Trust

The first week was a cold war.

Seraphine came to work every day in perfectly tailored clothes, makeup flawless, hair always in place. She held her head high and barely spoke to anyone unless necessary. Her pride was intact but I could see the cracks. The long hours, the endless lists of tasks, the late nights… she was pushing through with pure grit.

She was determined not to let me win.

I respected that more than I cared to admit.

One morning, I arrived early and found her already there, seated at her desk outside my office, typing furiously on her laptop. She looked up when I walked past.

"You’re early," she said flatly.

"So are you," I replied.

She shrugged. "I wanted to get ahead."

No sarcasm. No venom. Just quiet focus.

Progress.

That Friday, everything changed.

We had a high-stakes investor meeting at 10 a.m., and I was running late from a inspection. I burst into the boardroom, expecting chaos, slides unprepared, papers misplaced, but everything was perfect.

The presentation was ready. Files printed, labeled, and arranged. Coffee was hot on the table. The team was calm, prepared, even confident.

I spotted her in the corner of the room, half-hidden behind a curtain. Watching. Assessing.

After the meeting, I approached her while the others were celebrating.

"You handled that well," I said, folding my arms. "You saved the meeting."

Seraphine looked at me, surprised, then looked away. “Just doing my job.”

“Still. You didn’t have to go that far.”

She hesitated, then muttered, “Well... I did. Because if I mess this up, it reflects on you. And I don’t want people thinking I’m here because of pity.”

That surprised me. It was the first time she acknowledged what people had been whispering behind her back since the day she started.

“You’re not here because of pity,” I said quietly. “You’re here because you’re good. Whether you like me or not.”

She blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, it felt like the old battle lines blurred.

Later that day, a thunderstorm rolled in. Rain pounded against the windows, flooding the streets. Jason entered my office looking apologetic.

“Boss, the driver called. He can’t reach us. Roads are blocked. Miss Seraphine might have to wait it out here.”

I stood, already grabbing my coat. “She’ll come with me.”

A few minutes later, she stood by the elevator, arms crossed. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. I want to,” I replied, stepping in beside her.

The car ride was silent at first. The only sound was the rain beating on the roof and the faint hum of the engine. Seraphine stared out the window, the city lights reflecting off her tired eyes.

Then she said, almost in a whisper, “You really built this company from nothing?”

“Yes,” I replied, hands gripping the wheel. “Started in my parents’ garage. Everyone thought I was crazy. Including you.”

“I thought you were arrogant,” she admitted.

I smirked. “Still do?”

She glanced at me and, to my surprise, laughed softly. “Maybe a little less.”

We arrived at her apartment. She hesitated before opening the door.

“Thank you... Quinn.”

The way she said my name... it didn’t sound like an insult for once.

“You’re welcome, Seraphine.”

Monday came, and a small white mug sat on my desk. It was filled with black coffee... my favorite. A sticky note was attached:

“Your 9 AM meeting’s moved to 9:30. You’re welcome. Don’t say I never did anything nice.” —S.

I picked it up, half-smiling.

When she came in with the daily schedule, I nodded toward the mug.

“Trying to poison me?”

“Tempting,” she replied. “But that would ruin my resume.”

Her tone was lighter. Sarcastic, but playful.

It became a new normal, quiet cooperation, subtle banter, small acts of thoughtfulness neither of us would openly admit.

One late evening, while preparing reports together, she let out a deep sigh and slumped in the chair across from mine.

“You ever feel like you’re running in circles?” she asked.

“All the time,” I answered honestly.

“I thought I had everything figured out,” she continued. “The career. The connections. But it all collapsed. And now I’m here… doing assistant work in an office I used to laugh at.”

“You’re not just doing assistant work,” I said. “You’re fixing what others mess up. You’re saving meetings. You’re making coffee.”

She smiled. “The coffee’s a bonus.”

I chuckled. “Barely.”

She leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “Maybe this is karma.”

I looked at her, really looked, and for the first time saw someone not proud or arrogant—but tired, bruised, trying to find her place again.

“It’s not karma,” I said. “It’s just life. And sometimes, it forces us to start over.”

Her eyes met mine. “You sound like someone who’s had to start over a lot.”

“I have,” I said. “More than once.”

By the end of the week, the office buzzed with rumors.

Jason smirked every time Seraphine entered my office. Mia, from HR, kept giving us suspicious looks. Even the janitor raised an eyebrow.

But I didn’t care.

Something was happening between us. Slowly. Quietly.