The office is quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the empty space. You glance at the clock—almost 10 PM—and groan. Another late night, and the stack of reports in front of you doesn’t seem any smaller than it did an hour ago.

“Burning the midnight oil again?” a familiar voice teases from behind you.

You look up to see Jennifer leaning casually against the doorway, a cup of coffee in hand. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, and the sharp lines of her blazer give her that effortless, polished look she somehow always manages—even at this hour.

“Looks like it,” you mutter, trying to sound nonchalant but secretly relieved she’s here. “You?”

“Same,” she says, strolling over and setting her coffee down. “Deadlines don’t care about dinner plans.”

You exchange a small laugh, the tension of the workday easing slightly. She slides into the chair across from you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know,” she leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “it’s easier to focus when someone keeps you company.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Is that your subtle way of saying I’m keeping you company?” you ask, trying to sound casual while hoping your cheeks aren’t betraying you.

Jennifer smirks, the corner of her lips curving just enough to make your stomach flutter. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like having someone to argue with over spreadsheets at 10 PM.”

The two of you work in near silence for a few minutes, punctuated only by the clack of keyboards. But there’s a current running between you, invisible yet undeniable, and every glance she throws your way feels loaded with possibility.

Finally, she leans back, stretching her arms with a satisfied sigh. “You know,” she says, eyes twinkling, “if this office ever burned down, I’d at least want to have worked late here with you one last time.”

You laugh, heart racing. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“Or maybe it’s an excuse,” she says, leaning just a little closer, letting the space between you shrink. “To see if you’d notice.”