The first week was a battle of wills. Daniel was exacting, demanding perfection in every detail. Emma, however, wasn't one to be intimidated. She matched his sharpness with wit, his demands with efficiency, and slowly— very slowly—she began to chip away at his icy exterior.
One evening, as she stayed late to organize files, Daniel walked in, loosening his tie. "You're still here."
Emma didn't look up. "Someone has to keep this place running."
He smirked. "You're not wrong."
A comfortable silence settled between them. Then, out of nowhere—
"Do you always work this late?" he asked.
She glanced at him. "Only when my boss is a workaholic."
He chuckled—*actually chuckled*—and Emma felt something warm flutter in her chest.