Chapter 8: The One Where Mason Tries Humor

The sun had begun its slow descent, bleeding a warm amber glow across the high-rise windows of Mason Equity Group. The day was nearly over, and most of the team shuffled papers with less intent than earlier. Screens flickered with end-of-day reports, coffee cups stood half-empty like forgotten promises, and the office vibe had shifted from corporate firestorm to silent endurance.

Katherine Brown sat at her desk, typing something that looked important, but was in fact the second draft of a strongly-worded email she would probably never send.

Subject line:

To: The Universe

RE: Today

The body began:

“I would like to unsubscribe.”

On the outside, she looked fine. Hair perfect, blazer unwrinkled, a red pen tucked dramatically behind her ear like she was in control. Inside? She was still somewhere between mild humiliation and existential crisis with glitter.

Across the floor, Sebastian Mason stood in his glass-encased office, staring out at the city like a brooding statue. His fingers were laced behind his back. His expression — unreadable.

Except... he wasn’t just staring at the skyline.

He was watching her.

Waiting.

The silence that usually followed the disaster of a failed presentation hadn’t come. No stern email. No formal debrief. Just one sentence: You get one more shot.

She hadn’t decided yet if that was mercy or a challenge.

Still, it gnawed at her. Like popcorn stuck in her teeth. Or worse — like when you wave at someone who wasn’t waving at you.

So she did what any emotionally repressed overachiever would do.

She powered through.

With jokes.

“Hey, Cara,” she said to the junior copywriter as she walked past. “Did you know PowerPoint is just Excel in a push-up bra?”

Cara blinked. “That’s... insightful?”

Katherine grinned tightly. “Marketing brilliance, sweetheart.”

She strutted toward the water cooler, stopping dramatically to refill her thermos. It made a wheezing sound as it filled. Very symbolic.

Back at her desk, she tossed a handful of gummy bears into her mouth and leaned back in her chair, pretending her soul wasn’t trying to crawl under it.

Sebastian saw it all. The performance. The smirks. The way her laugh landed half a second late.

It wasn’t the same.

And for some absurd reason... that bothered him.

---

It was 5:27 PM.

The day was dragging toward its awkward goodbye when Katherine heard it — a voice that never spoke unless it had to.

“Miss Brown.”

She looked up.

Sebastian was standing at the edge of her cubicle, arms crossed, expression polite but... alert. Like he was up to something.

Which was terrifying.

“Mr. Mason,” she replied, mimicking his tone. “Pleasure as always.”

“You seem... unusually subdued.”

She blinked. “Subdued? Me? Pfft. I’m radiating chaos.”

He tilted his head. “You haven’t insulted my tie all day.”

She glanced at his tie — navy, crisp, aggressively symmetrical. “It’s too easy. Feels like punching a spreadsheet.”

A pause. Her delivery was automatic.

He stared at her for a second longer than necessary. Then, without warning, he said:

“What do you call a finance team who’s bad at math?”

She blinked.

“I—what?”

“A non-profit.”

Silence.

Katherine stared.

And then—

It happened.

A wheeze. A snort. A gasp.

And then, like a dam breaking:

Laughter.

Loud. Ungraceful. Violent.

She doubled over in her chair, clutching her stomach, tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

Sebastian’s face froze.

He had expected a polite chuckle. Maybe a smirk. Not... this.

“Miss Brown,” he muttered, alarmed.

She waved him off, barely breathing. “You—you made a pun! You—oh my God—non-profit!”

A few heads turned. Someone peeked over a cubicle. Cara was halfway out of her chair.

Katherine tried to suppress herself. She failed.

Sebastian glanced nervously at the open space. Then, in a moment he would later pretend never happened, he stepped forward and—

Covered her mouth with his hand.

“Miss Brown,” he hissed. “You’re going to get us both put on some kind of HR watchlist.”

She squeaked behind his palm, still vibrating with laughter.

“Stop. Breathing. Through. My hand.”

More squeaks.

“I swear,” he whispered, glancing around. “If Jenkins comes out here, I will let him believe you’ve had a nervous breakdown.”

Katherine peeled his fingers off her face, breathless, gasping, eyes wide with delight.

“You—you tried to be funny,” she wheezed. “And it was so bad it was good. Oh my God, that joke was an actual crime.”

Sebastian looked mildly offended. “It was contextually relevant.”

“It was criminally dad-like.”

“I am not a dad.”

“Tell that to your tie.”

He exhaled sharply — a noise dangerously close to a laugh.

A second of silence passed between them.

Then two.

Then Katherine said, quieter now, “Thanks.”

He raised a brow. “For what? Assaulting your dignity or saving your volume control?”

“For trying,” she said simply.

He didn’t reply. But he didn’t need to.

There was something softer in his posture now. Less marble. More man.

He looked like he might say something else, but then the elevator dinged.

The moment broke.

---

Katherine finally caught her breath, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Oh God,” she gasped, “I’m gonna have to report you to HR. That joke was a health hazard.”

Sebastian gave her a look that was… not quite a smile. But not not a smile either.

“I’ll send them a fruit basket,” he said dryly. “With a spreadsheet explaining the pun.”

She laughed again, this time muffled, pressing a hand over her own mouth.

“I hate how much that turns me on.”

He blinked.

She blinked.

“The joke,” she clarified, too late. “I meant the spreadsheet. Obviously.”

Silence.

A beat passed.

Another.

“I should go,” she muttered, standing up with the urgency of someone escaping a fire.

Sebastian nodded once. “Probably for the best.”

They stood there for a moment — him, towering and composed; her, flustered and possibly about to combust.

“Good night, Mr. Mason.”

“Miss Brown.”

And with that, she spun on her heel and walked away — straight into the corner of a filing cabinet.

She hissed. He winced. No one acknowledged it.

Professionalism was restored.

Almost.

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