Climbing Hearts

The hum of fluorescent lights, the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, and the distant buzz of conversation—it was another Monday morning at Stratosphere Global, and Ava Sinclair was already on her second espresso. She sat at her sleek glass desk, eyes narrowed at her monitor as she read over the email from upper management. Her fingers froze mid-keystroke. > "Final candidates for Vice President of Strategic Marketing will be announced this week. All finalists will present a joint campaign to the board by the end of the quarter." Finalists. Joint campaign. She didn’t need to scroll further to know exactly who she’d be partnered with. Like clockwork, his voice cut through the air behind her. “I see you got the email too.” Ava didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. The smugness in Damien Cole’s tone was as thick as ever. He circled her desk with the casual confidence of a man who never had to try too hard to be the center of attention. His tailored navy suit fit like a second skin, his dark hair was perfectly styled, and of course—he had that look in his eyes again. That almost-smile that hovered between challenge and flirtation. “Try not to slow me down, Sinclair,” he added, leaning one arm on her desk. She looked up slowly, giving him a polite, unamused smile. “I’ll try not to trip over your ego on the way to the boardroom.” He laughed. A deep, warm laugh that did something annoyingly pleasant to the pit of her stomach. She blamed the espresso. “Still sharp,” he said, straightening. “That’s what I like about you.” Ava blinked. That wasn’t the script. They bantered, they threw verbal grenades, they didn’t… flirt. Did they? “You like me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I like a good challenge,” Damien corrected, backing away with a wink. “And you, Ava, are the best one I’ve had.” She stared at his retreating figure as he walked toward his office, trying to ignore the tiny, traitorous smile tugging at her lips. --- The rest of the morning was a blur of meetings and phone calls, but Ava couldn’t shake that look in Damien’s eyes. There was something new in it today—something less calculating, more curious. Or maybe she was imagining things. Still, when their boss, Meredith Lin, called both of them into the executive conference room that afternoon, Ava was determined to stay focused. Promotion. Presentation. Victory. “Congratulations,” Meredith said once they were seated across from each other. “You’re the two finalists. You’ll be co-leading a campaign for our new green tech client. Big budget. Big exposure. Big expectations.” Ava nodded, stealing a glance at Damien. He was watching her too, his expression unreadable for once. Meredith handed them folders. “You’ll need to collaborate, not compete—at least not outwardly. The board wants to see synergy.” Ava resisted the urge to groan. Synergy with Damien Cole was about as likely as a blizzard in July. “I expect you two to act like a team,” Meredith added, eyes darting between them. “Convince me you can pull this off together.” After she left, the silence between them stretched for a long beat. “So,” Damien finally said, flipping open his folder. “Guess we’re stuck together.” Ava sighed, adjusting her blazer. “We’ve worked in the same company for three years. We’ll survive.” He leaned slightly closer across the table, voice lower now. “I meant stuck together.” She met his gaze—and for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t full of annoyance. There was something else there. Maybe even admiration. Or attraction. “I’ll take the lead on the pitch outline,” she said quickly, breaking the tension. “You can handle the visual strategy.” “Deal,” he said, a slow smile forming. “But only if you let me take you to lunch first.” Ava’s eyes widened. “Is that part of the strategy?” He shrugged, standing. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want to know what you’re like when you’re not trying to outsmart me.” She didn’t answer. But as he walked out again, she found herself wondering the same thing about him. And that thought lingered longer than it should have. Ava didn’t go to lunch with Damien. Not because she didn’t want to—but because wanting to felt dangerously close to betrayal. Not of the company. Of herself. She didn’t work this hard, stay up until 2 a.m. perfecting presentations, endure years of being overlooked in meetings only to be derailed by a smirk and a pair of dark eyes. So instead of entertaining whatever moment had passed between them, she buried herself in research. She sat alone in the sleek, glass-walled team lounge with a salad she forgot to touch, spreadsheets glowing from her laptop screen, and Damien’s voice replaying in her head like a broken song. > Maybe I just want to know what you’re like when you’re not trying to outsmart me. There was a knock on the table beside her. Her salad jumped. “Easy,” Damien said, sliding into the seat across from her with a coffee cup in hand. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” “You didn’t,” she lied, slamming her laptop shut. “Shouldn’t you be off charming your way through some client meeting?” He took a sip of his coffee. “I rescheduled.” “You rescheduled... why?” “Because I figured you’d ignore my lunch offer and do this.” He nodded toward the laptop. “And because I don’t want to lose to you. Not without putting up a damn good fight.” Ava narrowed her eyes, trying not to notice how effortlessly handsome he looked even under the sterile lights—tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled up, a trace of stubble softening his jaw. Damn him. “You think this is a fight?” He leaned in, just slightly. “Everything between us is a fight. That’s what makes it fun.” Her pulse jumped. She hated how her body reacted before her brain could shut it down. The tension between them wasn’t new. What was new was the tone it took. Less acidic. More... electric. “You always think you’re the one having fun. Ever consider I might be bored out of my mind?” He grinned. “You’re a terrible liar.” She bit back a smile. And hated herself for it. --- That afternoon, they started planning. The joint campaign needed a concept that could impress both the client and the board—something bold, clean, forward-thinking. They booked a private meeting room with a glass wall that overlooked the city skyline. The view should’ve been inspiring. Instead, Ava felt cornered. Damien had brought notes, mockup, and—somehow—even a hand-drawn storyboard. “You sketched this?” she asked, brows raised as she flipped through a pad he slid toward her. He shrugged. “I get ideas at night. Sometimes I can’t sleep.” A pause. “I didn’t think you were the creative type,” she said. “You thought I just coasted by on charm and good looks?” She didn’t respond fast enough. Damien smirked. “That’s a yes.” Ava rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her again. “I thought you liked being underestimated.” “I do. Until it’s by you.” She froze slightly at the change in his tone. There was no bravado there—just truth. He meant it. And for a moment, the conference room felt smaller. Quieter. “So what do you think?” he asked, gesturing to the mockup. “We pitch a campaign that positions the client’s solar tech as not just sustainable, but aspirational. Clean energy as a lifestyle, not a compromise.” It was good. Damn good. Ava nodded slowly. “It’s strong. We could build the narrative arc around future-forward families. Modern life, powered by green energy.” “I like that. You always bring the narrative,” Damien said. “I bring the flash. You bring the story.” “Are you saying we make a good team?” He met her gaze. “I’m saying… maybe we always have.” Ava blinked, caught off guard again. Something inside her fluttered, soft and unexpected. He wasn’t teasing. Not entirely. But she couldn’t afford this. Not now. Not when everything she worked for hung in the balance. “We’re not a team,” she said, standing. “We’re competitors forced into a temporary partnership.” He stood too, eyes still on her. “Then why does it feel like something else?” Ava stared at him—at the sharp lines of his face, the fire in his eyes, the way he always looked at her like she was the only person in the room worth arguing with. The tension crackled again. That same magnetic pull, fierce and confusing and real. She reached for her bag. “Let’s get back to work.” Damien watched her leave the room, his fingers tapping the edge of the table. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure which one of them was winning. The office thinned out by 6:30 PM. Desks emptied, lights dimmed, and the hum of chatter faded into silence. Ava was still at her desk, shoulders tense as she reviewed campaign notes one more time. She told herself it was about precision—but really, she couldn’t stop thinking about that look in Damien’s eyes. He wasn’t supposed to look at her like that. Not like he saw something in her. Something more than a rival. She sighed and closed her laptop, ready to call it a night. But when she turned toward the elevator, she found him there—leaning casually against the glass wall, a coffee in his hand like he hadn’t moved all day. “You live here now?” she asked, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button. “Just making sure the competition doesn’t sneak in overtime,” he said, stepping in after her. “Or maybe I just knew you’d still be here.” The doors slid closed. Ava leaned back, arms crossed, trying to ignore how close he was. The elevator was small. Too small. And the air suddenly felt too warm. “You always this persistent?” she muttered. Damien looked over at her, head tilted slightly. “Only when something’s worth the chase.” She turned to face him, caught off guard. “You mean the promotion?” He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her. Not like a rival. Not like a competitor. But like someone who had seen her—in the way that mattered. “No,” he said quietly. “I mean you.” The elevator hummed. Ava’s heart skipped. For a second, just a second, the air between them shifted. Like gravity had tipped, pulling them toward something neither of them had planned for. But the elevator dinged before either of them moved. The doors opened. Ava stepped out first, heels clicking against the marble floor of the lobby, pulse hammering in her ears. Damien followed, hands in his pockets, as if he hadn’t just thrown her entire night off course. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sinclair,” he said, a flicker of warmth in his voice. She didn’t turn around as she answered, “Don’t be late, Cole. We’ve got a campaign to win.” But she smiled as she walked away.