By the time Zoe got to her desk the next day, the office buzzed with the usual morning static—emails firing, interns scrambling, muted phone calls layered like white noise.
Zoe was halfway through replying to a fabric vendor when a desktop ping snapped her attention.
Stacy: "Zoe, can you stop by my office for a quick sec?"
Zoe let out a quiet sigh and stood up, smoothing her blouse.
She knocked lightly on Stacy's glass door before stepping in.
"Ms. Holloway, you needed something?"
Stacy didn't look up from her monitor. "Yeah, could you swing by Luma Café and grab my usual?"
Zoe blinked. "Sorry—what? You want me to get you coffee?"
"Yes," Stacy replied, finally meeting her gaze with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm swamped and really need it to get through these expense reports."
Zoe hesitated, arms crossed. "But I'm not your secretary, Ms. Holloway."
Stacy tilted her head, her tone still pleasant but firmer now. "I didn't say you were. But I also won't take no for an answer. Besides, you already ordered coffee under my name before. They'll brew it just the way I like it."
Zoe opened her mouth, then closed it. She sighed.
"Fine."
Zoe hurried down the bustling city sidewalk, dodging pedestrians and checking her watch every few steps. The traffic snarled around Luma Café, and the line inside stretched out the door. What should have been a quick coffee run had turned into a mini ordeal—honking cars, a spilled latte at the counter, and the barista mixing up orders twice.
Finally clutching the carefully wrapped cup with Stacy's name on it, Zoe took a deep breath and started back toward the office.
As she approached Stacy's office door, she paused, catching her breath and smoothing her hair. She knocked and pushed the door open—only to freeze.
There, at Stacy's desk, was Stacy herself, leisurely sipping from a steaming cup of coffee. Her eyes met Zoe's, a small, knowing smile curling at the corners of her lips.
"Oh," Zoe said, lifting the cup in her hand. "I thought you needed this..."
Stacy looked up, a smirk playing on her lips. "I figured if I waited for you to brave the traffic, I'd be parched by now. So, I asked my secretary to make me one."
Zoe's cheeks flushed, a mix of relief and irritation. "You already had coffee? And I went through hell for this?"
Stacy's grin deepened, eyes gleaming with quiet triumph. "Of course. I wanted to see how serious you are. You think this job's just about creativity and pretty designs? It's about endurance, patience... and handling the unexpected."
She stood, crossing the room with deliberate steps, each one echoing authority. "Making you waste time? That's not just petty. It's a test. If you get rattled over a coffee run, how are you going to survive the real chaos?"
Zoe met her gaze, tension crackling between them like static. Stacy wasn't just a boss—she was a force. Unyielding. Relentless.
"And if you're still standing after this," Stacy said, voice low and sharp, "maybe you've got what it takes."
Zoe said nothing. She just gave a small nod, turned, and walked out of the office—coffee cup still in hand.
Her heels hit the hallway carpet with just enough force to be polite, just enough restraint to hide the heat rising in her chest. She passed the open workspaces and quiet glances without looking up, headed straight for the one place no one would ask questions.
Zoe slipped into the bathroom and shut the door quietly behind her. She walked to the sink, planted her hands on the counter, and stared at her reflection.
"Endurance test, my ass," she muttered, her voice sharp but quiet. "That was a damn coffee run. I've worked twelve-hour days, led brand overhauls in my sleep, and this is what she throws at me? Like I haven't already proven myself a hundred times over."
She exhaled, jaw clenched. "Petty little games. What's next—laundry? Lunch orders?"
Behind her, a toilet flushed. Zoe's eyes snapped up to the mirror as Jenny emerged from the stall, raising an eyebrow.
Jenny smirked. "Was that about Ms. Holloway's coffee run?"
Zoe straightened a little. "Yeah. Long line, spilled drinks, wrong orders—just to walk in and find she already had one. Cold move."
Jenny grinned. "Honestly? Kind of iconic. But yeah, messed up."
Zoe gave a dry laugh, though her irritation still simmered just below the surface.
Jenny moved to the sink beside her. "Still, if anyone can handle Ms. Holloway's mind games, it's you."
Zoe glanced at her through the mirror. "Yeah?"
Jenny nodded, earnest now. "You're the reason I even stayed after my first month. You don't flinch under pressure. You make impossible timelines feel doable. You've already proven yourself, Zoe. Maybe she's just trying to see how much more you've got."
Zoe's expression softened slightly, the corners of her mouth lifting into a tired smile. "Thanks. Seriously."
Jenny shrugged, drying her hands. "Anytime. Just... don't quit. Not yet. Some of us are still following your lead."
Zoe looked back at her reflection, eyes clearer now. The frustration hadn't disappeared—but something steadier had settled beneath it.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said. "Not yet."
She pushed away from the sink and took a slow breath, straightening her posture. Whatever petty games Stacy played, Zoe knew one thing: she'd need every ounce of her grit today.
Glancing at the clock on the bathroom wall, Zoe's jaw tightened. Meeting in ten. Time to move.
---
The glow from her laptop was the only light in Zoe's apartment, a quiet aftermath of the office chaos she'd finally escaped.
The city murmured outside her window, distant and indifferent. Neon signs blinked in slow, tired pulses, painting the apartment walls in shades of violet and electric blue. Somewhere down below, a car horn wailed and faded like a ghost. Inside, Zoe sat curled into her couch like a secret—hoodie two sizes too big, legs drawn beneath her, a glass of wine balanced on the edge of the armrest like a dare.
Her laptop cast a pale glow onto her face, illuminating the faint crease between her brows. The Instagram post stared back at her, loud in its silence.
There she was.
Stacy Holloway. Immaculate. Unreachable.
In the photo, Stacy stood at a gala, cloaked in a black gown that clung like liquid shadow. Her hair was pulled into a sleek, brutal bun, exposing the sharp geometry of her cheekbones. Her eyes—those strange, dual-toned eyes, cold and burning—met the camera like they didn't need permission.
Zoe stared
"Of course she looks like that," she muttered, lips curling into something between awe and annoyance. "Like she was carved out of ambition and Armani."
She scrolled.
Another image. Stacy mid-interview—lips parted in that almost-smile that wasn't really a smile at all. Calculated. Magnetic. Dangerous. There was something in the tilt of her head, in the way she looked slightly past the lens, as though already done with the conversation before it began.
Zoe exhaled, slow and tight.
"God, she's insufferable."
And yet she kept looking.
She took a sip of wine, then leaned forward as if she might decode the mystery through sheer proximity. Her gaze lingered on the curve of Stacy's mouth, the deliberate posture, the eyes that missed nothing.
But why, she wondered, did that make her more... appealing?
Zoe groaned softly and slumped back into the couch, knocking her heel against the cushions in quiet frustration. This was ridiculous. Stacy was cold. Demanding. She made her fetch coffee like some intern just to prove she could. She should be furious at her right now.
But she wasn't. Not really.
The laptop lid lowered under her hand. Then, after a pause, lifted again. She couldn't help it. She was being pulled in—no, drawn. Like gravity didn't care what she wanted.
"There's something about her," Zoe thought, tracing the edge of the trackpad with one finger. "That sharpness. That control. It's like standing at the edge of a high place. You hate the fall. But some part of you still leans forward."
Her head tilted back, eyes resting on the ceiling as if she might find the answer written there in the shadows. A small laugh escaped her, soft and unwilling. And then—because no one was there to hear it—she let herself smile.
"When she walks into a room," Zoe mused, "people straighten up. Not because she tells them to. Because she doesn't have to."
"And when she looked at you—really looked—it was like she already knew what you were about to say. Like she'd read the footnotes of your soul and found them unimpressive. Infuriating. And... intoxicating."
The smile turned into a giggle, light and involuntary. Zoe pressed her sleeve against her mouth, hiding the sound like it was a secret.
She should be planning revenge. Or, at the very least, composing a world-class comeback. But instead?
"I'm sitting here wondering what perfume she wears," she muttered with a groan, collapsing backward into the cushions like her own thoughts had betrayed her.
She stared at the ceiling again. "Get a grip, Zoe. She's your boss. She's chaos in heels. She's—"
Her eyes flicked back to the image on the screen, softening despite her best efforts.
"She's captivating."
This time, she closed the laptop for real. But the silence that followed wasn't empty—it buzzed with everything she wasn't saying.
The last of her wine slid down easily. She set the glass aside and stood, catching her reflection in the dark window. The hoodie hung low on her hips, her hair slightly mussed, eyes a little too bright for midnight.
Tomorrow, she'd act like nothing had changed. Like she was still annoyed. Like she wasn't secretly hoping Stacy would call her into her office again, look at her that way again—like she was a puzzle worth solving.
Her reflection smirked faintly, betraying her.
"Just don't let her see it," Zoe murmured to the window. "Not yet."
And then she turned away, her footsteps soft against the floor as the city blinked behind her—alive with temptation, lit like a dare.