Zoe arrived at the office, her coat damp with morning drizzle and her curls slightly tousled by the wind. She exhaled sharply, the chill still clinging to her skin as she unwrapped her scarf—a deep crimson wool that stood out brightly against the otherwise gray, overcast day.
She draped it carefully over the back of her chair, then sank into her seat, already bracing herself for the flood of emails waiting to ambush her. The hours passed in a blur—edits, meetings, quiet muttering to herself, punctuated by the occasional ping of Slack or email.
Midday, she was pulled into a team meeting—just thirty minutes, quick and focused. When she returned to her desk, she froze.
The scarf was gone.
Her brows pulled together. She checked the chair again. The coat rack. Under the desk. Nothing.
In its place, stuck dead center on her keyboard, was a single yellow Post-it.
The handwriting was unmistakable—precise, elegant, with a slight, deliberate slant.
"Looks better on me. — S."
Zoe blinked. Then, slowly, a grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Stacy Holloway. Of course.
That evening, as the office quieted and Zoe packed up her laptop, she caught sight of them in the lobby—Stacy, standing tall and composed, mid-conversation with a junior executive.
And there it was.
The red scarf.
Wrapped casually around Stacy's neck like it had always belonged there. Soft against the sharp line of her coat, the deep crimson a striking contrast to her typically neutral palette.
She hadn't even looked over. She didn't need to.
Zoe smiled to herself as she stepped out of the exit door.
Touché, Holloway.
The next rainy morning, the office buzzed with its usual hum—emails flying, heels tapping, espresso machines hissing in the break room. Zoe stepped into the lobby, coffee in hand, juggling a file folder under one arm, her curls still damp from the drizzle outside.
As she reached the elevator, the doors slid open… and there stood Stacy.
Alone.
Immaculate, as always—tailored coat, poised posture, unreadable expression. And wrapped snugly around her neck, like a splash of bold defiance, was Zoe's red scarf.
Zoe raised an eyebrow as she stepped inside. "Well. Look what the elevator dragged in."
Stacy didn't look at her at first. She simply pressed the button for the top floor, then folded her hands in front of her. "You're late."
"Blame the rain," Zoe said coolly, sipping her coffee.
A beat of silence passed between them—the kind that buzzes just beneath the surface.
Zoe cleared her throat. "Ahem. So… any chance I could get my scarf back?"
Only then did Stacy glance her way, her lips curving ever so slightly. "Hmm. I don't know. I gave you my blazer. Consider this an even exchange."
Zoe stared at her for a second. "That blazer cost more than my rent."
"And this scarf smells like vanilla and stubborn ambition," Stacy replied smoothly, fingers brushing the soft fabric at her collar. "Quite flattering, really."
Zoe rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "You know, most people ask before raiding other people's wardrobes."
"Most people don't leave their accessories unattended in my presence," Stacy said, unbothered.
The elevator dinged, the doors beginning to slide open. Stacy stepped out first, pausing just enough to glance back.
"I'll return it when I get tired of it," she said over her shoulder. "But don't hold your breath."
Zoe watched her go, then shook her head with a soft laugh.
"Unbelievable," she muttered—but she was still smiling.
The next morning, Stacy arrived at the office to find something… unusual.
Her door was slightly ajar—odd, considering she always locked it behind her. Everything inside was precisely where she'd left it—except for the coat rack.
Hanging there, in place of her usual outerwear, was something that most definitely did not belong to her:
A ridiculous, oversized novelty scarf—knitted in vibrant rainbow colors, complete with tiny sequined cats stitched along the hem. At its center, a handwritten tag dangled from the yarn:
"Thought you might like something more... expressive. – Z"
Stacy stared at it in silence. For a solid five seconds.
Then she walked calmly to her desk, set down her tablet, and slowly peeled off her coat.
Right then, Zoe passed by the open doorway with a perfectly timed "Morning," coffee in hand, not even slowing her step.
Stacy turned toward the door. "Zoe."
Zoe took two steps back, poking her head into the office innocently. "Yes?"
Stacy narrowed her eyes. "You broke into my office."
Zoe shrugged. "I used a paperclip. You should probably upgrade your lock."
Stacy tilted her head. "You left me a scarf with sequined cats."
Zoe took a long sip of her coffee. "Since you clearly have a taste for eccentric knitwear now, I thought I'd help you expand your collection."
Stacy walked slowly over to the coat rack, plucked the scarf off the hook, and held it up with two fingers like it might bite her.
"You do realize this is hideous?"
Zoe smiled sweetly. "But it's authentic."
There was a beat. Then—to Zoe's utter shock—Stacy draped the ridiculous scarf over her shoulders, adjusted it neatly, and walked behind her desk as if it were just another power accessory.
"Well," Stacy said smoothly, "you've made your move."
Zoe raised a brow. "And?"
Stacy's eyes gleamed. "Now it's my turn."
Zoe blinked.
Stacy smirked.
And Zoe suddenly wasn't sure if she'd won… or started a war she couldn't finish.