When I Started Looking

Anya Graham sat in front of her computer, staring at a screen that seemed determined to mock her. She had lost count of how many cups of coffee had accumulated on her desk that morning. The latest one sat beside a pile of crumpled drafts, already cold.

She put off her glasses and pressed two fingers against her temple, trying to ease the dull, relentless ache behind her eyes. She had barely slept the night before. Or was it two nights before?

Her supervisor’s words still lingered in her mind.

I know you’re competent, Anya. But I think it’s time you had a team.

Anya reached for the page in front of her and crumpled it into a tight ball. She knew what he meant. At least, she told herself she did.

She had been the senior creative writer at Blue Horizon Agency for nearly three years. She had handled every campaign, every deadline, every impossible revision they had thrown at her. She had stayed late when everyone else had gone home and rewritten entire concepts before breakfast. And now, apparently, she needed help. Somehow, that hurt more than it should have.

Her phone suddenly rang. Anya blinked, pulled out of her thoughts. The name on the screen made her expression soften.

Adam. Her fiancé.

“Hi,” Anya greeted through the phone.

“You sound exhausted.”

Anya smiled faintly. “Good morning to you too.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

Anya closed her eyes and swung on her chair. “Define sleep.”

Adam laughed softly. “Dinner tonight?”

She glanced at the clock. “I thought we were meeting tomorrow.”

“We were. I changed the reservation.”

“Why?”

“Because I miss you.”

Anya’s smile widened. “I miss you too, babe.” She sighed. “But… I don’t know if I can make it tonight. I have a few edits to finish. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay. Don’t skip meals. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She set the phone down, the quiet warmth of Adam's voice settling over her like a familiar blanket—safe, comforting, and predictable. But the pressure waiting for her on the screen didn't fade. She stared at the screen again. The cursor blinked patiently at the end of a sentence she had rewritten six times.

A team.

The words still bothered her. She understood the logic. There was simply too much on her plate. The agency had taken on more clients over the past year, and the deadlines had become increasingly unforgiving. No matter how many hours she put in, there always seemed to be another campaign waiting for her.

Still, she had never considered herself incapable of handling it. If anything, she had built her reputation on doing exactly that. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

A team meant meetings. Opinions. Compromises. It meant having to explain why an idea worked instead of simply making it work. And, knowing her luck, whoever they hired would probably need twice as much time as she did to finish half the work.

Anya sighed. She knew she was being unfair. She didn’t even know who they were hiring yet. She glanced at the crumpled drafts scattered across her desk. Maybe her supervisor was right. Maybe she did need someone.

The thought brought an unfamiliar flicker of relief, quickly followed by irritation. She frowned.

Relief? No.

She picked up her pen and turned back to the screen. She would meet the new person tomorrow. She would explain the project, assign a few tasks, and make sure everything stayed on schedule.

Simple. That was all. At least, that was what Anya thought.

*

Anya stepped into the Italian restaurant Adam had booked for them. She had changed out of her wrinkled work shirt, slipped into something more presentable, and spent a few extra minutes taming her brown hair.

“You made it,” Adam said, his face lighting up when he saw her.

“Barely.”

“You look beautiful.”

“I look drained.” Anya snorted.

Adam chuckled softly. “Both can be true.”

She joined him in a cozy booth near the corner. Candlelight flickered against the polished silverware, while low jazz played somewhere overhead. The smell of roasted garlic and fresh basil drifted from the kitchen.

"I think I’ll go for the Chicken Parmigiana," Adam offered, scanning the options. "Comfort food."

Anya traced the edge of her glass. "The Penne alla Vodka sounds amazing right now. And maybe a glass of Pinot Grigio?"

"Done," Adam grinned, waving over the waiter. "And we are definitely getting the Tiramisu for dessert. No negotiations."

They placed their order and settled into an easy conversation, swapping stories and jokes about their day at the office. Then Adam reached across the table and covered Anya’s hand with his. His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles.

“Are you excited?”

Anya looked at him. “About what?”

“The wedding.”

Her fingers shifted beneath his. “Of course.”

The waiter arrived with their food, and Adam’s hand slipped away.

Anya picked up her fork. “Have you decided where you want the study room?”

Adam paused. “Study room?”

“For the new house.”

“Anya, we haven’t even chosen the house yet.”

“We have.” Anya answered immediately.

Adam frowned. “We have?”

“The one near the park.”

Adam stared at her. “You already chose one?”

“I made a shortlist.” Anya shrugged, taking a bite of her penne.

“Of course you did.” Adam smiled faintly. “You know, let’s just get married first.”

“Well, that’s not how planning works.”

“It’s exactly how planning works. Step one: get married.”

Anya looked at him, puzzled. “And step two?”

“Figure out step two later.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet you’re marrying me.”

“Unfortunately,” Anya picked up her food.

Adam raises an eyebrow in pure amusement. “Unfortunately?”

“I’m reconsidering.” Anya pointed at him with her fork.

“Too late. I’ve already told my mother.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to go through with it.”

“Unfortunately.” Adam teased. He reached for her hand once again and gently caressed her knuckles with his thumb. “You can slow down, Anya. We’ll face it together.” He paused. “And I hope there won’t be any revisions for this project.”

For the first time in days, something inside her finally loosened. Her shoulders felt lighter. Anya laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained, and Adam smiled as he watched her.

*

Her happiness did not last long. The “team” arrived the following morning in the form of a twenty-six-year-old creative writer named Gavin Hunt.

Matt Brown, Anya’s supervisor, walked straight into her office. “Anya, I want you to meet the newest addition to the team.”

Anya’s eyes remained fixed on her monitor. “Sure.”

“Anya Graham, this is Gavin Hunt.” Matt turned to the man beside him. “Gavin, Anya.”

Anya finally looked up. The first thing she noticed was his age. He looked young. Younger than she had expected, at least. Golden hair. Blue eyes. An easy smile. Nothing particularly striking. Or so she told herself.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Gavin said.

Anya raised an eyebrow. “Really? Hopefully nothing terrible.”

The younger man’s lips twitched into an amused smile. “Nothing I can repeat in front of you.”

Anya frowned. Great, he’s annoying.

Matt, oblivious to the sudden shift in the room, clapped his hands together. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Show him the ropes, Anya.”

As her supervisor walked out, Gavin didn’t immediately move toward the empty desk. Instead, he leaned lightly against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking entirely too relaxed for someone who had just been dropped into a new team.

“So,” Gavin said casually. “Where do we start?”

Anya leaned back in her chair, keeping her expression neutral. “We start by getting to work.”

Gavin’s mouth curved into a small smile. “Straight to the point.”

“I don’t have much time for anything else.”

“I noticed.”

Anya looked at him. “What?”

“You haven’t looked away from your screen for more than ten seconds since I walked in.”

She glanced at the monitor. Then at him. “I have work to do.”

His smile widened. “That’s exactly what I’m here for.”

***