Chapter 11 - The Mixer Misfire

The event space at the Easton Tech headquarters was sleek and modern, with amazing panoramic views of Manhattan glowing through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Servers walked between clusters of sharply dressed executives, carrying trays of champagne and snacks that looked suspiciously like food designed to be admired, not eaten.

Sophia stood near the bar, a sparkling water in hand her posture straight. She'd chosen a dark green dressed professional, but just enough edge to say I belong here. Her heels were killing her, but she wasn't about to let anyone—especially Bobby—catch her sitting down.

She was halfway through her mental pep talk when she saw him.

Bobby Knight, in a suit so well-tailored it should have come with its own press release. Dark navy, crisp white shirt, and no tie—just enough casual rebellion to make him stand out without trying too hard. His hair, of course, was a perfectly tousled mess, and he had that easy, confident swagger that made people part for him like he was the main event.

Sophia hated that her heart noticed.

She turned back to the bartender, signaling the for something stronger than water.

"You clean up nice, Sophia," came the voice at her shoulder.

Sophia didn't even turn around. "I know."

Bobby's low laugh sent an unwanted shiver down her spine. "Let's try to make it through tonight without drawing blood."

"That depends," she said, finally facing him. "Can you go five minutes without saying something insufferable?"

"Doubtful."

And just like that, they were back in their familiar rhythm—snark as foreplay, rivalry like oxygen. Except tonight, they were supposed to be a team.

Sophia hated that almost as much as she hated how good he looked.

The CEO of Easton, she was a silver haired woman with a no nonsense smile and a handshake that could break bones, approached when she saw them together

"Glad to see you two playing nice," she said, her sharp gaze flicking between them. "How's the collaboration going?"

"Flawlessly," Bobby said smoothly, flashing that Kennedy-grin.

"We're making progress," Sophia said, which was at least partially true.

"Good." The CEO's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Because if I get so much as a whiff of your personal history interfering with this project, I'll award the contract to your competitor faster than you can say cease and desist."

Sophia smiled back, teeth gritted. "Understood."

The CEO wandered off to greet another group, leaving Bobby and Sophia in awkward silence.

"Well," Bobby said, raising his glass. "Cheers to our sparkling reputation."

Sophia clinked her glass against his, the force just shy of aggressive with a smile she informed him. "If you screw this up for me, I will end you."

"Same."

They sipped in silence, and for once, it wasn't totally uncomfortable.

Thirty minutes later, Sophia was regretting every life choice that led her to this room.

A hedge fund partner cornered her near the buffet, explaining blockchain to her like she was a toddler. She forced a polite smile, but her eye was twitching.

Across the room, Bobby was charming a group of Easton execs, hands moving animatedly, laugh perfectly timed. He was good at this—better than she wanted to admit.

Her phone buzzed in her clutch.

Priya: Are you surviving?

Sophia: Barely. Finance bros are mansplaining Bitcoin. Pray for me.

Priya: Need backup?

Sophia: Always.

Shortly after, Priya swept into the room, wearing a fiery red dress that made her look both glamorous and vaguely dangerous. At her side, naturally, was the one and only Drew Gallo, who had apparently invited himself.

Sophia sighed. "This can only end badly."

"Evening, nerds," Drew said, beaming like he'd just crashed a wedding.

"Why are you here?" Sophia asked.

"Bobby needed moral support." Drew shrugged. "And Priya needed someone to mock."

Priya raised her glass. "I'm multitasking."

Bobby spotted them and walked over, looking suspicious. "Why do I feel like this is an ambush?"

"Because it is," Priya said cheerfully.

Drew draped an arm over Bobby's shoulder. "Relax, buddy. We're here to supervise. Make sure you don't accidentally declare your love in front of the whole room."

Bobby's smile tightened. "You're fired."

"Except you don't pay me," Drew said smiling 

Sophia pinched the bridge of her nose. "I need new friends."

"No you don't," Priya said, clinking her glass against Sophia's. "You love us."

Bobby turned to Sophia, deliberately ignoring the peanut gallery. "Dance with me."

Sophia blinked. "Excuse me?"

"It's a mixer. Networking happens on the dance floor. Come on, Reyes—unless you're scared."

"I'm not scared," she said automatically.

"Prove it."

The worst part was—she wanted to. Because every time they collided like this, it felt dangerously close to something real. Something they both kept shoving down.

She set her drink down and took his hand.

On the dance floor, they fell into step surprisingly easily. His hand at her waist, hers at his shoulder, too close and not close enough.

"You're tense," Bobby said softly.

"Because you're my dance partner."

"You could do worse."

"Could I?"

He grinned. "Admit it. You missed me."

"Like a cavity."

He spun her once, just to throw her off balance. She stumbled into him, and for a split second, their bodies fit too well, her hand pressed to his chest.

His heart was racing. So was hers.

"You're a terrible dancer," she said, breathless.

"You're a liar," he said back, equally breathless.

It would have been so easy to kiss him.

Too easy.

So she stepped back, smile sharp, walls back up. "Thanks for the dance, Bobby."

"Anytime, Sophia."

Across the room, Priya and Drew watched like gleeful sports commentators.

"Five bucks says they hate-flirt themselves into bed before this contract's over," Drew said.

"Ten bucks says they pretend they don't care until it physically hurts," Priya countered.

"Deal."

They shook hands, both way too pleased with themselves.

Sophia spent the rest of the night avoiding Bobby—and trying not to remember how good his hand felt at her waist.

Bobby spent the rest of the night nursing his drink—and trying not to remember how she fit against him like she belonged there.

Neither of them succeeded.