One desk and two chairs. Partners in a high-stakes collaboration, but the office screamed intern vibes. A mix of barbs and begrudging, their teamwork wasn’t smooth, but it was progress. 

“Yes, I need it ASAP.” Ivan Vernon was taking over the phone. He turned away from Harper, his voice was dropping to a more private tone. 

"No, that won't work... I don't… their team says..." He was pacing toward the window. Harper pretended to make her notes while straining to catch fragments of his conversation. 

Her mind flicked to earlier phone calls. Their phones were ringing in unison, urgent and unsettling. Who had called him? Her own call had been a cryptic warning: You’re being watched.

"Just make it happen," he ended the call. He fell into the chair, spinning lazily.

“Fine, I’m back,” Ivan said, pocketing the phone. “I had to take it, don’t be dense.”

“Stop it,” Harper snapped. “You’re making me dizzy.”

She shot him a mock glare and saw him flipping the coin in his hand now. He quickly hid it.

Ivan stopped spinning, but only to lean back, arms crossed. 

“Dizzy? That’s your control-freak brain short-circuiting. Try breathing, Harper. It’s free.”

"Ms. Owen," she corrected him. “Why don’t you use my last name?”

“You want to be formal?” Ivan was looking for some sign of the woman who'd enjoyed sparring with him on her face. 

“Start sharing your precious plans instead of shutting me out.” He said.

Harper rolled her eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you dodging my question”.

“You were the first to call me Ivan. Agree, formal’s boring.”

Harper tossed her pen onto the desk with a clatter. 

Ivan continued looking at her. “Not all of us need to scribble obsessively to think.”

She arched a brow, gesturing to her notes. “These ‘scribbles’ are keeping us ahead. Your strategy seems to be based heavily on spinning and flipping.

”He chuckled, leaning forward, elbows on the desk’s invisible line. “Says the woman who’s dodging my questions. Spill, Harper.”

“Don’t fish for secrets you can’t handle.”

“Oh, I handle secrets just fine.” His voice dropped, teasing. “It’s your icy stare I’m struggling with. Ever consider sunglasses?”

She snorted, crossing her arms. “And cover my best weapon? You’d be lost without my glares to keep you in line.”

“Line? You’ve got me taped to half a desk.” He tapped the blue tape. “A masterpiece.”

“It’s called boundaries, Ivan. Try respecting one.”

“Respect’s earned.” He snatched her pen and twirled it. “Start by not hogging the good stationery.”

Harper lunged for the pen, their fingers brushing. “Thief!”

“Strategist,” he corrected.

She snorted. “We’ve got a meeting with advisors in an hour, and we’re nowhere near ready.”

“Born ready. Show what a rising star like you has?”

“Step one: outline our approach. Step two: address conflicts. Step three: set a timeline. That’s the plan, broadly.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Broadly? Sounds like a school project. What’s the real work?”

Harper’s eyes flashed. “Real work? I’ve got a draft, priorities. Everything! You want details, contribute something.”

“The execs worried about shifting loyalties. I suggest we offer assurances to keep people calm. Your turn.”

“Haa, we need to look like a team.”

Ivan nodded. “Deal. But I’m leading the meeting. You’ll scare them with your charts.” 

“We’ll co-lead. We are equal here."

“Equal,” he echoed, his voice dry but teasing. He glanced at her presentation once again. 

Ivan faced the conference room, his mask of cold efficiency sliding into place.

Three advisors sat across a long table. Karen White, a senior consultant with a permanent frown, was on the right. A junior aide, who lived on caffeine, sat to the left. The third was a strategy expert.

This was serious. No room for Ivan who’d joked with Harper earlier.

“Hello, team,” Ivan said coldly. “Thank you for fitting us in.”

He sat, nodding to Harper. “Fill us in.”

“Mr. Vernon, pleasure to meet you. Karen White.” She nodded to Harper. “Ms. Owen.”

“Ms. White,” Ivan said. “What are the next steps?”

“We’re reviewing priorities,” Karen began. “Key relationships, potential conflicts…”

“How long until we’re ready?” Ivan cut in, his mind flickering to the call from earlier.

“Six weeks, minimum,” she replied. “Assuming full cooperation.”

“We don’t have six weeks.” His tone was ice. “Make it four.”

Harper shot him a sideways glance, her own thoughts likely on her mysterious caller.

“Rushing risks mistakes,” Karen said, leaning forward. “Mr. Vernon, I understand the urgency…”

“Four weeks,” Ivan repeated. “That’s our window.”

The advisors exchanged looks.

“Perhaps…” Harper cleared her throat.

“What do you need to hit four weeks?” Ivan’s voice was sharp.

Harper’s gaze lingered, heavy with questions. Where was the man who’d teased her about school projects? She was seeing his ruthless side now.

“More resources,” Karen listed. “Extra staff, faster reviews…”

Ivan turned to Harper. “Can you arrange that?”

She blinked, thrown by his tone. “Yes.”

“What else?”

“Direct access to key figures for discussions,” the strategy expert said cautiously.

“Done.”

Harper slid a printed plan across the table, her voice crisp despite her uneaseness. “Here’s the draft. We need your input on potential issues.”

Ivan leaned back, watching Harper take charge. She was commanding but rigid. He jumped in, tone casual but sharp. “We’re adding assurances to keep people committed. Can you outline terms for that?”

The junior aide scribbled. “Assurances? Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Ivan said coolly. “Keep terms tight. No fluff, and move fast.”

Karen’s frown deepened. “We need to review every detail for risks.”

“I trust you’re here for those skills, Ms. White.” His tone was crisp, unlike the playful one he’d used with Harper.

Harper shot him a side-eye, whispering, “Don’t antagonize them. We need them.”

Ivan muttered back, “I know how to play nice.”

The strategy expert cleared her throat, cutting the tension. “We’ll review by Friday. Timeline?”

“Six months, phased approach,” Ivan said. “Start with priorities, then people.” He paused. “We need a smooth process. Find ways to keep key figures engaged. Can you draft terms?”

The expert nodded. “Doable. Send us names and details.”

The meeting dragged with specifics. Ivan answered with cold precision, keeping Harper at a distance, his mind still on the voice from the call: You’re being watched.

She kept glancing at him, but he offered only efficiency.

As the advisors left, Karen fixed them with a stare. “You two need to sync up. This is too big for your… dynamic. Mr. Owen won’t tolerate a mess.”

Ivan nodded. “We’re on it.”

Harper echoed, “We are.”

When the advisors filed out, Harper stayed seated, her pen tapping her notepad with irritation.

“Well,” Harper  said when they were back in the office. “That was illuminating. You were a robot there.”

He sat down in his chair, his prize. “Just doing my job, Harper. I thought you wanted to be professional.”

“So, do you plan to stop sulking, or is brooding your face’s new default setting?”

Ivan’s eyes flicked up. “Sulking? I’m strategizing for the win.”

She blinked, thrown. “I… Aren’t we partners now?”

“Partners,” Ivan repeated, his tone flat but his eyes flicking to her, searching for a second. “Sure. Let’s keep it that way.”

"What happened to you?"

"This morning, we were playing office politics and trying not to kill each other. Now we're handling something big." Ivan stood, straightening his tie.”We’ll do it efficiently.”

Harper exhaled. "I see." There was genuine confusion in her eyes. 

"Do you?"

“Our personal dynamic doesn’t affect our work.” Her voice matched his formality. “Shall we plan our next steps?”

Ivan told himself this was exactly what he'd wanted. He kept his focus on the deal, not her, but as he watched Harper make handwritten notes, Ivan Vernon couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just carved out something vital and thrown it away.

A woman burst into the office. "Ivan, I've adjusted your schedule. Oh..." She paused. Her hand was still on the door. "Hello, Ms.?" 

"Owen," Harper said, irritation flaring.

“May, perfect timing. Harper, this is May Peterson, my assistant. May, Harper Owen, my… partner.”

The word partner came out grudgingly.

"May Peterson," the woman smiled brightly. Her blonde curls were bouncing as she clutched a tablet.

"I moved tomorrow afternoon to six o'clock. And I blocked out the rest of your week." She leaned over Ivan, pointing at his calendar. "I thought you might need the extra time..." 

"Thanks," Ivan replied. 

“Ivan didn’t mention you were so… hands-on.” Harper piped.

“Oh, Ivan’s a mess without me. Right, boss?” May’s laugh was light. Her fingers grazed his shoulder as she handed him a letter. Ivan took it, his fingers brushing hers, a reflex he barely noticed. “Official reply?” May nodded. 

Harper felt odd as she watched their interaction. There was something familiar about the way May moved around Ivan. The casual intimacy of their proximity. 

The image was frustratingly unclear. At a party? In the office? Did she see them together before? 

Harper found herself staring at that brief contact. She should be relieved, shouldn't she? If Ivan's attention was elsewhere, it meant less complication for her. 

So why did she feel like throwing her pen at May Peterson's perfectly styled blonde head? 

Her tablet pinged with a new email. Harper froze, her eyes darting to Ivan. He’d stopped mid-motion, staring at his own phone, a matching notification glowing on his screen.

A faint creak came from the hallway, as if someone lingered just out of sight.

Ivan’s gaze met Harper’s, dark and unreadable.