Evan’s studio smelled like coffee, ink, and trouble.

Ava stood by the doorway, clutching her phone like a shield. She’d been summoned—his word, not hers—for a “quick meeting.” In Evan-speak, that usually meant chaos with good lighting.

“Relax,” he said, adjusting a camera lens. “You look like you’re here for a tax audit.”  

“I should’ve brought a lawyer.”  

“You have me.”  

“That’s why I need a lawyer.”  

He laughed, that lazy, infuriating sound that somehow softened everything around it. “Greg’s coming by,” he added casually.  

“Who?”  

“My assistant. Old friend. Don’t worry, he’s housebroken.”  

“I’m not worried.”  

“You’re lying.”  

“Habit.”  

Before she could reply, the door swung open. A tall man with messy hair and a perpetual smirk strolled in, holding a takeout cup like it owed him money.

“So this is the famous Ava,” he said, looking her over. “The woman who made the internet believe Evan’s capable of commitment.”  

Ava blinked. “That’s your opening line?”  

“I’ve been practicing all morning.”  

Evan groaned. “Greg, play nice.”  

“I am. This is me being polite.”  

Greg turned back to Ava. “You have my respect, though. Managing him takes skill.”  

“I don’t manage him.”  

“Sure you do. Look at you—you’re already tense.”  

“I’m tense because you exist.”  

“Ah, the classic denial stage. I’ve seen it before.”  

Evan muttered, “Don’t encourage him.”  

“I never encourage,” Greg said. “I just narrate the obvious.”

They moved to the worktable. Photos covered every surface—portraits, landscapes, the accidental poetry of Evan’s eye. One picture caught Ava’s attention: herself at the gala, laughing mid-sentence, unaware of the camera.

She frowned. “You took this?”  

“Guilty,” Evan said.  

“You didn’t tell me.”  

“Didn’t want to ruin the moment.”  

Greg snorted. “Translation: he stared at that picture for a week before printing it.”  

“Greg,” Evan warned.  

“What? Art appreciation.”  

Ava’s ears went hot. “You kept it?”  

Evan rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s… good composition.”  

“Sure,” Greg said dryly. “Because that’s what you were focusing on.”  

Ava turned away, pretending to study another photo. “You two always like this?”  

“Define ‘this,’” Greg said.  

“Annoying.”  

“Then yes.”

They spent the next hour reviewing photos for the upcoming campaign. Evan explained lighting choices; Ava suggested angles; Greg added commentary that was ninety percent sarcasm, ten percent brutal truth.

When Evan showed a close-up of her from the shoot, Greg whistled. “You look like you actually like him.”  

Ava glared. “It’s acting.”  

Greg shrugged. “Oscar-worthy.”  

Evan tried not to smile.  

“Don’t you dare,” she said.  

“Wasn’t gonna,” he lied.

Later, when Greg stepped outside to take a call, Ava turned to Evan. “Does he ever stop talking?”  

“No. It’s genetic.”  

“You’re related?”  

“Unfortunately, no. Just trauma-bonded.”  

Ava shook her head. “He’s… something.”  

“He’s also right sometimes.”  

“About what?”  

“That you’re tense when I’m around.”  

“I’m tense because you cause problems.”  

“Or because you like problems.”  

“Evan.”  

He held up his hands. “Fine. No more boundary tests today.”  

“Good.”  

“Just observations.”  

“Don’t start.”  

“Too late.”  

She sighed, half-exasperated, half-smiling. “You’re impossible.”  

“And yet, here you are.”

Greg returned, hanging up. “Well, lovebirds, crisis averted. The client loves the teaser video.”  

“We’re not—” Ava began.  

He cut her off. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the speech. ‘It’s all fake.’ Classic.”  

“It’s true.”  

“Uh-huh. And I’m a motivational speaker.”  

Evan smirked. “You’d be terrible at that.”  

“Exactly. Because I tell the truth.” Greg leaned against the desk. “You two have the chemistry of a rom-com poster. It’s nauseating.”  

“Thank you?” Ava said.  

“Not a compliment.”  

“Then why say it?”  

“Because denial’s boring. At least make it interesting.”

Evan chuckled. “He’s worse when he likes someone.”  

“Who said I like her?” Greg replied.  

“You’re still here,” Evan pointed out.  

Greg shrugged. “Fair.”

When the meeting finally ended, Ava gathered her things. Greg held the door open, voice dry as dust. “Good luck surviving him.”  

“I’ve made it this far.”  

He smirked. “You think that’s a good sign?”  

“Not sure yet.”  

“You’ll know soon enough.”  

Evan waved from his desk. “Don’t scare her.”  

“Too late,” Ava said, stepping out.  

Outside, the sun had begun to sink, painting the street in amber light. Evan joined her a minute later, hands in pockets.  

“Sorry about Greg.”  

“He’s… efficient at emotional damage.”  

“Yeah. It’s his love language.”  

“I can tell.”  

Evan smiled. “He doesn’t usually like people. You’re an exception.”  

“Lucky me.”  

He studied her face. “You handled him better than I expected.”  

“I work in marketing. I deal with egos for a living.”  

“Touché.”  

She hesitated. “You kept that photo of me.”  

He blinked. “Which one?”  

“You know which.”  

He scratched his neck. “It’s just good lighting.”  

She gave him a look. “Stop hiding behind your camera.”  

He laughed softly. “Maybe you should stop hiding behind your rules.”  

The silence between them stretched—comfortable, confusing, electric.

Then she said quietly, “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”  

“Never,” he said. “That’s why it works.”  

And for once, she didn’t argue.