didn't change in one day.
It changed in small, disobedient ways.
Still meetings.
Still reports.
Still quiet discipline.
But Jay started… smiling.
Not the polite curve she used for investors.
The real one.
It happened first when Keifer leaned in during a presentation and whispered—
"You skipped slide twelve."
She blinked.
Scrolled.
"…I didn't."
He tilted the screen toward her.
The slide number jumped from eleven to thirteen.
She stared.
Then—
A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
She covered it with a cough.
Too late.
Keifer's eyes flicked to her.
Amused.
Dangerously so.
Another day—
A junior analyst mispronounced a client name three times in a row.
The room stayed painfully serious.
Jay lowered her head.
Her shoulders shook.
Keifer slid a pen toward her without looking.
A warning.
She pressed her lips together.
Failed.
A quiet snort escaped.
He bit the inside of his cheek.
Failed too.
They didn't look at each other.
That would've been fatal.
Somewhere between quarterly reviews and late-evening strategy calls…
Jay started talking to him before the meeting.
Not about numbers.
About nothing.
"You always choose the same seat."
He glanced at the chair beside the screen.
"Habit."
"Control issue?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Observation problem?"
She smiled.
Actually smiled.
Another morning—
He arrived early.
She noticed.
"You're never early."
"I am now."
"Temporary phase?"
"Depends on the company."
She laughed.
Open.
Unhidden.
And Keifer… froze for half a second.
Not because of the sound.
Because he realised he'd become the reason.
Their conversations slipped out of files and into fragments of life.
"You eat lunch at your desk every day."
"You notice too much."
"You look thinner."
"That's not a compliment."
"It wasn't meant to be."
One evening, when the meeting dragged painfully past schedule, Jay leaned back and murmured—
"If this goes on any longer, I might revolt."
Keifer didn't even look at her.
"Give me five minutes. I'll end it."
Four minutes later, Kaizer stood.
"Let's conclude."
Jay stared at him.
Then slowly turned.
"Show-off."
His smile was quiet.
Private.
Just for her.
She started laughing more.
In hallways.
During coffee breaks.
At his dry remarks.
At his stubborn logic.
At the way he pretended not to notice when she teased him.
People noticed.
Not loudly.
But carefully.
Because Jay—who had always walked into rooms like a closed door—
now walked in lighter.
Warmer.
Alive.
And somewhere in that soft, dangerous shift…
professional stopped being enough.
Not because they crossed a line.
But because, without realising it—
they had already stepped far beyond it.