I never cared for romance—it always seemed like a fantasy, something from movies, not real life. Then came the mysterious gifts—flowers, chocolates, books I wanted. No name, just a secret admirer who knew too much. Someone was watching. But who?
Romance never made sense to me. The grand gestures and happy endings felt staged, not real. Love didn’t work that way—at least, that’s what I thought—until someone decided to prove me wrong.
One day at work, I froze when I saw a bouquet on my desk. A note read, “Your smile brightens my days.” No name.
“Did anyone see who brought this?” I asked.
Robert, my favorite coworker, shook his head. “I was the first here.”
Brian, my least favorite coworker, smirked, “Someone actually noticed you exist.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you have to be like that?”
Robert teased, “Jealous the bouquet isn’t for you?”
I thanked Robert and pushed the flowers aside to focus on work. The office was tense, as we were all vying for a single project funding. Brian thrived on competition, getting under my skin. But I couldn’t let him—or Robert—win. I had to prove I belonged and was just as good as the men.