Joe Quincy wasn’t used to being flustered. Not by briefing memos, not by scandal, not even by the President’s raised eyebrow. But her—she was different.

Her office had landed next to his after a communications shake-up. Senior Policy Advisor for domestic affairs—sharp, trusted, and maddeningly unbothered by his rules or formality.

“Is that memo ready?” she asked, leaning in his doorway, coffee in hand, mischief in her eyes.

Joe didn’t look up. “It’s being finalized.”

“You mean rewritten to sound like a 19th-century jurist.”

“I take clarity seriously.”

She smirked, stepping inside without an invite. “I take progress seriously. We make quite the team.”

“We’re not a team.”

“Not yet,” she teased.

His ears flushed. He turned back to his screen, pretending her words didn’t land.

“I’ve got a meeting in ten. You walking that way?”

“I don’t usually take detours,” Joe said, grabbing his notes.

She raised a brow. “Maybe you should.”

She walked off. He hesitated, then followed.

He caught up halfway down the hall. She didn’t look at him, but her smirk deepened—she knew.

“You always this quiet when you’re uncomfortable, or is that just around me?”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Just tense?”

“I work in a building where crises happen daily.”

She glanced at him. “But this isn’t about the crisis, is it?”

He paused. She turned, arms crossed, tone softer now.

“You don’t have to be so careful all the time, Joe.”

His name in her voice made him falter.

“Not being careful in this place can end careers.”

You stepped a little closer,he could smell your perfume—something warm and grounded, like cedarwood and maybe vanilla.

“Maybe I do,” you said. “But maybe… not everything has to be a risk assessment.”

Their eyes met. Something unspoken shifted, fragile and real.

A staffer rounded the corner. Joe stepped back. You turned, completely unfazed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” she said, flashing a smile. “Try not to overthink this, Quincy.”