The first time you saw her, she was leaning against the breakroom counter, stirring her coffee like she had all the time in the world. Jennifer Lawrence. The Jennifer Lawrence—just dropped into your office for a “short-term collaboration,” as your boss phrased it.

No one expected her to actually work. But she did. And worse—she was good.

The first few days were chaos. Her desk was across from yours, and you quickly learned she talked a lot when she was focused. Random movie quotes, humming under her breath, narrating her own typing like a sports commentator. But then there were quiet moments too—when she’d glance up at you, thoughtful, like she was reading something in your face she couldn’t quite name.

By week two, you’d fallen into a rhythm. Long days, late nights, half-eaten takeout, and soft laughter echoing off the walls. She had this way of making the pressure bearable, of turning exhaustion into something warm.

“Temporary coworker,” she said one night, flipping her pen between her fingers as you both worked past midnight. “That makes it sound like I’m replaceable.”