking arms before Rozenn could even object.
The Café, Ten Minutes Later.
It was a tiny French bakery tucked beside the building. The kind of place that made you feel instantly underdressed and deeply loved by carbohydrates.
Elia ordered three things, paid before Rozenn could reach for her wallet, and flopped into a seat like she was starring in her own lifestyle documentary.
"So," Elia said, sipping a lavender tea, "tell me about my brother."
Rozenn nearly choked on her croissant. "What?!"
"Evander," Elia said calmly. "Tall. Broody. Looks like he solves crimes in his spare time. Hasn't dated since the Obama administration. Ring any bells?"
Rozenn stared at her, half horrified.
"Look, I'm not asking for a spreadsheet," Elia said. "Just… do you like him?"
Rozenn opened her mouth. Closed it. Then said, "I think he's… extremely complicated."
Elia tilted her head. "But?"
"But I like the way he's complicated," Rozenn admitted. "Even if he terrifies me sometimes."
Elia's grin was like a sunrise. "Atta girl."
Rozenn groaned into her hands.
Back at the Office — 1:50 p.m.
They were returning just as a very familiar figure stepped out of the elevator.
Evander Grey. In a black suit, hair slightly windswept from the rooftop car park, eyes immediately zeroing in on two things:
Elia, sipping a branded coffee cup and chattering.
Rozenn, beside her, laughing—light and soft in a way she never looked in his office.
"Evander," Elia called, waving like a debutante at a yacht party.
His eyes didn't leave Rozenn as he approached.
"Didn't know you were dropping by again," he said to Elia.
"I was in the neighborhood," Elia said sweetly. "And your intern needed a snack."
"Rozenn is not my intern," Evander said evenly.
"Oh, is that so?" Elia said, throwing him a look. "You do know her coffee order, though."
Rozenn was ready to evaporate.
Evander's gaze flicked to Rozenn, unreadable. "She works hard. It's not unusual to remember details."
"That's what you're going with?" Elia teased.
Rozenn took a step back. "I—I should probably get back to—"
Evander spoke. "Rozenn."
She stopped. Looked up.
His voice was calm. But something simmered underneath.
"I'd like to see you in my office at three."
Her heart thudded.
___________________________
The air could've been cut with a letter opener.
Rozenn stood outside Mr. Grey's door at precisely 3:00 p.m. Not a minute early. Not a second late. She couldn't afford early—it would seem too eager. And late? Impossible. The man probably had internal clocks sharper than his cufflinks.
She knocked.
A pause. Then, "Come in."
She opened the door, carefully composed in her black slacks and fitted blouse, the one with the high collar she wore when she needed armor.
He was standing again—always standing when he needed to feel in control. The blinds were drawn halfway, the late afternoon sun slicing across the carpet in golden stripes. His jacket was back on. Buttoned. That was a sign. Walls up.
"You asked to see me, Mr. Grey?"
His eyes lifted. They locked on hers for a heartbeat too long.
"Yes," he said, voice low, almost reflective. "Close the door."
She did.
He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."
She sat, spine straight.
There was silence as he walked slowly behind the desk, every movement measured, his expression unreadable.
Then, casually:
"You left the building earlier this afternoon."
Rozenn blinked. "Yes. Elia invited me for a coffee. She was… persistent."
"I noticed."
She studied his face. "Was that a problem?"
His eyes met hers, sharp. "No. Of course not."
But it was. She felt it.
He adjusted his cuff. "My sister has a habit of inserting herself into people's lives like an unsolicited upgrade."
Rozenn bit back a smile. "She's charming."
"She's nosy."
Another pause. Then:
"Did she talk about me?"
Rozenn hesitated. "She told me stories."
"Stories." His tone darkened just slightly.
"Funny ones," she added quickly. "Embarrassing ones."
His jaw twitched. "Of course she did."
Rozenn folded her hands in her lap. "She also said you haven't dated since—well, a long time ago."
Mr. Grey raised an eyebrow. "And you believed her?"
"I didn't say that."
A beat.
"Do you want to believe her?"
The question hung in the air like a dropped glass.
Rozenn blinked. "I'm not sure what that means."
He stood still, watching her. Then, slowly:
"You asked me once—on Monday—if I had favorites. Do you remember that?"
Rozenn swallowed. "Yes."
He stepped around the desk, walked toward the front—close, too close—and leaned back against it, arms crossed.
"I do."
She blinked again. "You… do?"
"I just don't show it."
The air in the room shifted. Became electric.
Rozenn could barely breathe. "And is that what this is about?"
He didn't look away. "What do you think this is about?"
Her mouth was dry. "I think… you called me in here because you didn't like seeing me out with your sister."
Silence.
Then, quietly: "She flirts with everyone. It's harmless."
"That wasn't the part you disliked."
Another silence. His fingers flexed slightly against his sleeves.
He moved. Just a step. Closer.
"I didn't dislike it," he said at last. "But I noticed."
She stared up at him, heart pounding.
"You always say that," she whispered.
He leaned forward, voice low. "Because it's always true."
There was a moment where the only sound in the room was her breathing.
He was so close now. Close enough for her to feel the quiet power in his presence, the restrained emotion beneath it.
"Rozenn," he said, almost a warning.
"Yes?" Her voice was barely there.
"I shouldn't feel the way I do."
Her throat tightened. "Then why do you?"
He shook his head slightly, as if he didn't have the answer. As if it scared him to admit he didn't want one.
"Maybe," he said quietly, "because you're brilliant. Maybe because you argue with me without flinching. Maybe because you looked like a dream eating that stupid cupcake and I haven't stopped thinking about it for two days."
Rozenn couldn't think. Could barely move.
And then he stepped back.
All the air rushed back in.
"But none of that matters," he said, voice returning to steel. "Because this is a workplace. And I'm your superior. So whatever this is, it stops here."
Rozenn sat frozen.
But she saw the way his hand tightened at his side. The way his jaw clenched like it betrayed him. The way he didn't mean a word of it.
And neither did she when she stood, smoothed her blouse, and said softly:
"Understood, Mr. Grey."
She walked to the door, hand on the handle, then paused.
"Though you should know," she added without turning around, "your sister thinks we're already halfway to eloping."
He didn't reply.
But she heard the breath he drew in. Slow. Shaky.
And that was more satisfying than a thousand confessions.