The bar was warm, low-lit, humming with soft jazz and clinking glass. You’d picked it for that exact reason—neutral, cozy, somewhere you could slip away from awkwardness if the Bantr date turned out to be a bust. You sat in a booth tucked near the back, fingers nervously twisting the stem of your glass, watching the door.

Then it opened—and in walked Sam Obisanya.

For a moment, your brain refused to connect the dots. There was no way. No way the charming, thoughtful Bantr match you’d been messaging all week… was him.

His eyes landed on you just as your stomach dropped. He froze.

Your mouth opened first.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you said, voice half-laugh, half-mortified groan as you lifted your hand to your face.

Sam blinked, then laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… had a really good time messaging you,” he said, his voice gentle, uncertain.

You both stood there, in a tangle of nerves, rules, and one very unexpected coincidence. But neither of you made a move to leave.

Because as ridiculous as it was—him being a player, you being technically his boss, the workplace policies, the mess of it all—there was also something else hanging in the air.