(Lucy — Same Week)

Lucy adjusted the strap of her bag and tried — really tried — not to storm out of the tiny meeting room.

The smell of burnt coffee and ancient carpet glue clung to the air, and about twelve metal folding chairs had been crammed in a too-small circle.

Lucy perched on the edge of one, arms crossed, vibrating with silent rage.

Because, of course, fate wasn’t done screwing with her yet.

Not only was Miles Bennet seated directly across from her — all casual indifference and smug glances — but now she was stuck attending a tenant meeting hosted by none other than his friend and apparently their landlord, Graham Carter.

Lucy hadn’t put it together until she heard Miles slap him on the back and mutter, “About time you showed up.”

Small world.
Horribly small, aggressively inconvenient world.

Graham Carter looked exactly like someone who owned half the block: sharp suit, no-nonsense demeanor, and the kind of intense stare that made people instantly want to pay their rent early.
But he was polite enough when he introduced himself to the group, clipboard in hand.

“Alright,” Graham said, glancing around the mismatched group of shop owners, “this should be quick. We’ve got some upcoming renovations, and I want everyone on the same page about sidewalk access, parking, and noise restrictions.”

Lucy tried to focus, she really did.

But she could feel Miles’ eyes on her, flicking between mild amusement and visible wariness, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to smirk at her or prepare to dodge flying objects.

Every time Graham mentioned cooperation or neighborly spirit, Lucy swore she saw Miles suppress a laugh.

At one point, Graham handed out printed renovation schedules.

Lucy reached for hers — just as Miles reached for his.

Their hands brushed.

Electric shock zipped straight up her arm.
Stupid proximity.
Stupid traitorous nerve endings.

She snatched her paper like it had personally offended her and refused to look at him.

Graham didn’t miss the tension.

His eyes flicked between them, one brow arching slightly.

“Problems?” he asked dryly.

Miles cleared his throat. “Nope. Just… healthy competition.”

Lucy offered a smile so fake it practically squeaked.
“All love and light over here.”

Graham gave them a look that said I don’t believe either of you but I’m too tired to care.

The meeting droned on.
Plans. Deadlines. Tenant responsibilities.

Lucy doodled a knife stabbing a stick figure in the margin of her paper — a stick figure that looked suspiciously like Miles.

Finally, after an agonizing hour, Graham clapped the clipboard shut.

“Alright. That’s it. Play nice, keep the sidewalk clear, and don’t make me regret letting civilians rent from me.”

There was a small ripple of laughter from the group.

Lucy stood up so fast her chair nearly toppled over.
She wasn’t the only one eager to escape.

Miles caught up to her just outside the door, falling into step like a particularly persistent rash.

“So,” he said casually, “you and me. Neighbors. Renovations. Forced cooperation.”

Lucy tightened her jaw.

“Don’t push your luck, Bennet.”

He gave her a slow, infuriating smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sunshine.“

Lucy practically sprinted the rest of the way to her shop.

This was going to be hell.