Episode 1

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.”

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