Aria paced the bathroom like it was a crime scene.
Three pregnancy tests sat on the counter, judging her in silence. One blue plus, one pink line, and one digital screen that boldly read: "NOT PREGNANT."
She stared at the digital one like it had personally saved her life.
"Oh thank God," she breathed, slumping against the wall. "False alarm. Just stress. Or karma."
She grabbed her phone, snapped a photo of the results, then deleted it immediately because what was she even doing? This was a science lab bathroom, not a reality show confessional.
She was fine. Everything was fine. Nothing had changed.
Except…
"Dr. Monroe, the Westwood team is here for your 10 AM," called her assistant from outside the lab.
Great. Her least favorite person, right on schedule.
---
Ten Minutes Later – Conference Room
Julian Westwood was already leaning back in a chair that wasn't his, looking entirely too smug for someone Aria had almost shared DNA with.
"Still glowing," he said as she walked in.
"Still delusional," she replied, dropping a stack of files on the table. "Let's make this quick. I have gene therapy trials and a headache."
"Same," he said. "Except the therapy is vodka and the headache is you."
She rolled her eyes so hard her ancestors felt it.
The meeting started. Sort of. Aria tried to focus on the numbers, the projections, the very real fact that her lab funding might depend on this man-child and his board of billionaire goblins.
Julian kept interrupting. Joking. Smirking.
And she hated that she noticed how nice his jaw looked when he was being insufferable.
An hour later, the deal was signed.
He stood, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve. "See? We can be professional."
She stood too. "You wore two different socks."
He looked down, then grinned. "Damn. You really are looking."
Aria opened her mouth to insult him—but instead, somehow, he was kissing her.
Again.
It was fast and reckless and made her forget her own name for a second.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"Good," he breathed against her mouth. "Do it harder."
---
Ten Minutes Later – Her Office
There were forms on her desk.
Somewhere.
Definitely buried under Julian's shirt.
"Twice is a coincidence," Aria muttered, catching her breath.
"Three times is a pattern," Julian said, smirking as he buttoned his pants. "Shall we test that hypothesis next week?"
She threw a stapler at him.
He ducked, laughing all the way out the door.
She stared after him, flustered, furious, and dangerously close to smiling.
She had got to stop sleeping with her enemies.
...Eventually.