The office smelled like coffee and ambition. Lily scowled at her laptop, trying to ignore Ethan hovering nearby like he owned the place.
"You're typing too slowly," he said, leaning over her shoulder as if he belonged there. "Want help?"
Lily's fingers froze for half a second. She straightened. "I told you already. I don't need your help. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," he replied, unfazed. His lips curved into a smug smile. "But your fingers are moving at snail speed. I might need to call the emergency service for that keyboard."
Her glare could've melted steel. She resumed typing, faster now. "Funny. I was considering calling HR for excessive hovering."
He laughed. The sound was irritatingly warm. "You're adorable when you're irritated. Has anyone ever told you that?"
Stop noticing him.
Lily forced her eyes back to the screen, pretending the heat creeping up her neck didn't exist.
Minutes stretched. The room felt smaller. Every brush of his arm, every accidental touch as they exchanged files sent an unwanted awareness through her body, one she stubbornly ignored.
"Why are you always so difficult?" Ethan muttered.
She turned slowly. "Why are you always so convinced you're right?"
He leaned back in his chair, studying her like a puzzle he hadn't solved yet. "I enjoy a challenge," he said quietly. Too quietly.
Her pulse betrayed her. "Good," she replied, sharper than she intended. "You've found one."
They worked in silence after that, the air between them tense and unspoken. Lily hated that he was competent, quick, decisive, and sharp. Ethan hated that she matched him every step of the way.
And yet, something was changing.
Not softening.
Not easing.
Just shifting—dangerously.
Lily closed her laptop and exhaled. This project is going to be hell.
And maybe, just maybe, a very complicated one.