The Monday morning air inside Bravestone Media was as tense and thick as a boardroom full of passive-aggressive creatives fighting over who gets the last oat milk.
And walking through it like he owned the temperature?20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHJ9uIlNcsy
Ryan "Ian" Santillan — the man who could freeze hell over with a glance.
"Okay. Mission Ice Melt: Day 1," Aila whispered to herself, adjusting the silk ribbon around her collar. She had rehearsed this: bump into Ian casually at the elevator, drop her files, flash her dimple, make him laugh, leave a lingering impression.
Simple. Elegant. Very Netflix-level romcom.
"May pag-asa naman siguro 'to, 'di ba?" she muttered, doing a tiny mirror check on her phone.
"Kung 'pag-asa' ang name ng miracle," Audrey had teased her last night.
The elevator dinged.
There he was.
Tall, sharp-jawed, and emotionally unavailable in the most devastating way. Clad in a charcoal suit and a watch that screamed, "I don't like small talk." His hair was perfectly combed back, revealing eyes so unreadable she might as well have brought a magnifying glass and a psychic to decode them.
Aila stepped in, smile at the ready. "Hi, Ian! Elevator timing natin—perfect!"
He blinked once. Said nothing.
Ice prince nga talaga.
They stood in silence. She glanced sideways, trying to gauge if he'd at least nod. Nothing. Not even a glance.
Okay. Time for the meet-cute.
With exaggerated grace, Aila "accidentally" dropped her folder. Files scattered like an origami explosion on the elevator floor.
"Oh no!" she gasped, bending over dramatically.
Silence.
When she peeked up, Ian had slightly — slightly — leaned away, as if the papers were contagious.
She almost laughed. Was he allergic to chaos?
She kept scrambling, hoping he'd kneel to help. Instead, he reached behind him... and pressed a button.
The elevator stopped.
Oh no—was he leaving?
Nope.
He knelt.
He picked up exactly one paper.
And handed it to her.
Without a word.
"Wow," Aila said. "Thank you, that was... heroic."
Still no response.
She cleared her throat. "Ian, right? From analytics?"
He turned his head slowly toward her, expression unreadable. "Hmm."
Hmm? HMM?! That's it?!
And then—just as she tucked the files back into her folder, ready to surrender to the awkward silence...
He smirked.
Aila blinked. Was that—?
A flicker of amusement in his eyes. His lips curled ever so slightly, barely there, but definitely there.
The elevator dinged open.
He walked out without another word.
But Aila stood frozen inside the lift, eyes wide.
"Oh my God," she whispered to herself. "He smirked. He smirked."
Was it sarcastic? Maybe. Calculated? Probably.20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxrIsf7qH6C
But he reacted. To her.
That was more emotion than anyone in the office had seen from him in months.
Later that afternoon, in the company pantry, Aila relayed the moment to her barkada-slash-colleagues, arms flailing dramatically.
"He smirked, guys. Not a full smile, but like, the sexy sociopath kind."
Maila sipped her milk tea. "That could mean he thinks you're funny."
"Or ridiculous," Audrey added, deadpan.
"Or annoying," Kimberly offered with a shrug.
Aila ignored them. "No. That was a flirty smirk. I know the difference. Alam kong hindi lang ako ang nag-iisip nito. My romcom senses were tingling!"
Maila narrowed her eyes. "You sure you're not just projecting because he's hot?"
"Ian Santillan is a Greek statue brought to life with the soul of a PDF file," Kimberly muttered. "No one makes him laugh."
"Well, he smirked at me. Which means... I cracked something." Aila grinned smugly. "I'm telling you, the ice is melting. Day 1? Not bad."
Angela, passing by with her usual aura of expensive perfume and hostility, paused.
"You're proud of a smirk?" she said with a mock-laugh. "Wow, Briones. At this rate, baka ma-in love siya sayo in... twenty years."
Aila's smile didn't falter. "I've got ten days, remember?"
Angela tilted her head, a smirk of her own forming. "Tick-tock."
Meanwhile, inside his office, Ian sat behind his massive glass desk, sipping black coffee while staring at the monitor. But he wasn't really working.
His mind replayed the elevator scene.
The girl who dropped her papers on purpose. The bold grin. The dramatic pick-up of papers. Her tiny gasp when he smirked.
He didn't smirk often. But that one — that was intentional.
She was trying something.
And for the first time in a long time, Ryan Santillan was... curious.
Let's see how far you'll go, he thought, taking another sip.
End of Chapter 2
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and then Add to home screen.