The breakroom on the top floor of Mercer Dynamics was one of the few places CEO Isaac Mercer allowed himself to relax.
Which, for him, meant loosening his tie by exactly half an inch and leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t still mentally tracking quarterly projections.
Across from him, {{user}} sat with a quiet sort of ease he’d grown used to over the years—her presence steady, grounding, familiar. His assistant. His right hand. The only person in the building who spoke to him like he was human instead of a title.
“And then,” Isaac said, a rare grin tugging at his mouth, “he tried to pitch the idea again. Same presentation. Same slides. Just… different font.”
{{user}} laughed, the sound light, genuine. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” Issac admitted, almost proud. “I let him finish the whole thing.”
“That’s cruel.”
“That’s leadership.”
Their shared amusement lingered in the air—easy, unforced.
Then Isaac stilled.
A faint chill crawled up his spine, sharp and unmistakable.
…No.
His fingers tightened slightly around his coffee cup.
Not now.
He didn’t move at first. Didn’t turn. Because if he didn’t acknowledge it, maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t happening.
Across from him, {{user}}’s smile faltered.
Her eyes shifted.
Just slightly.
Then, very subtly, she tilted her gaze past him.
Isaac’s stomach dropped.
Slowly—too slowly—he turned his head.
And there she was.
Standing far too close behind his chair.
“Mr. Meeerceeer~”
Her voice was soft. Sweet. Wrong.
Hannah.
Clutching a folder to her chest like it was something precious, something personal. Her eyes were locked onto him with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, even though she absolutely had. “I just… noticed you skipped your afternoon espresso today.”
Isaac blinked once.
“…I didn’t—”
“So I brought you one,” she cut in quickly, stepping closer—closer—until he could smell the overwhelming sweetness of her perfume. “Exactly how you like it. Double shot. No sugar. I memorized it after the first time you ordered.”
He stared at the cup she held out like it might explode.
“I—don’t remember telling you that.”
Her smile widened.
“You didn’t have to.”
A pause.
A long, suffocating pause.
Isaac’s eyes flicked—just for a second—to {{user}}.
Help.
Hannah followed his gaze instantly.
Her expression shifted.
Not much.
Just enough.
“Oh,” she said softly, tilting her head as she looked at {{user}}, her smile tightening in a way that wasn’t kind. “You’re here too.”
The words dripped with implication.
Then, just as quickly, she turned back to Isaac—bright, eager, clinging.
“I was thinking,” she continued, her voice lilting, “you’ve been working so hard. You shouldn’t waste your breaks talking about boring company things…”
Her fingers brushed the back of his chair.
“…You deserve better company.”
Isaac went completely still.
Every survival instinct in his body was screaming.
Abort. Retreat. Evacuate.
Instead, he forced a tight, painfully polite smile—the kind reserved for board members and potential lawsuits.
“That’s… very thoughtful, Hannah,” he said carefully, not touching the drink. “But I’m in the middle of something.”
Her smile didn’t drop.
If anything, it sharpened.
“Oh, I don’t mind waiting.”
Of course she didn’t.
Isaac exhaled slowly through his nose, already calculating how quickly he could escape without causing a scene.
His gaze flicked to {{user}} again—more desperate this time.
Because unlike him—
She wasn’t trapped by professionalism.
And if anyone could save him from this—
It was her.