The city pulsed with that familiar Friday night energy—cars honking in the distance, neon lights blinking in rhythm with the hurried footsteps of people desperate to leave the workweek behind. Above it all, the rooftop bar at The Luxe stood like an oasis, its view stretching over the glittering skyline.

Jasmine stepped out of the elevator with her usual composed stride, designer heels clicking softly against the marble floor. A hundred thoughts still buzzed in her head—closing a high-stakes deal that afternoon, fielding back-to-back calls from investors, and a particularly irritating email thread that had nearly pushed her to throw her phone. But she’d promised her friends she’d show up. Even CEOs needed a break.

She spotted them right away: Lena, the brilliant corporate attorney; Miles, who could sell you your own pen with a wink; and then—Ezra.

He was lounging in his chair with a whiskey in hand, sleeves rolled up, a relaxed smirk tugging at his lips like he hadn’t just come from a twelve-hour hospital shift. Typical Ezra. Effortlessly calm, annoyingly charming.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up, his voice smooth and low. “Was the stock market holding you hostage again?”

Jasmine didn’t miss a beat. “I had to save the economy, Ezra. You wouldn’t understand. You’re too busy playing God in a white coat.”

He looked up then, eyes catching hers with a lazy smile. “Touché.”

She slid into the chair beside him, unbuttoning her blazer just enough to breathe. The tension in her shoulders eased—just slightly. He had that effect. Which irritated her.

“I’m surprised you’re even here,” Lena teased. “Did someone finally convince Jasmine Hart to take a night off?”

Jasmine sipped her wine, lips curving. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, we won’t,” Miles chimed in. “We know your idea of a wild Friday night is color-coding spreadsheets.”

“I’ll have you know,” Jasmine said coolly, “my color-coding is exceptional.”

Ezra chuckled beside her. “You probably have a spreadsheet for your weekend plans.”

“You don’t?”

“Mine says: survive ER chaos, avoid being paged mid-beer, and tolerate Jasmine’s sarcasm.”

She shot him a side-eye. “That’s ambitious. You’re already failing the last one.”

Their banter always walked the line—flirty, sharp, and just enough to leave her slightly off-balance. Not that she’d ever admit it.

“So,” Lena cut in with a grin, “are we finally going to admit that you two are the only ones in this group who don’t know they’re in a slow-burn romcom?”

Ezra raised a brow. “Bold assumption.”

Jasmine smirked. “Inaccurate one.”

Miles laughed. “You say that, but we’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

Ezra glanced at her then—directly, shamelessly. “Have we?”

Jasmine didn’t flinch, but her fingers tightened around her glass. “If I were writing this romcom, you’d be the comic relief. Not the lead.”

Ezra leaned closer. “Good thing I didn’t audition for your version.”

And for one brief second, the world around them faded—just the hum of the city, the clink of glasses, and the sharp, humming line between them.

He pulled back with a smirk. “But I could steal the spotlight if I wanted to.”

“You can try,” Jasmine said, matching his energy. “But I always win.”

The night deepened around them—jazz pulsing low through the rooftop speakers, the city lights smudging like watercolors against the glass. Their friends had moved toward the other side of the bar to fight over a playlist and order more drinks, leaving Jasmine and Ezra with just enough space to pretend they weren’t alone.

“Still think you’re the lead in this story?” Jasmine asked, swirling her wine.

Ezra tilted his head toward her, lips quirking. “I’ve got great hair and a tragic backstory. Feels like leading man energy to me.”

She snorted. “Your tragic backstory is that you once ran out of coffee mid-shift.”

“That was a dark time.”

She glanced at him, and for a moment—just a moment—the banter faded. Ezra’s posture had shifted, more relaxed than smug. She could see the edge of exhaustion around his eyes now, the kind only doctors wore like permanent shadows.

“How’s the ER this week?” she asked quietly.

“Chaotic,” he admitted. “Teenagers doing dumb things, old men refusing treatment, a kid with a Lego in his ear.”

Jasmine arched a brow. “Please tell me it was superhero-themed.”

Ezra cracked a smile. “Iron Man. Clearly had taste.”

She laughed softly, and something in his expression shifted—more open, more real. Less the flirt, more the man she didn’t always let herself think about too long.

“You’re good at it,” she said before she could stop herself.

“At flirting?” he teased.

“At showing up,” she replied, eyes on the skyline. “Even when you’re tired. Even when it’s messy.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then: “You’re not so bad at it yourself, you know.”

“At what?”

“Carrying everyone else while pretending you don’t need carrying too.”

Jasmine stilled. Her mask didn’t crack—but it thinned.

“You think you know me, Ezra.”

He shrugged, turning his gaze to the city. “I know enough.”

And he did. Enough to know she drank her espresso black but hated bitter people. Enough to know she double-texted her assistant but ignored calls from her mother. Enough to know that when she sighed like that—just barely—she was thinking of something she couldn’t quite say.

Before she could answer, the rest of the group returned, laughter spilling back into their bubble.

“Shot rounds!” Miles announced, clapping his hands. “Everyone up!”

Ezra stood, brushing past her shoulder with a grin. “Careful, Jasmine. One day I might surprise you.”

“You already have,” she murmured under her breath. “And I haven’t decided if I hate it yet.”

---

Later, after tequila and bad dancing and an embarrassing group selfie Lena swore she'd frame, Jasmine lingered behind while the others called their cars.

Ezra found her at the railing again, the breeze catching stray strands of her hair.

“You always disappear when it’s loud,” he said, echoing last week’s conversation.

She glanced at him, lips pressed together.

He nudged her elbow gently. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Right,” he said, not buying it for a second. “That’s CEO code for ‘burning down quietly.’”

She gave him a look. “Why do you care?”

“Because we’re in the same circle,” he said lightly. “And because—whether you like it or not—you matter to me.”

The words hung between them. Not too much. Not too little. Just honest enough to make her heart kick.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” she said softly.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Too late.”

Saturday mornings usually meant Jasmine was holed up in her penthouse, sipping espresso while scrolling through market forecasts. But this morning, she stood outside a cozy café in Midtown, frowning at the string of group messages buzzing on her phone.

Lena: “Change of plans. Brunch at Graham’s instead. It’s quieter.”

Miles: “Also, Ezra’s bringing that legendary banana bread again. We feast.”

Jasmine sighed, glancing down at her structured blazer and heeled boots. She was overdressed, as usual. And, as usual, it annoyed her that she cared.

Inside, the café was a warm contrast to the world outside—sunlight streaming in through tall windows, potted plants lining the corners, and the hum of low conversations. She spotted their group tucked into the back: Lena waving like a maniac, Miles halfway through a mimosa, and Ezra—wearing that damned henley again—slicing banana bread like some domestic god.

“You came,” Lena said brightly, sliding over to make room.

“Someone had to keep you all civilized,” Jasmine replied dryly, sitting beside Ezra. Her arm brushed his briefly. Neither of them moved away.

“You missed it,” Miles said. “Ezra got hit on by the barista again. I think this makes attempt number four.”

“She complimented my loaf,” Ezra said, biting back a grin.

Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Your baking’s average at best.”

He leaned closer. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Hart.”

“It’s not jealousy,” she said coolly. “It’s taste.”

But something about the exchange felt different today—warmer, maybe. Less barbed.

Then the bell above the café door rang, and a new voice joined the mix.

“Ezra?”

Jasmine turned just as a woman approached their table—tall, polished, with honey-blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. She carried a bouquet of sunflowers and the kind of smile that made people pause.

Ezra’s expression flickered. “Sophie?”

Sophie. Jasmine knew the name. She didn’t need the others' expressions to confirm it—Ezra’s ex. The one who’d moved cities and broken hearts, though no one ever said much more than that.

“Oh my god,” Sophie laughed, stepping in for a hug. “I knew it was you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

Jasmine didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Ezra pulled away. “Didn’t expect to see you back in New York.”

“Just visiting. A friend had a baby. I’m here for the week.” Her eyes scanned the group, finally landing on Jasmine. “And you are?”

“Jasmine,” she said smoothly, extending a hand. “CEO of Hart & Co.”

Sophie blinked. “Impressive. Ezra always did have good taste.”

Jasmine smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He hasn’t tried it on me.”

“Yet,” Miles coughed.

Sophie laughed, clearly missing the tension. “Well, I’ll let you guys get back to brunch. Ezra, we should catch up sometime before I leave.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice unreadable. “Maybe.”

She left a trail of citrus perfume and awkward silence in her wake.

Jasmine stared down at her untouched coffee, her pulse louder than it should’ve been.

“She’s... nice,” Lena offered gently.

“She’s here for a week,” Ezra said.

Jasmine stood abruptly. “I have a call to prep for. Forgot about it.”

Miles frowned. “On a Saturday?”

“It’s Asia,” she lied. “Different time zone.”

She didn’t look at Ezra as she left, heels clicking across the tile, head high.

Outside, the sun was too bright, the air too crisp. Jasmine breathed in, forced the emotion down.

It wasn’t jealousy. It was just irritation.

At herself. For caring more than she should.

Back inside, Ezra watched the door she’d left through and didn’t touch his banana bread again.