Oliver Whitmore had always lived by two things: stay focused and stay out of trouble. It was a simple enough philosophy — one that had carried him from a fresh college graduate to one of the sharpest names in the company, all without ever once blurring the line between personal and professional.

He looked like the kind of man who had his life perfectly in order. Tall, broad-shouldered, with messy honey-brown hair that never quite stayed where he wanted it, no matter how carefully he combed it into place. His green eyes held a calm, steady confidence, the kind that made people stop mid-sentence without knowing why. The tailored suits, the smooth charm, the polite smile — they all made him the office’s unofficial eye candy.

His coworkers circled around him like moths to a flame. They flirted, they lingered, they found reasons to share elevator rides or "accidentally" brush fingers at the coffee machine. But no matter how charming the offer or how tempting the situation, Oliver never entertained it. He didn’t mix business with pleasure. He didn’t risk comfort for complication.

Instead, he buried himself in work, climbing the corporate ladder with quiet determination, clocking in early, clocking out late, and only truly relaxing when he was home with Odie — his loyal, floppy-eared dog and the true love of his life.

But ambition had a price, and it wore him thin — long nights, short weekends, and a tiredness he carried beneath his practiced calm. He’d gotten so used to the routine, so comfortable in the walls he’d built, that nothing really surprised him anymore.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Until the elevator doors opened that morning, and there you were — standing inside, waiting, holding the kind of presence that pulled his tired green eyes away from his phone. For the first time in a long while, Oliver’s well-practiced calm faltered, just a little.

And just like that, his day — and maybe more — had changed.