By Monday morning, Ava’s apartment no longer smelled like burnt pancakes. Still, the memory lingered, sticky and smoky, like the scent had settled somewhere between her hair and her thoughts.

She told herself it had been just breakfast. Just a ridiculous morning with Evan. Nothing that required analysis or emotion. But every time she smelled coffee or heard a pan clatter, her mind replayed the way he’d looked at her, that half-smile when he said she should smile more.

Now, in the office, she tried to drown that memory under the sound of typing.

"Morning, boss lady!" Chloe sang, dropping a folder onto her desk.

"Please tell me you brought caffeine."

"I brought better—information."

"Chloe, no."

"Chloe, yes."

"Not before nine a.m."

Chloe perched on the edge of the desk like gossip royalty.

"You’re trending again. Inside the company, at least."

"Please tell me it’s about my pitch presentation."

"It’s about your breakfast partner."

"Chloe."

"Ava."

"I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that."

"You can’t. There’s a photo."

Ava froze.

"A photo?"

"Apparently someone saw you and Evan at the farmer’s market on Saturday."

"We weren’t at any—"

"Don’t bother. They’ve already posted it on Slack."

"Of course they have."

"You look adorable, by the way."

"Chloe."

"What? Matching coffee cups. Natural lighting. It’s practically a rom-com poster."

Ava pinched the bridge of her nose. "Unbelievable."

"Oh, and HR asked if you two are officially dating."

"Why would HR care?"

"Because half the interns are placing bets."

"You’re lying."

"I wish I were. There’s a spreadsheet."

Ava groaned. "I need coffee."

"You need damage control," Chloe said.

"I need peace and quiet."

"Wrong department."

Ava stood. "I’m going to the break room."

"I’m coming."

"No, you’re not."

"Too late."

They walked through the corridor together. People looked up. Conversations paused, the way water ripples before a wave breaks. Someone whispered Evan’s name, followed by hers.

"I swear," Ava muttered, "if one more person mentions pancakes, I’ll throw one."

"Relax," Chloe whispered. "Scandal is temporary. Style is forever."

They reached the coffee machine. Greg was already there, leaning against the counter with a paper cup and his usual smirk.

"Morning, ladies. Heard breakfast was a success."

Ava glared. "Do you people have a newsletter?"

"Only when it’s this entertaining."

"Greg," Chloe warned.

He raised both hands. "Hey, I’m rooting for you two. The fake-dating thing’s got legs."

Ava froze. "Excuse me?"

Greg blinked, realizing too late. "Uh. I mean—the rumor, not the arrangement. Hypothetically."

"Greg," Chloe hissed.

"Right. Shutting up."

The elevator dinged. Evan stepped out, camera bag slung over his shoulder, grin already in place. The entire floor seemed to inhale at once.

"Morning," he said.

Ava turned. "Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

"Say anything."

"I was just going to ask if you ate breakfast."

"See? That’s exactly what you shouldn’t say."

"Too late."

Chloe snorted. Greg coughed to hide a laugh. Evan leaned beside her desk, pretending not to notice the dozen eyes watching.

"Rough morning?" he asked.

"Define rough."

"People talking?"

"People betting."

He winced. "Ah. The spreadsheet."

"You knew?"

"Greg texted me."

"Of course he did."

He smiled, trying to lighten the air. "At least they think we’re believable."

"Believable isn’t the goal. Professional is."

"You can be both."

"Not when the board thinks my relationship is part of a campaign."

"You make it sound like a bad thing."

"It is."

"Not if it works."

She stared at him. "This isn’t a strategy, Evan."

He shrugged. "Everything’s strategy if you spin it right."

For a second, neither of them spoke. The noise of keyboards and phones filled the space between them.

"Stop smiling," she said.

"I’m not smiling."

"You are. You always do that when you know I’m right."

"That’s optimism."

"That’s arrogance."

"Same difference."

She exhaled and turned back to her computer. He lingered a moment longer, then tapped her desk twice and walked away. Eyes followed him all the way to the elevator.

Chloe appeared beside her chair. "He’s good for business."

"Chloe."

"Fine, fine. But you can’t deny it—chemistry sells."

Ava didn’t look up. "We’re not for sale."

The day dragged. Emails blurred. Every conversation seemed to circle back to one topic. By lunchtime, her inbox was a battlefield of curiosity.

At 2 p.m., her boss called her into the conference room.

"Ava," he began carefully, "about the social posts this weekend..."

"They weren’t mine."

"I know, but perception matters. Clients love authenticity, and this... well, it’s very authentic."

"It’s fabricated."

He smiled thinly. "Fabricated authenticity is still authenticity."

She bit back a sigh. "Sir—"

"I’m not saying use it. Just... don’t deny it too loudly. People like a love story."

When she left the meeting, her phone buzzed. A text from Evan: *Dinner? You look like you need to yell at someone.*

She typed back: *Tempting. Busy.*

He replied instantly: *I’ll bring dessert.*

She didn’t answer.

At her desk, Chloe whispered, "You’re smiling."

"I’m not."

"You are."

"Shut up."

"Sure thing, boss lady."

But when Ava caught her reflection in the dark screen of her laptop, she realized Chloe was right.

She was.