Jay leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Keifer like she'd just reached a very serious conclusion.
"You know," she said casually, "this is technically your fault."
Keifer looked up from where he'd set his keys. One brow lifted. "I'm listening."
"You fired her," Jay continued, tone innocent. "Which means now I have a reputation."
"A reputation?" he asked, calm as ever.
"Yes. As the woman whose boss will personally escort you out of the building." She pointed at him. "Do you know how intimidating that is?"
He exhaled a quiet breath that might've been a laugh. "I think the intimidation came from her behavior, not you."
Jay waved him off. "That's what you think. But what if someone else crosses the line? Someone… smarter?"
His gaze sharpened slightly, but his voice stayed steady. "Go on."
"What if they're subtle," she said, pacing a little now. "Polite. Extremely competent. You can't just fire someone like that." She glanced at him, half-smiling, half-serious. "What do we do then? Put them in witness protection?"
Keifer watched her, catching the tension tucked beneath the humor.
"You're worried," he said simply.
Jay shrugged. "I'm joking," she corrected. "Mostly."
He stepped closer, unhurried. "Jay, if someone crosses a line, intelligence doesn't excuse it."
"But competence complicates it," she countered lightly. "You can't just delete valuable people."
His lips curved faintly. "I don't keep people just because they're useful."
She tilted her head. "Bold words for a CEO."
"Accurate ones," he replied.
Jay sighed dramatically. "Great. So now I have to live with the guilt of knowing I might've cost the company a highly intelligent employee."
He met her eyes. "You didn't cost anything."
She pointed at him again. "You say that now. But imagine—next time someone's brilliant and terrible. What then? Do we flip a coin?"
"Then," he said evenly, "we draw boundaries and deal with consequences like adults."
Jay studied him, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're very calm for someone who just destroyed my imaginary HR future."
"I'm calm," he said, "because you're assuming I'd ever choose the company over basic respect."
That wiped the humor from her face—just for a second.
She softened. "I just don't want to be the reason you lose good people."
He shook his head slightly. "You're not the reason people lose their jobs, Jay. Their choices are."
She let out a breath. "Okay… but if someone smarter than me causes trouble, I'm blaming you again."
"That's fine," he replied. "I'll survive."
Jay smiled then—real this time. "You better. I'm not done blaming you yet."
And just like that, the tension eased—not gone, but manageable.
Not solved, but laughed at.
The chaos didn't disappear.
It just learned how to smile.
Keifer watched her for a moment longer, then said calmly, "For someone who claims she's joking, you've built an entire disciplinary policy in your head."
Jay gasped. "Excuse you. That policy was very detailed."
"I'm sure," he replied. "Color-coded?"
"Obviously."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Then I'll make a note to consult you before firing anyone else."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're mocking me."
"I'm respecting your expertise," he said evenly. "Clearly, you've already planned three future crises."
She laughed despite herself. "Wow. So this is what it's like when you tease."
"Don't get used to it," he said. "It's rare."
Jay smiled, warmth settling where the worry had been. "Good. I was afraid you'd start enjoying it."
"I don't enjoy chaos," he replied.
She raised a brow. "You absolutely do."
He didn't deny it.
The next morning at work, the floor hummed with its usual rhythm—keyboards clicking, low conversations, coffee cups moving from desk to desk. Jay slipped into her seat, trying to focus, but she felt it again—that faint awareness, like she was being watched.
Keifer walked past her desk without stopping.
No lingering glance.
No special attention.
And somehow, that steadiness felt louder than anything else.
A little later, during a meeting, a senior analyst interrupted Jay mid-sentence—smoothly, professionally, with a tone that suggested he knew better. The room shifted, waiting.
Jay paused, already preparing to step back.
Keifer didn't raise his voice.
He didn't even look irritated.
"Let her finish," he said simply, eyes still on the report in front of him.
The analyst stopped immediately.
Jay continued, heart thudding—not because she was nervous, but because she felt… backed. Not dramatically. Not defensively.
Just matter-of-factly.
After the meeting, Keifer caught up to her in the hallway. "You handled that well."
She blinked. "You noticed?"
"I always do," he replied.
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "So this is you… choosing respect over convenience?"
He glanced at her. "This is me choosing what should've been normal all along."
Jay exhaled, something unclenching inside her chest.
Maybe she wasn't standing on unstable ground after all.
Maybe—quietly, consistently—he was already showing her where she stood.