Slow burn? Oh, we're simmering.
Chapter 10
Jayjay's POV
Day two of the trip.
I still hated him.
Mostly.
Probably.
Okay — not enough to stab him with a pen anymore. But enough to still toss him one-word replies and never meet his eyes longer than a blink.
Progress?
Barely.
We had three interviews scheduled for the day — a set of CEOs running major local corporations. Miss Reyes had warned us to treat it as a real networking opportunity. Impress them. Learn. Be professionals.
So I put on my armor — a blazer sharp enough to slice, heels loud enough to signal war, and a notebook full of perfect questions.
And maybe I noticed the way Keifer stared for a little too long when I walked into the hotel lobby that morning.
Maybe I didn't say anything about it.
The first company was all glass walls and quiet luxury.
We were led into a meeting room, polished and cold. The CEO — a woman with a voice like steel and eyes like thunder — greeted us with a nod.
I didn't hesitate.
I asked sharp, analytical questions. Took notes like I was etching it into memory. Challenged gently. Listened fully.
I felt good. In control.
Keifer mostly watched — only adding a few lines, but when he did, they were clean. Confident.
We weren't rivals in that room.
We were a unit.
For a moment, I almost forgot I hated him.
Almost.
But of course, Section E was there.
In the corner of the conference floor, pretending to work.
Or so I thought — until I caught a glimpse of Freya holding her phone up way too sneakily, and Felix giving Lumi a thumbs-up behind a ficus plant like this was some kind of spy op.
I narrowed my eyes.
Later, when I finally checked my phone, it was already too late.
Group Chat: Section E – Mission Jayfer 🕵️♀️
Edrix: "Can we talk about how Watson looked at Jay like she was a stock about to triple in value??"
Freya: [attaches photo of Keifer mid-stare while Jay writes something in her notebook]
Ci-n: "Tell me this man isn't in love. Tell me. I dare you."
Rory: "That's his soft boy era look."
Kit: "Zoom in on his hand. He's leaning closer. This is textbook."
Lumi: "I'm making a Google Drive folder called 'Jayfer: Business Edition.'"
I stared at the chat.
Then at Keifer, who sat across from me, casually drinking water like he hadn't just had his longing gaze posted online like fanfiction fodder.
I deadpan texted the group:
Jay: "Delete it or I'm reporting all of you to HR."
Section E: "❤️❤️❤️❤️"
By the second interview, the rhythm between me and Keifer started to form again.
Sharp-tongued, but smoother.
I didn't ignore him anymore. But I didn't forgive him either.
He knew it.
Sometimes I caught him watching me when he thought I wasn't looking — as if he wanted to say something.
But he never did.
Maybe that was better.
After the last meeting, we all gathered in a shared co-working space the hotel provided for us to compile our reports.
Everyone was working, typing, writing.
And of course, Keifer and I bickered.
"Those charts aren't necessary," he muttered.
"They add depth," I snapped back.
"They add clutter."
"Oh, I'm sorry — are you the minimalist now?"
"I just know what's effective."
"I just know you're insufferable."
"You always talk like you're narrating your own documentary."
"You always talk like you're auditioning for a rom-com no one asked for."
Our voices were hushed, but heated.
Behind us, I heard the click of someone taking another photo.
"I swear," I hissed under my breath, "I will end them."
Keifer leaned closer, smirking. "They're just documenting history."
"More like your downfall."
His grin twitched — not quite wide. Not mocking either.
"Then I guess I'll fall spectacularly."
That night, back in our room, I didn't avoid him.
I didn't look at him either. But I let the silence be silence. Not punishment.
He didn't push.
He gave me space. Put on headphones. Sketched. Didn't comment when I reorganized my notes for the fifth time.
And when I collapsed on my bed — exhausted but oddly calm — I found another small snack left at the desk.
No words. Just the offering.
I still hated him.
Or at least, I had to pretend to.
Because if I stopped pretending... what then?