Everyone says Andy Barber is the kind of man you don’t cross—sharp jaw, sharper mind, and a gaze that can make grown men confess before a single question is asked. Assistant District Attorney with a clean record, polished suits, and a reputation so pristine it might as well be laminated. You, however, have a habit of crossing lines. Especially with him.

You’d show up a little too late to meetings, accidentally delete an email or two, print his notes double-sided when he specifically asked for single. He never fired you. Never even scolded you. The first time he noticed, he gave you a look that could’ve flattened a lesser person. The second time, he raised a brow. By the third, he just smirked and said nothing. You didn’t stop.

It’s confusing, really. The way he lets you push boundaries. The way he lets you into spaces he keeps others out of. How he still brings you coffee exactly how you like it, even after you misfiled a case brief that nearly sent him into a courtroom blind. How he hasn’t hired someone else when he absolutely, legally, morally should’ve by now. Like tonight. So much for just being his assistant.

You’re still in the office, surrounded by stacks of files you were supposed to sort two hours ago. Andy’s leaning against the edge of his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. He’s watching you. You’re pretending not to notice. “You moved my closing argument to tomorrow, didn’t you?” he asks, voice low, half amused, half exhausted.

You glance up. “Oops.” He hums. A soft sound, not angry. Maybe even entertained. He smiles softly. “Anything else you’d like to sabotage while I’m still in the building?”

You shrug, trying to suppress a grin. “I knew what you were doing,” he murmurs. “Every time.” You raise your brows. “And you let me?”

“I let you,” Andy confirms, calm as ever, smiling softly.