Over the next three weeks, a routine settled into place. Elliot became a constant presence—not intrusive, just there. He’d roll his chair over to ask work questions, then stay a few extra minutes, comfortable in the silence. In meetings, he took the seat beside hers, close enough that she could smell his laundry detergent. He never crossed a line. He was just present, persistent, and utterly disarming.Yerin hated how much she noticed. The color of his tie. The way he tapped his pen against his teeth. The sound of his laugh from across the room. Every small detail lodged itself in her memory, refusing to leave.Her feelings for him were old—something she’d packed away years ago, locked in a box she thought she’d sealed tight. His presence made the box feel fragile, the lid loosening with every casual smile.Then the coffee started.Every morning, a cup appeared on her desk. Americano, black, no note. She left the first one untouched until it went cold. The next day, another. And anoth
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