Chapter 1 -“We Meet Again”
I live by a code: never be late, never be loud, and never mix feelings with work.
So when I walked into the office that Monday morning at precisely 7:48 a.m.—twelve minutes before the rest of the building stirred—I wasn’t prepared to find someone asleep on my office couch.
A soft snore broke the silence. A sketchpad hung off the edge of the cushion. A backpack rested half-open beside a torn granola bar. For a moment, I thought maybe we had a squatter. Maybe a guest from the cleaning crew had gotten too tired. I took a cautious step forward.
“Excuse me,” I said sharply, arms folded. “You can’t be here.”
The figure stirred. A groan. A stretch. A hoodie slipped off her head and—
My stomach dropped.
No.
No, it couldn’t be her.
But it was. The short black hair had grown longer, messier. The piercing above her eye was new but the same gold-brown eyes blinked up at me with unmistakable recognition—and mischief.
“Ivy Park,” I said flatly.
College’s chaotic art star. Wild, witty, always loud in the quad and sketching in corners of the library I avoided. The last time I saw her, she had torn her art to pieces, happy to have ruined the college’s image they had made up for her. The only thing more infuriating than her loudness had been her raw, ridiculous talent.
She grinned, sitting up with maddening ease. “Alina Russo. Still allergic to joy, I see.”
Of all the people.
“Still uptight?”
My jaw clenched. “Still trespassing?”
I turned away, half-wondering if I was dreaming. Or being punished. Or both.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, pacing to my desk.
“Freelance gig. Your boss hired me for the launch gallery project.” She gave a long, theatrical yawn. “Didn’t mention you were here. Which is a shame. Would’ve dressed up.” Her eyes scanned me—black blazer, pencil skirt, every hair in place. “You look... sharper.”
I glanced at her. She wore a half-zipped hoodie, ripped jeans, and mismatched socks. “Clearly. You look... unshowered.”
“Still charming.” She winked.
She kicked her feet up on the breakroom table like she owned the place. I gritted my teeth. “So you just… decided to nap on company property?”
“My landlord’s renovating. Said I could move in by the weekend. Your boss said I could crash here a few nights. Wasn’t expecting a lecture first thing in the morning, but hey—nostalgia.”
I had gotten to know Ivy from art class. She was the hurricane to my gridline. We’d argued about galleries, critiqued each other in class, and once—briefly—kissed in the dark behind the art building before pretending it never happened.
“I see your professionalism hasn’t improved,” I said coldly.
“And I see your sarcasm’s still weapon-grade.”
Before I could come up with something sharper, my manager, David, walked in with two coffees and a cheerful, “Ah, I see you two have already reconnected!”
I didn’t correct him. It wouldn’t help. He handed me my usual flat white and Ivy a black coffee, which she accepted like royalty.
“Alina, Ivy will be co-leading the design portion of the gallery launch with you. The two of you make a great team. You’ve got the structure, she’s got the spark.”
“I also have morning breath and no health insurance,” Ivy added brightly.
I stared at David. “She’s staying in the office?”
“Only temporarily.” He smiled, unaware of the slow-motion implosion occurring in my chest. “Just make sure she has everything she needs.”
Everything she needs? What she needed was a leash.
As David left, I turned to Ivy. “You’re not touching my desk. Or my pens.”
“Relax,” she said, already eyeing my organized workspace like a playground. “I’ll only touch what begs to be touched.”
My eye twitched.
She grinned wider.
This was going to be hell.
