Chapter 3 Dawn

Heaven walked into the office like nothing happened.

Her heels clicked confidently against the tile floor, the silk of her blouse smooth against her skin, and her sleek ponytail swayed with every stride. She was elegance wrapped in steel. But inside, her mind replayed the night before like a scene from a movie she wasn't sure she liked or maybe liked too much.

The quiet of the rain, the scent of his car, the way Jace didn't push, didn't flirt just drove.

It annoyed her more than the smirk he usually wore.

He'd caught her off guard. That's what this was.

She dropped her bag on her desk and reached for her coffee when she saw it: a small envelope tucked neatly on top of her keyboard.

No name.

No handwriting.

Just... there.

She opened it.

Inside, a sticky note. Two words written in an elegant, all-caps scrawl:

"You're welcome."

Her eyes narrowed. And then she saw it the sleek little card just behind it. A car wash gift card.

Her coffee paused halfway to her lips.

"Unbelievable," she muttered.

"Good morning, Miss Ofili." That voice again low, smooth, and smug.

She didn't even turn. "You're so desperate for a thank you, I'm surprised you didn't wrap it in roses."

"Roses are for women who smile at me. You, Heaven, are more... steel blades and cold stares."

Now she looked at him leaning casually against the edge of her cubicle, again. Dark navy suit. Tie loosened like he didn't have time for restrictions. Hair perfect in that artfully tousled, I-didn't-try way.

God, he was irritatingly handsome.

And he knew it.

"You don't have to keep showing up here," she said, placing the gift card down with exaggerated care.

"Didn't say I was here for you."

She raised a brow. "Then what do you want?"

"To watch you pretend you don't like me," he replied without missing a beat. "It's become my morning meditation."

She smiled sweetly. "Well, I'm flattered. Your ego must be starving for the attention."

His eyes flickered. "My ego's on a strict Heaven-only diet."

"Keep starving," she said coolly, turning back to her screen.

He watched her a beat longer, then finally stepped away not before tossing over his shoulder, "Next time it rains, I'm charging cab fare."

"Add it to your fantasies," she shot back without looking up.

And just like that, he was gone.

Heaven exhaled slowly, fingers pausing on her keyboard.

.

*****

This morning, it was no different.

Except now, Heaven sat in one of the deep emerald chairs, across from her favorite nightmare in a navy suit - Jace Daniels.

"Your names came up unanimously," Laura said, glancing between them. "This project needs brains, confidence, and the kind of friction that forces excellence. And the board wants a prototype in six weeks."

Jace smirked. "So you're saying we're the dream team."

Laura gave him a look. "I'm saying don't screw it up."

Heaven crossed her legs. "And what, exactly, is the scope?"

Laura slid a leather folder across the desk. "It's a cross-departmental strategy to launch a hybrid service for our international clients. We want seamless integration between marketing and finance to create a scalable, data-backed proposal. This could secure our partnership with the Berlin investors."

Heaven flipped through the folder. "This is massive."

"Exactly," Laura said. "Which is why I want you both - and only you both - running it. I've already cleared your schedules. You'll have a private office, a budget, and two interns. I need your preliminary report in five days."

Heaven glanced at Jace, who was casually tapping a pen against his thigh like this was just another Tuesday.

Arrogant.

Effortless.

Too damn calm.

"I assume we have equal say in execution?" she asked Laura.

"Equal. But any stalemates go through me." Then Laura added, dryly, "And for the love of God, don't kill each other."

The new office was tucked on the tenth floor private, glass-walled, and slightly too small for two people with egos and tension between them.

By noon, the walls were already lined with mock-ups and wireframes, and Heaven's laptop was cluttered with notes. She paced, sharp and fluid, outlining a digital strategy as Jace leaned back in his chair, watching her like someone observing an art form.

"You know," he said finally, "if you keep talking like that, I might actually start thinking you're brilliant."

She stopped mid-stride, turning to him. "Was that meant to be a compliment?"

"More like a warning. I'm dangerously attracted to intelligence."

Heaven blinked. "That's funny. I'm violently allergic to charm without substance."

"Ouch."

"But go on. Keep making useless remarks while I do all the heavy lifting."

He stood and moved toward her - slow, deliberate.

"You think I got chosen for this because I look good in a suit?"

"You do look good in a suit," she said, tone clipped. "But that's not a qualification."

He was closer now - just close enough for the air to shift.

"Then let's qualify this," he said, reaching past her to tap her laptop. "Your digital funnel? It's missing a performance cost model. If we scale your plan without budgeting for fluctuation margins, it'll bleed out in week two."

She looked at him.

And for one second, just one, she hated how right he was.

Damn it.

He pulled back, smug. "Told you. I'm not just a pretty face."

Heaven rolled her eyes. "Keep talking, Daniels. You might accidentally say something useful again."

Later that evening, the air between them was less hostile, but no less charged.

Heaven stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the city pulse beneath them. Lights, motion, noise - everything except peace.

"You need a ride?" Jace asked, casually grabbing his keys from the table.

"No, thanks." She didn't turn around.

"It's late."

"I know."

He hesitated. "You sure?"

She turned then, eyes cutting into his.

"I'm capable of finding my way home without your charity."

His jaw ticked. "It's not charity. It's courtesy."

"Well, I don't need that either."

There was silence.

Heavy, full.

Then he tilted his head slightly. "You really hate me, don't you?"

"I don't waste energy on hate," she said coolly. "I just pity the women who fall for your type."

He grinned, slow. "And what type is that?"

"The kind that believes he's irresistible."

He stepped forward, not touching her, just... nearing.

And something flickered in his voice - deeper, darker.

"And what if I am?"

She held his gaze, pulse thudding.

"Then I'd still walk away."