Lara-Jean POV
The elevator ride to the forty-fifth floor has never felt so long.
I stand in my best suit—something I actually bought, not borrowed—and try to breathe normally. Beside me, Maya hums tunelessly, scrolling her phone.
"You're vibrating," she announces. "Stop it."
"I'm not vibrating."
"You're emotionally vibrating. It's annoying."
The elevator dings. Doors open.
And there they are. Every head turns. Conversations stop mid-sentence. The entire design department stares at me like I've grown a second head.
I walk to my office. Each step feels like crossing a battlefield.
Behind me, whispers start immediately.
Janine from marketing appears in my doorway within minutes. That predatory smile firmly in place.
"Lara-Jean! Or should I say Mrs. Kavinsky?" She practically purrs
