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I glared at my salad like it had betrayed me on a molecular level. Wilted greens, limp cucumbers, and some tragic crouton situation that crumbled if you so much as looked at it wrong.
This was penance. I knew it.
Because I had spent the morning doing exactly what I promised Imran I wouldn't do.
Pushing Ayub.
I hadn't meant to. Not seriously. But when I walked into the room and saw him all braced and uncomfortable, something in me... tilted.
I didn't ease him in. Didn't offer a smile. Didn't pretend he was new.
I came at him full force.
Just to see what he'd do.
He'd held his own. Sharp. Clean. Quietly competent. Exactly what I expected—almost.
But when I reassigned him beneath Jasmina? He straightened his spine like it physically hurt to take the hit. Said nothing. Just nodded.
And when I told him, in front of Emir no less, that if he wanted the position he'd have to fight for it—I hadn't even looked at him.
But I remembered the silence that followed. Heavy. Personal. The way his shoulders stayed still, like he'd refused to let it shake him.
It sat in my chest now, heavy and inconvenient.
I pushed the salad away and leaned back in my chair, eyes flicking toward the window. Sarajevo sprawled in gold and glass and shadow below me—elegant, complicated, like every version of myself I didn't have time to unpack.
He had been impressive. More than that—exact. Clear-eyed. Tactical. And still... I'd handed the rollout to Emir.
Not because Ayub wasn't ready. But because I wanted to see what he'd do when someone else got the win.
If he was going to stand beside me, he needed to take the damn step.
Imran had protected him for years, but this wasn't Imran's team. It was mine.
Ayub wasn't going to be given a crown. He'd have to demand it. Fight for it.
I sighed and pushed the salad further away.
The door opened.
And in came salvation.
Selma, radiant in oversized sunglasses and the scent of soy sauce and mischief, strutted in carrying two paper bags from Kibo Kitchen.
"Tell me you didn't order rabbit food again," Selma said, already setting the bags down near the small table by the window.
"I thought I'd try being a responsible adult," I replied.
"Gross," Selma said, unpacking boxes like a woman with a mission. "Eat carbs. Rule empires."
We settled in quickly—chopsticks, dumplings, tempura—and let the view of Sarajevo unfold behind us. The sun turned the city into a painting. Old mosques, winding streets, minarets and glass towers all stitched together.
"So?" she asked.
I raised a brow. "So what?"
"Don't play dumb. You've been staring out that window like a widow with regrets. Something happened."
I poked at my noodles. "Babo reassigned Ayub to my team."
Selma blinked. "Wait—Ayub as in your Ayub?"
"He's not my Ayub."
She grinned. "Tell that to your voice. You went all quiet and tragic like a woman in a Turkish drama who just found out her beloved has a terminal illness and a secret wife."
I sighed. "I put him under Jasmina."
"You demoted him?"
"I redirected him."
Selma tilted her head. "Because...?"
"He froze. Didn't claim what was his. I don't have time to coax a man into confidence."
"You also don't usually rearrange staffing assignments based on who flinches."
I didn't answer. I picked up my chopsticks and stabbed a dumpling.
Selma leaned forward. "You like him."
"I like watching him try not to flinch."
"That's so much worse."
I smirked. "It's a victimless crime."
"Except he's the victim."
"Then he should stop making it so interesting."
Selma exhaled and reached for the tempura. "Poor guy. He's got half the girls here drooling over him and the one woman he actually wants keeps throwing him off cliffs."
"I'm not throwing him anywhere. I'm just... nudging him out of the nest."
"With fire."
"He'll survive."
"You want him to survive?"
I stabbed another dumpling. "I want him to stop looking at me like I'm something he needs permission to want."
Selma leaned in. "Have you ever really looked at him?"
"I've seen him."
"He's got quiet shoulders. You know what I mean. The kind that look like they could carry emotional damage and furniture."
I laughed despite myself. "You're ridiculous."
"Tell me I'm wrong."
I didn't.
Selma smirked. "You know he's brilliant, right? Like, terrifyingly competent. Calm. Focused. And hot. You could build a dynasty off that man."
I shook my head, trying not to smile. "You have actual issues."
"You have denial. I'm just balancing the equation."
I went quiet. Then: "He's scared of me. Or what I'll do to him."
"Maybe because you keep swiping his legs out every time he gets close."
"I'm not here to build up broken men."
"He's not broken," Selma said softly. "Just bruised. There's a difference."
I looked away.
Selma let the silence stretch.
Then, with a smile that was all teeth: "And those arms? I saw him carry a pallet jack once like it was nothing. I nearly proposed."
I laughed. "Maybe you should marry him."
"No thanks. I'm not built for that much emotional honesty. But you—you'd destroy him. In a good way. And your children? Adorable. Sharp-jawed, emotionally stable little CEOs."
I choked on my dumpling.
Selma grinned. "Lots and lots of children. Strong gene pool. Your mother would faint from joy."
"You need help."
"And you need to admit that you're having fun watching him sweat."
I looked away, toward the window. My reflection in the glass looked calm. Controlled.
But inside?
Inside, I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing.
The door opened again.
Ayub.
He didn't knock. Just stepped in and crossed the room. His sleeves were still rolled, his jaw set, and there was a folder in his hand.
He held it out. "For you."
I blinked. "For me?"
"The vendor analysis. Backup schedule. You said before noon."
I glanced at the clock.
11:45.
Of course he gave himself fifteen minutes to spare.
I took the folder and opened it slowly—more for dramatic effect than necessity. The pages were clean. Detailed. Logical.
Color-coded, even.
I flicked through the sections—price differentials, performance history, contact notes. It was airtight. Not just competent—strategic. Controlled. Sharp.
I looked up.
He wasn't smiling.
No smugness. No softness. Just calm certainty. Like he knew he'd done well and didn't need me to say it.
Infuriating.
"I'll review it," I said, keeping my voice level. "Later."
He gave a short nod and turned to go.
Of course, that was when Imran strolled in without knocking.
"See?" he said, grinning like a devil. "Told you he was good."
Selma turned in her seat, raising an eyebrow. "He was excellent. Now leave before you ruin the vibe."
I didn't look at him. Just closed the folder with a soft snap.
"I'll see how good he is now that he doesn't have you to hide behind."
Imran laughed. "So this is what, hazing?"
I didn't answer right away. Just let my gaze drift—slowly—to where Ayub stood.
Still quiet. Still unreadable. Still trying not to react.
I looked him over once, deliberately, like I was measuring something more than performance.
Then I said, smooth and dry, "If he breaks, he doesn't belong here."
"And if he doesn't?"
I tapped the folder. "Then maybe he deserves the seat next to me."
Imran raised his eyebrows. "That sounded dangerously like a compliment."
"It was a threat."
He grinned. "Good. I like when you're honest."13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ757aY3SNra
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"If you're done evaluating," Ayub said his voice even. "I'd like to get back to work."
He held my gaze as he said it—steady, calm, infuriating.
Imran, clearly enjoying himself, turned toward him. "I'm going to need you for the afternoon. We've got a site visit in Marindvor."
I leaned back, resting my arm along the chair. "So that disaster of a negotiation is finally closed, huh? The property's ours."
Imran's grin flickered, just barely. "Signed this morning."
Then, with faux innocence. "I'll need him for the walkthrough."
I narrowed my eyes. "He's on my team now."
Imran shrugged. "Temporary custody. You can have him back by dinner."
"He's not a weekend intern, Imran."
"And yet you're sounding a little possessive."
"I'm sounding like someone who knows how to manage talent."
Ayub shifted slightly, hands in his pockets—still composed, still quiet, but more alert now.
I let my gaze settle on him. Deliberate. Waiting.
He didn't meet it.
Not out of weakness—no. He was avoiding it. Carefully. Like he knew exactly what would happen if he did.
My eyes flicked down—jaw tight, mouth set, tension wound sharp through his shoulders.
Fine.
I could play patience too.
"You're jumping ship already, Ayub?" I asked, voice smooth. "I just got you."
That pulled the corner of his mouth—just a flicker of something amused.
"I'm flattered," he said. "Didn't know you were keeping me."
Selma choked on her dumpling.
I smiled slowly. "Careful, Ayub. You're on thin ice."
He didn't flinch. "Then maybe stop heating it up."
Imran groaned. "Can you both not? Please. For my sanity. And Selma's."
"Oh, I'm invested now," Selma said, grinning between bites.
Ayub gave me one last glance—steady, unreadable, and not the least bit rattled—and followed Imran toward the door.
He paused just before stepping out. Turned halfway, like he wasn't done—like he didn't want to be. His eyes met mine.
Then—his voice lower now, just rough enough to land—13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNAYOMpEJ9u
"Tell Emir not to get too comfortable. That spot next to you? It's not his."
Selma nearly dropped her chopsticks.
"Out," Imran barked, stepping back inside like he could physically drag Ayub off the battlefield.
Ayub smirked. Gave me one last look.
Then he was gone.
I didn't respond.
I just watched him leave.
The door shut.
I stared at the folder for a moment longer.
Fifteen minutes early.
No hesitation. No flinching. No waiting for permission.
Ayub had delivered.
And I wasn't sure if I was impressed.
Or cornered.
Because somewhere between that morning meeting and now, he'd stopped looking at me like I might detonate.
And started looking like he might detonate first.
I leaned back in my chair, gaze drifting to the window. Sarajevo glittered in the glass, all sharp lines and shifting light.
I smiled.
Let the next game begin.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Look, I said this wasn't suppose to be a romance chapter.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkFPU6RfLfa
Then Ayub opened his mouth and Lamija forgot how to breathe.
I don't make the rules. I just write the tension.
See you next chapter. Bring snacks.
Ash&Olive
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