Harper closed the conference room door and forced herself to walk at a measured pace, full of false confidence.

Get out, he'd said as if she was some intruder here.

She looked for her father’s assistant, Clara Reed, at her desk outside Henry's office.

"Clara." Harper's voice came out steadier than she felt. "I need an office. Something private where I can work alone."

Clara looked up, her sharp eyes taking in Harper's pale complexion and rigid posture. "The executive floor is full at the moment, Ms. Owen. Perhaps the meeting ro..?"

"No meeting rooms. An office with a door that locks."

"Then... There's a small office on the twelfth. Your office will be ready in two days."

"Perfect. Can you have my things moved there immediately?"

"Of course. Shall I inform Mr. Vernon of the location change?"

"Mr. Vernon can figure out his own arrangements."

Clara's eyebrows rose slightly, but she merely nodded. "I'll have maintenance to prepare it within the hour."

"Thank you. Oh, and set up a meeting with my father’s advisors for me, please."

Harper turned toward the elevator bank. She needed space to think without those dark eyes dissecting her every word. 

The office was smaller than the conference room but blissfully private. A view of the city below, and a decent-sized desk sat positioned to catch the sun light. 

Harper set her tablet down and sank into the leather chair, finally allowing herself to breathe.

Your father chose Oliver over you.

She shouldn't have said that. Should have stayed away from the Vernon family's private wounds. But he triggered her defenses.

And now he is aware she knows a lot about them. All of them.

Her phone buzzed with a text from her father: How did the meeting go?

Harper’s fingers were hovering over the keyboard. How could she explain that she'd managed to alienate Ivan Vernon before they'd even begun working together?

She typed back: We're establishing our working dynamic.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then reappeared.

Good. I expect results, Harper. Don't disappoint me.

The phone went silent. Harper put it aside and thought about how she ended up in this situation. It was worse than she expected. She glued herself to something she wished to escape.

Blessed silence. 

Harper scrolled over her tablet to review notes when she heard footsteps in the hallway. 

She looked up, hoping to see Clara with coffee, but instead found Ivan filling her doorway.

"So you ran away here."

"I wasn't aware this office was on your tour schedule." Harper's voice turned arctic. 

"Ms. Reed told me you relocated.." Ivan stepped into the office without invitation, his eyes scanning the space. There was not a single hint for him to apologize. "Interesting choice."

 "I'm establishing a productive work environment. Something that seemed impossible in that conference room."

Harper stood, matching his height as best she could. "And frankly, Mr. Vernon, your paranoia is neither helpful nor professional."

Ivan's smile was sharp as a blade. "Paranoia? You’ve admitted you’ve been dodging my messages."

"..."

"So stop telling me bullshit."

Harper flinched at the crude word. "Language, Mr. Vernon. We're not in some back-alley argument."

"Aren't we?" Ivan moved closer to her desk, and his presence made the office suffocatingly small. "You've been acting strange since the moment we met."

"You're projecting your suspicions.”

“Who's your source?" Ivan's voice cut through her deflection like ice. 

"I don't have any."

"Liar." 

"Don't you dare call me a liar in my father’s building."

"Henry Owen's daughter gained access to my family’s business secrets." 

Harper backed up until she hit the window, her breath coming short.

Ivan was standing too close, his presence filling her vision. Bergamot and pine. His cologne made her remember his appearance in her tiny firm. 

Harper's shattered. She could hear her heartbeat. Could feel the heat radiating from Ivan's body as he stood barely a foot away from her. 

"I want to save what can be saved." She said.

"From my family?"

Harper lifted her chin. "If necessary. I think you're practical enough to help salvage what's left."

Ivan sighed and turned away from her, running a hand through his dark hair. 

Harper felt an unexpected pang of sympathy, but she pushed it aside. 

"Ms. Owen," Ivan looked at Harper firmly, his voice carefully neutral. "I think we need to establish some ground rules for this relationship."

"Yes." Harper nodded, grateful for the return to neutral ground.

"First, we keep our personal opinions about each other's families out of our work.”

“Agreed.”

"Second. No solo moves, no surprise. We divide responsibilities based on our strengths."

"Of course."

“Third,” he paused. “We will use the same office.”

“No!” She refused right away.

“I do not know you well enough, Ms.Owen. And we need to fix it.” Ivan's voice dropped, becoming almost intimate.

Harper felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

“Just because I'm willing to work with you doesn't mean I trust you.”

Ivan's smile was knowing. "Same here. Don’t you see that yet?”

He extended his hand. "Partners?"

Harper looked at his outstretched hand, then up at his face. This time, he looked serious.

"Partners," she agreed, shaking his hand.

The office that they were in had never been designed for two people to be constantly there.

Especially not two people who couldn't agree on the temperature, the lighting, or apparently, the basic concept of sharing space.

"Seriously?" Harper said, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. 

After being out for five minutes, she was watching Ivan spin lazily in the leather chair that had been hers for the last hour.

“That’s my chair. My desk. My office. Move.”

"Your office? Technically," Ivan said, not bothering to stop spinning, "it's our chair now. I’d have to say, the ergonomics are terrible. How do you function in this torture device?"

"By not spinning in it like a five-year-old."

Ivan finally stopped. "Five-year-olds have the right idea. When's the last time you had fun?"

"When did you stop taking work seriously?"

Harper stared at him for a long moment, then deliberately moved to the opposite side of the desk. 

"Fine. We'll make this work. You take that half, I'll take this half. Invisible line down the middle."

"Like divorced parents sharing custody of a not very expensive office?"

“...” She went to grab a blue painter's tape from the shelf.

“They’ll bring another desk soon. Why bother?”

Ivan chuckled, which only made Harper more determined to establish clear boundaries. She rolled out the tape and began marking a precise line down the center of the desk.

"You're not serious," Ivan said, watching her work.

"Your side, my side. Don't cross the line."

"What about the phone?"

Harper paused mid-tape. The office phone sat mockingly in the exact center of the desk. "We'll... share custody. Fifteen-minute intervals."

"What if I'm in the middle of a crucial call when your time start?"

"Then you should have planned better."

He leaned back, amused. “You’re being remarkably childish, Ms. Owen.”

"Ms. Owen, you're being remarkably childish."

His teasing tone carried a challenge, one that could echo beyond this room. Footsteps passed the door, perhaps, of someone with ears too sharp.

“This partnership..." Ivan said, finally vacating the chair with exaggerated reluctance. 

Harper looked up, fixing him with a stare. 

"Mr. Vernon. We need to set it all by Friday. We need to act quickly due to the press leak. We should meet the legal team..."

"Right. All of those very important, very boring things.” 

"Don't get cocky. This is going to require delicate handling."

"Lucky for us, delicate handling is my specialty."

"Your specialty is making people underestimate you until you get what you want."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Despite herself, Harper felt the corner of her mouth twitch. "It's manipulative."

"It's strategic."

"Where’s the difference?"

“I’ve something else to discuss.”

"Which is?"

"The fact that you've been trying to freeze me out by keeping the thermostat at Arctic temperatures."

Harper blinked. "The thermostat is set to sixty-five degrees. That's perfectly reasonable."

"For a penguin, maybe. I've been considering bringing a parka to work."

Harper smoothed her perfectly pressed blazer. "Professional appearance reflects competence."

"Or professional stick-up-the-ass syndrome."

"Ivan!"

"Are we close already? I'm just saying, if you loosened up a little…"

"And maybe if you tightened up a little, we might get some work done.” 

"You're so..." Ivan gestured vaguely in her direction.

"So what?"

"Intense.” He pulled a chair, definitely not her chair, to sit beside her.

“We need to sort out how we’ll work together without killing each other.”

“See? Dramatic. This is exactly what I'm talking about.” 

“Weren’t you dramatic about your grandfather’s legacy?”

“Got it,” Ivan said, serious now. 

Harper’s eyes flicked to him with a quiet question: “Can we pull this off?”

Ivan nodded. “If we play it right, we can keep things under control. And I’m keeping this chair tomorrow.”

Harper laughed, the sound breaking the tension.

Then, both of their phones erupted, ringtones clashing in an urgent pattern. They froze, eyes locking in a shared moment of unease.

"A coincidence?"

Ivan grabbed his phone. "On three?"

"One, two…"

They answered at the same time.

“Hello?” Harper’s voice trembled slightly.

“Ivan Vernon speaking,” he said, his tone clipped.

Harper went pale. Ivan's jaw tightened.

They hung up in perfect sync, the silence that followed heavier than before.

Harper’s breath hitched. “Who was that?”

Ivan’s eyes darkened, searching hers for answers. “You first.”