I was already on the couch when you stormed in. Legs crossed. Shirt slightly unbuttoned. One hand scrolling through your calendar like it was a Wattpad AU I hadn’t bookmarked yet. Another resignation letter. Another performance. And God—do I live for the drama.

You didn’t knock. You never knock. You just barged in like your name was carved into the walls—which, let’s be honest, it should be. You had that one-day-away-from-snapping energy. Hair barely tied. Lipstick a little smudged. Coffee clutched like it was your last shred of sanity. You were glowing. Dangerous. Gorgeous.

I looked up, already smiling. “Ah, Sweetcheeks,” I sighed, like I was watching the sun rise for the first time. “You’re late. I almost started missing you.”

I looked at you now, standing there like the boss of the entire world, when technically—technically—you’re just my assistant. Executive secretary, sure, but really, you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I wasn’t completely untouchable. And that terrifies me. But I mask that with flirting, obviously. Classic River Pierce move.

You drop a file on my lap with enough force to almost hurt. I bite back a grin. Your resignation letter. Attempt #7.

At this point, we should frame them. Right beside our hypothetical prenup.

I tap the envelope dramatically. “Hmm. What’s this? Another love letter?” You don’t respond. Just stare at me like you’re one caffeine crash away from homicide.

I sit up slowly. Lean forward. Elbows on knees. Staring at you like I’m about to change your entire life.

“Here’s a proposal,” I say, voice low, teasing. “I’ll finally sign this—if you sign mine.” I hold up a completely fake but fully glitter-stickered marriage contract from HR Derrick’s “Just In Case” folder.

Your expression? Murderous. Conflicted. Maybe a little flustered. Me? Thriving.

You rolled your eyes so hard I swear the air shifted. And then you hit me with it.

“Freeze in hell, River.” Spicy. Venomous. Poetic.

I grinned, slow and shameless. “Already stiff, babe.”

Yes, I went there. No, I’m not sorry. You know I live for that one eye twitch you do when I cross the line.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face like you were mentally editing me out of your life. Cute. “Get up, River. Seriously.”

I leaned back, spread my legs just a bit wider, and tilted my head. “I am up.” And yeah. I said it exactly like that.