Episode Four:Off the Clock
746 Words
The rooftop bar buzzed with energy, laughter spilling into the air as city lights glittered below like fallen stars. It was the annual mid-year networking mixer, an event Ava typically used to solidify alliances and quietly intimidate the competition.
Tonight, she had planned to do the same.
Until she saw him.
Drew Carter, effortlessly magnetic in a charcoal blazer and an open-collared shirt, already surrounded by execs, assistants, and interns alike. He held a drink in one hand, easy smile in place, as if he hadn’t just spent the week bickering with her in meeting rooms and rewriting her pitch notes.
Ava’s heels clicked against the wooden deck as she crossed to the bar, ignoring the flutter in her chest. This wasn’t high school. She didn’t get butterflies. Especially not over men with smirks and reputations.
She ordered a glass of red wine and took her place on the edge of the crowd, scanning for key partners. She spotted two VPs from the digital team and a rep from creative. Perfect targets. She was just about to move in when a voice slid in beside her.
“You clean up well, Monroe.”
She turned, unsurprised. “And you just showed up like that? Figures.”
Drew gave her a slow once-over, not even trying to hide it. “If I’d known you’d be here in that dress, I would’ve arrived earlier.”
She took a sip of wine, unfazed. “Still working on those tired lines, I see.”
He leaned against the bar, closer now, the city lights casting shadows on his sharp cheekbones. “Actually, I’m here for the same reason you are. Strategy. Schmoozing. Impressing the people who’ll decide which one of us wins.”
Ava arched a brow. “Then you’d better get moving. I’m halfway through my list.”
But as she turned to leave, the CEO herself appeared, flanked by a few board members. Her eyes locked on Ava and Drew with a knowing glint.
“There you two are,” she said smoothly. “Come join us.”
Ava’s stomach sank. She wasn’t ready to play nice, not in public. Not with him. But she plastered on a diplomatic smile and followed.
The small group settled into a lounge area under golden lights. The conversation was casual at first, growth numbers, campaign potential, a few jokes, but soon drifted to the upcoming pitch presentation.
“So,” one board member said, swirling his scotch, “you two are the golden team now. How’s it going?”
Drew shot Ava a look, his expression unreadable. “Well,” he said, “we’re discovering how different we are.”
“Different can be good,” the CEO cut in. “Conflict breeds creativity. Isn’t that right, Ava?”
Ava’s throat tightened. She wanted to say something safe. Something polished. But then she glanced at Drew again—who was watching her like he expected her to dodge, to shrink.
Instead, she smiled. “It’s true. He likes chaos. I like control. He likes bold. I like results.”
“And yet,” Drew added without missing a beat, “we’ve found… a surprising rhythm.”
There was a pause, the kind that held weight. Everyone picked up on it.
The CEO raised an eyebrow. “Well, just make sure that rhythm delivers. Careers are built or broken on campaigns like this.”
After the crowd thinned, Ava found herself alone on the balcony, looking out at the skyline. The cool air was a relief against her flushed skin. She hated these events, hated the way they blurred the lines between performance and authenticity.
A soft sound behind her signaled Drew’s arrival.
“You always disappear after a boardroom grilling?” he asked.
“Just needed air.”
He stepped beside her. “You handled it well. Controlled. Calculated.”
She glanced at him. “Was that a compliment?”
He smiled faintly. “Maybe.”
They stood in silence, the sounds of the party distant now. For a brief moment, the tension shifted—less fire, more smoke. Still dangerous, but slower. More intimate.
Then Drew asked, almost too casually, “What happens if we both want the same thing… and only one of us can get it?”
Ava met his gaze, the city reflected in his eyes.
“Then may the better strategist win.”
And she turned and walked back inside, heart pounding, wine forgotten, game on.
- Writer
