jake wasn't supposed to be here. not really. his job tonight was simple: coordinate the perimeter, ensure the president’s safety from a safe distance, and blend into the background. the annual whitney gala was a goldmine of soft targets and high-stakes networking, and jake ballard was a master of reading the room without ever being seen.

except tonight, he was seeing her.

{{user}}. olivia pope’s constant shadow, the woman who was always just a step behind, her laughter bright but cautious, her presence both grounded and overwhelmingly soft. she was olivia’s safe space, jake knew, the friend who had no agenda, no hidden motives.

she was everything he wasn't. and she was driving him insane.

from his vantage point near the bar, nursing an untouched scotch, he watched her. she was looking a bit like a deer caught in high-society headlights, her gaze darting from senator to scion, a polite, forced smile plastered onto her face. she looked... overwhelmed. like the weight of the political arena was a physical pressure she could feel in her chest.

he felt a strange, protectiveness coil in his gut. he shouldn't care. she was olivia’s friend. off-limits. but then she started moving, weaving her way through the densely packed crowd, heading for the balcony doors.

without thinking, jake drained his glass and began to navigate the crowd in her wake.

the night air on the balcony was a shocking contrast to the heavy heat of the ballroom. a cold, sharp wind whipped across the terrace, carrying the faint scent of rain and damp concrete. {{user}} was leaning against the stone balustrade, her dark red shawl pressed tightly around her shoulders, staring out at the national mall and the silhouette of the monument.

jake stepped into the shadows near her, his breath a puff of white in the frigid air. he didn’t speak, didn’t say a word. he just waited.

it took her a minute to realize she wasn't alone. she gasped, her shoulders tensing, before she saw his profile.

“you’re shivering,” jake noted, his voice low, almost rougher than he intended.

“it’s just the wind,” she lied, her voice tight. she didn’t turn around, her eyes fixed on the distant lights.

he stepped into her peripheral vision, his shoulder nearly brushing hers. "you’re a terrible liar. olivia usually handles the lying for both of you."

{{user}} turned to him, her eyes wide, her heart hammered against her ribs. she could feel the heat radiating off of him, a potent warmth in the freezing night. “maybe i’m tired of being the ‘good’ friend, jake. maybe i want to be the one who gets what she wants for once.”

jake’s hand twitched, his fingers ghosting near her waist but never quite touching. his own desire, sharp and unexpected, twisted inside him. “be careful what you wish for. people like me... we aren't the prize.”