chapter 2

Ava woke up with her alarm blaring and a piece of toast stuck to her cheek.

"Today," she declared to her reflection, still brushing crumbs out of her hair, "I will be calm. Cool. Collected."

Three things she absolutely was not.

Twenty minutes later, she dashed into Blackwood Enterprises in mismatched socks, clutching Damien's favorite coffee order like it was the Holy Grail: one black, no sugar, no cream, no joy.

The receptionist, a model-looking woman named Veronica, gave her a once-over that could have frozen lava.

“You’re late.”

“It’s only 8:59,” Ava puffed, checking her phone.

“Mr. Blackwood prefers people to arrive early. He says punctuality is for peasants.”

“Oh,” Ava said. “How... humble of him.”

When she stepped into his office, Damien was already seated, perfectly tailored in a dark gray suit that probably cost more than her apartment.

He didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

“It’s 8:59!”

“You should’ve been here at 8:45.”

“Well, technically, I’ve been in the building since 8:30. I just got... lost... on the 7th floor. There was a very confusing hallway and a janitor with strong opinions about lemon-scented bleach.”

Damien blinked slowly. “Do you have the coffee?”

“Yes, sir.” She handed it to him with a proud smile.

He took one sip—and immediately spat it back into the cup.

“This is vanilla latte.”

She gasped. “But I said black!”

“You said black no joy, remember?”

Ava mentally replayed the scene. Right. No cream. No sugar. No joy. Not a touch of vanilla and hope.

“I... might’ve accidentally grabbed the wrong one. Mine’s black,” she offered helpfully.

He looked at her. “You expect me to drink your coffee?”

“No. Yes? I mean, if you want to? Mine has joy.”

Damien pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have exactly one hour to go back and get the right order. If you return with anything foamy, flavored, or cheerful, I will personally feed it to the shredder.”

Ten minutes later, she was racing out of the elevator again. As the doors closed, she heard Damien sigh, “This is going to be... exhausting.”

---

Ava returned—sweaty but victorious—with the blackest, most joyless coffee known to man.

She placed it on his desk triumphantly. “Mission: Depresso, accomplished.”

For the first time, Damien looked vaguely amused.

“Depresso?” he asked.

She nodded. “Like espresso. But sadder.”

He didn’t laugh. But his lips twitched.

A win.

---

By the end of the day, she’d tripped twice, jammed the printer with a paperclip, and accidentally sent an email that said “Good moaning” instead of “Good morning” to a board member.

But she was still standing.

Barely.

And as she left, Damien’s voice stopped her in the doorway.

“You’re not terrible.”

She turned, blinking. “Thank you... I think?”

He went back to his laptop.

She smiled all the way home.

Guys ,I think Damien is starting to crack 🤤❤️

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