Jay should've known peace wouldn't last.
She hadn't even sat down at her desk when Freya slowly rolled her chair back, eyes wide, voice hushed like she'd just witnessed a crime.
"So," Freya said. "We're just… kissing CEOs now?"
Jay dropped her bag. "Please don't."
Rakki popped up from the other side. "In front of clients, Jay."
Mica leaned over the divider. "Without warning."
Grace, deadpan: "With confidence."
Jay buried her face in her hands. "I lost control for two seconds."
Freya grinned. "Two seconds that will be discussed for the next two years."
Jay groaned. "I hate all of you."
"No you don't," Rakki said. "You claimed him. That's legendary behavior."
Jay peeked through her fingers. "It wasn't supposed to be… a thing."
Ella finally looked up from her screen. "Jay."
Jay froze. "Yes?"
Ella's expression was unreadable. "The entire floor went silent."
Jay whimpered. "I know."
"And then," Ella continued, "Keifer put his hand on your waist."
Jay's head snapped up. "He did?"
Freya nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yeah. Instinctive. Protective. Very 'touch her and perish' energy."
Jay's ears turned red again. "Why were you all watching so closely?"
Rakki shrugged. "Productivity dip."
At that exact moment, Keifer walked past their section.
The chatter died instantly.
He didn't stop.
Didn't look around.
Just paused briefly beside Jay's desk and said, calm and clear,
"Lunch. Don't forget."
Then he walked away.
The second he was out of earshot—
Freya screamed. "DON'T FORGET WHAT, JAY?"
Jay dropped her head onto the desk. "Make it stop."
Grace smiled. "You broke the office."
Rakki added, "HR is going to need a new handbook."
Jay lifted her head slowly. "You're all impossible."
Freya leaned closer, softer now. "But hey… he didn't pull away."
Jay smiled despite herself. "No."
"And he didn't look embarrassed," Mica added.
Jay's smile grew warmer. "No, he didn't."
Ella nodded once. "Good."
Jay blinked. "That's it?"
Ella shrugged. "You didn't hesitate. That matters."
Jay exhaled, finally laughing. "I didn't think. I just… acted."
Freya smirked. "Next time, give us a warning."
Jay rolled her eyes. "There is no next time."
From the hallway, Keifer's voice floated back, amused and unmistakably calm:
"Don't be so sure."
The section exploded.
Jay covered her face again, laughing now instead of hiding.
Embarrassed?
Yes.
Regretful?
Not even a little.
Jay decided, very firmly, that she was going to be professional.
No blushing.
No staring.
No remembering what she did in front of half the office.
She sat straight at her desk, posture perfect, eyes glued to her screen.
Focused.
Composed.
Unbothered.
Keifer walked in ten minutes later.
Jay did not look up.
She absolutely did not notice the way his presence alone changed the air around her.
"Good morning," he said calmly.
"Morning," she replied immediately—too fast, too sharp.
She cringed internally.
Keifer paused near her desk. "Can you send me the revised report?"
"Yes," she said, already typing. "It'll be in your inbox in three minutes."
He raised an eyebrow. "Three?"
Jay nodded stiffly. "I timed it."
Freya choked on her coffee.
Keifer hid a smile. "Alright then."
He walked away.
Jay exhaled. Nailed it.
Thirty seconds later, she accidentally sent the email with the subject line:
FINAL FINAL FINAL (IGNORE PREVIOUS)
She stared at her screen.
"…Great."
From across the floor, Rakki whispered, "Professional queen."
Jay glared.
A little later, Keifer called her into his office.
Jay stood up like she was walking into battle.
Neutral face.
Work mode on.
She knocked. "You wanted to see me?"
Keifer looked up. "Yes. Close the door."
Her heart did something unnecessary.
She closed it. Carefully. Professionally.
He gestured to the chair. "Sit."
She sat. Hands folded. Perfect employee posture.
Keifer leaned back. Studied her.
"You're being very formal today," he said mildly.
Jay nodded. "As I should be."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
He tilted his head. "You won't even look at me."
Jay stared directly at his forehead. "I am looking."
He smiled. "That's my eyebrow."
She finally met his eyes—and immediately looked away again.
"I'm just… resetting," she said quickly. "Back to normal."
Keifer's voice softened. "Jay."
She glanced at him.
"You don't need to pretend nothing happened," he said gently. "You also don't need to act like it was a crime."
Her shoulders dropped a little. "I just don't want people to think—"
"That you're human?" he finished.
She sighed. "That I'm unprofessional."
Keifer smiled. Not teasing. Reassuring.
"You've been professional every day you've worked here," he said. "One moment doesn't erase that."
Jay relaxed, just a bit.
"Okay," she murmured.
He added, casually, "Though you are sitting like you're at an interview."
She blinked. "…I am?"
"Yes. You're terrifyingly upright."
She groaned and slumped back in the chair. "I hate this office."
Keifer chuckled. "There you are."
Jay finally smiled—small, shy, genuine.
As she stood to leave, she paused at the door.
"…Lunch?" she asked, pretending it was just another meeting.
Keifer nodded. "Lunch."
She walked out, cheeks warm again, professionalism officially abandoned.
From the outside, it looked like nothing had changed.
But everyone knew.
Jay wasn't pretending anymore.
And Keifer wasn't letting her.
Because they lived together, the office kiss didn't feel like a confession.
It felt like an accident of honesty.
What really hit Jay… was later that night.
She was already home when Keifer walked in, jacket tossed aside, sleeves rolled up like always. Familiar. Comfortable. Safe.
Too safe.
Jay was sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll, pretending her heart wasn't still racing from the day.
Keifer noticed immediately.
"You're quiet," he said casually.
"I'm fine," she replied too quickly.
He didn't push. He sat beside her, close enough that their knees touched, just like every other night.
Silence stretched.
Then Jay blurted, "I shouldn't have done that."
Keifer turned to her. "Done what?"
"…Kissed you like that. At work."
He studied her face, not teasing, not defensive. Just listening.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he said calmly.
Jay frowned. "People stared. I crossed—"
"You didn't cross anything," he interrupted gently. "You reacted."
She looked down. "I got jealous."
"I noticed," he said simply.
Jay sighed. "And you weren't even doing anything."
Keifer nodded. "I know."
That made her look up.
"You know?" she asked.
"I know when you're holding yourself together," he said quietly.
"And I know when you reach your limit."
Jay's voice softened. "I didn't plan it."
"I know," he repeated. Then added, lightly, "You usually overthink before doing dramatic things."
She huffed despite herself. "I hate that you know me so well."
He smiled. "I live with you."
That did it.
Jay leaned into him, forehead against his shoulder. "I don't like sharing you."
Keifer wrapped an arm around her without hesitation. "You're not sharing me."
She murmured, "Everyone saw."
"Yes," he agreed calmly. "And now they know."
She tilted her head up. "Know what?"
"That I'm yours," he said. Then, softer, "And that you don't disappear when you feel something."
Jay relaxed fully against him.
"You weren't embarrassed?" she asked.
Keifer shook his head. "I was surprised."
"Only surprised?"
He smiled faintly. "And a little proud."
She looked at him. "Of me?"
"Of us," he corrected.
Jay smiled then — small, real, settled.
Office chaos would pass.
Gossip would fade.
But this?
This was steady.
They went to bed that night like they always did — not dramatic, not rushed — just together, secure in the fact that nothing about their life needed explaining anymore.