By the night of the department gala, Olive was in deep trouble.
To her absolute shock, the corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't a full smile—Adam Carlsen didn't do full smiles—but it was a distinct, undeniable softening of his features.
Olive didn't waste another second on analysis, variables, or data points. She reached up, grabbed the lapels of his shirt just like she had that first night, and pulled him down to her.
Then came the late nights in the lab. Adam started showing up at her bench around 11:00 PM. He didn't micromanage. He didn't criticize. He simply sat at the adjacent desk, grading papers or reading journals, silently keeping her company so she wouldn't be alone in the dark building.
"The hypothesis was flawed from the very beginning," Adam said, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, his thumb gently stroking her cheek. "I didn't agree to fake date you to save my funding, Olive." Olive blinked, confused. "Then... why did you do it?"