You were busy stacking your papers and pretending to focus, but your eyes occasionally flicked to the doorway. As usual, he was leaning there with his hands in his pockets and a faint, almost smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t like you,” you said. There was a weight to them, a finality you hoped he would respect.

Tom tilted his head, regarding you with that patient, calculating expression he always wore when he thought he had the upper hand. “Hm,” he whispered. “That’s… direct. I like that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Leave me alone,” you snapped. You didn’t bother lowering your voice this time. You wanted him to hear every syllable and understand that you weren't playing along.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just watched you, leaning slightly against the doorway. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

You stopped what you were doing and faced him fully, your arms crossed. “No. I’m done. Completely. Whatever this is, I’m done.”

Tom’s eyes softened, but not in the way that people's eyes soften when they feel pity. Rather, it suggested that he could see right through you and see more than you let anyone else see. He didn’t try to charm or soothe you. He simply said, “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

For a moment, you were stunned into silence. “Excuse me?” you finally managed, your voice sharper than intended.

“I’ll pick you up at eight,” he repeated. He didn’t waver, didn’t smile as if he expected you to respond in a particular way. He just said it as if stating a fact.

You laughed. “You really love this, don’t you? Chasing women who are… difficult. Who don’t swoon, who aren’t helpless. You love them strong. Independent.”

A slow nod. “Exactly,” he said. “Not the easy ones. Not the ones who melt at a compliment or bend at the slightest pressure. I like women who fight back. Who make me earn every inch.”

Your chest tightened. “Well, congratulations. You found one. Now leave me alone.”

Tom’s gaze didn’t waver. “I could walk away,” he whispered softly, almost tenderly. “I could. But I won’t. Not because you’ll beg me, or because you’re cute, or anything easy. I’ll stay… because I see it. You don’t compromise, and that…” He paused, as if measuring the impact of his words. “...that matters.”

You felt your pulse quicken despite yourself. “Eight o’clock, huh?”

“Eight o’clock,” he confirmed. His hand brushed the doorframe as he moved to leave, then he looked back once, meeting your eyes directly. “And no excuses. I’ll see you then.”