Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Also, the song that inspired this fic:

SPARK

Literal Meaning : A small, fiery particle produced by a flame or combustion. For example, "Sparks flew when they saw each other."

Metaphorical Meaning : A fleeting yet powerful burst of light, energy, or inspiration that symbolizes the start of something significant. For example, "Their discussion was the spark that set the entire story in motion."

Emotional or Motivational Trigger : A sudden surge of interest, passion, or inspiration that motivates action. For example, "He sparked her desire."

To Cause or Trigger : To initiate or set off a reaction, event, or process. For example, "His remark sparked a lively and intense debate."

AUGUST

MONDAY

The knock jolted her.

It wasn’t a polite tap or a patient rap, but it came in impatient bursts. In an instant, Elsa knew exactly who was out there. Only one person knocked like that, the same infuriating rhythm that had driven her nuts since they were kids. Back then, she’d yelled at Anna through the door more times than she could count, even hurling pillows across the room to thump against it in protest.

Elsa froze at her desk, fingertips still brushing closing her laptop shut, then stood. The chair let out a quiet, grudging creak as she pushed it back, the noise hanging in the empty air of her new and freshly empty apartment. She padded across the carpet, bare feet sinking into the plush fibers, and opened the door.

Anna stood there, looking annoyingly perfect as always. Her hair was swept into a neat bun, not a strand daring to escape, and that familiar hint of disapproval was already etched on her face. She tilted her head at the sight of Elsa, eyebrows drawing together in suspicion, then raised a finger and pointed straight at her, like she was already mid-accusation.

“Don’t you have to be at work by nine?” Anna asked.

Elsa blinked at her, just as puzzled. “Don’t you have to go in by seven? It's seven thirty.”

“I’m going in late today,” Anna said, waving it off like it was nothing. “It’s your first day, I wanted to be here for you. But why on earth are you heading in so early?”

“HR paperwork,” Elsa said with a shrug. “Plus, I was kind of excited.”

Anna let out a short, skeptical laugh. She stepped inside, slipping her coat off her shoulders and letting it drop onto the nearest chair in a messy pile. “Excited? You? Come on, I’m not buying it.”

Elsa shut the door with a quiet click. “Hey, I’m allowed to be excited about something. It probably won’t last anyway, so you might as well enjoy it while it does.”

Anna, already making herself comfortable, raised her the paper bag in her hand towards Elsa. In it was a cup of coffee and a small yogurt container, which she held out with a look of mistrust and disgust. “I picked up your idea of breakfast,” she said. “You know I stood there for a solid minute, arguing with myself over whether anybody actually chooses to eat these on purpose?”

Elsa’s face softened with an unguarded smile as she took both items from her sister. “You love me,” she said lightly, already heading for the kitchen drawer to find a spoon.

Anna folded herself into one of the dining chairs and leaned her elbows on the table. “So tell me,” she said, “When do you actually start working?”

“Next week,” Elsa said, peeling the lid off the yogurt. She glanced at the label and frowned. “You couldn’t find blueberry?”

“They all taste terrible. What does it matter which one?”

“The difference,” Elsa said, pointing her spoon like she was about to lecture, “is that the blueberry one actually tastes like blueberries. This one just tastes like nothing. And it doesn’t suck, you’re just a snob.” She waved her hand dismissively as if brushing the whole conversation away. “Honestly, not even your fault. Mom spoiled you. She turned you into this.”

Anna smirked, unbothered. “Please. You’re just bitter because I was the one everyone loved. By several people, not just one, in case you’re wondering.”

“I was loved enough,” Elsa said matter-of-factly, though her attention stayed fixed on the yogurt as she scooped up another bite. She let the silence hang for a moment before she added, almost too casually, because if she said it seriously while looking at Anna, it would terrify her to even utter those words. “By the way, I broke up with Connor.”

Anna froze as her eyes widened. Her mouth opened, but no words came out, and when they did, they came out sharp and disbelieving. “You what?!”

“Two days ago,” Elsa said, dropping it as something very simple. She glanced up only when she felt Anna continue to gape at her, waiting for the rest. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Anna shot back, somewhere between a glare and total shock.

“Because there’s nothing to tell. It wasn’t serious. Nine months isn’t exactly a lifetime.” She shrugged again, but this one felt a little too forced. “It barely even counts as a relationship.”

“Why did you break up with him then?"

Elsa didn’t dare to look at Anna. She just set her spoon down with a neat little click against the yogurt cup and said, “Because when you move to a new city, you leave the baggage in the old place.”

Anna kept staring, like she was debating whether to get mad for Connor’s sake. “It’s so comforting to hear my sister referring to human beings as baggage.” She shook her head, sighing like this was some tired routine. “You know what, though? This isn’t really your fault.” Her tone softened suddenly, catching Elsa off guard. “You weren’t loved enough as a child. So you went looking for validation in grades and diplomas, and now you’re trying to find it in your career.”

Elsa let out a short huff. “Oh, I’m sorry I was secure enough not to need a boy dragging me down. Sorry I studied hard while you were busy sticking your tongue down the throat of a useless waste-of-oxygen rat masquerading as a boyfriend.”

“Maybe if you had a tongue down your throat once in a while, you wouldn’t be this allergic to normal.”

“Normal, as in giving up my career for a man? No thank you. Hard pass.”

“Nobody said anything about giving up your career!” Anna shot back, shifting in her chair. “You know, long-distance relationships do exist.”

“I’d rather chew my own foot off,” Elsa replied without hesitation. “Long-distance is always doomed to fail.”

“Mom and Dad had a long-distance relationship. And they’re still together.”

Elsa snorted, shaking her head. “Yeah, because Mom and Dad are totally the gold standard for romance. If that’s what long-distance gets you, a lifetime of polite small talk and separate bedrooms, please sign me up. I'd love to be miserable the rest of my life.”

Anna crossed her arms and leaned back, refusing to give her the last word. “No two people love each other all the time, Elsa. That’s not what love is. Sometimes you’ll love your partner, and sometimes you’ll want to murder them. If it’s real, you stay through both.”

Elsa gave her sister a long look before shaking her head. “That just sounds miserable, Anna.”

“It’s the truth,” Anna said firmly. “Do you think I love Kristoff all the time? No. Sometimes I want to pack a bag, slam the door, and just drive away from his bullshit. But I stay. Because he needs me and we love each other.”

“There’s something really wrong with him if he needs you during tough times.” She didn’t wait for Anna’s reaction. She rose, crossed into the kitchen, and let her spoon drop into the sink. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. “I’m sorry, Anna, but no matter how much you try to sell me on the miracles of love, I’ll always be cautious.”

Instead of arguing and pushing back like she always did, Anna pivoted with a deceptively casual tone. “Kristoff and I are moving in together.”

The silence that followed was brief. Elsa froze for half a second before turning. She came back into the living room slowly, her face unreadable. “Oh.” The word was soft, almost absent, because she was still trying to figure out what Anna meant by moving in together. “Where?”

“Georgetown,” Anna replied, her expression shifting, brightening. “We've been searching for a while, but we weren't sure. Anyway, wee found a place I fell in love with. It’s a cute place with big windows and a lot of sunlight. You’ll love it.”

Elsa nodded, finally meeting her sister’s gaze. “I’m happy for you.” A moment passed, then the faintest curl of her lip. “Not so much for him.”

Anna’s eyes sharpened, but then she broke into a laugh. “That’s it? No ‘finally’? No confetti? No balloons?”

Elsa reached for her grey overcoat draped across the chair, sliding her arms into the sleeves. “I figured it was coming,” 

Anna scoffed, more playful than annoyed. “Thank you for your kind words. Really, so touching.”

Elsa’s laugh came unexpectedly, quick and small, escaping before she could stop it. She caught herself. “I am happy for you, Anna.”

The two of them stepped outside into the cool morning air. The sun was still low in the sky, and the streets were starting to pick up, but it was mostly empty. Anna paused as her gaze flickered around the curb, and Elsa waited, just a beat too long, before Anna spoke. “So, where’s your car?”  

“New York. They’re fixing the wiring.” Elsa pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at it, but her expression didn’t change. She tucked the device back into her coat. "I’ll have it in a few days."  

Anna’s lips parted as she made a low sound of frustration. “So how are you getting to work?”  

“Cab,” Elsa replied, turning her head slightly to the side as she adjusted her coat. The cool air tugged at the edges of her hair.  

Anna didn’t miss a beat. "No, you’re not. I’ll drive you." 

Elsa looked at her, an eyebrow arched. "You don’t have to—"  

But Anna was already walking toward the car, her keys jingling in her hand as she unlocked the door with a quick twist of her wrist. She slid into the driver’s seat without a second thought, not waiting for Elsa’s response. "Get in."  

"Anna—" Elsa started again.  

“Elsa.” Anna replied with playful sternness. The corners of her lips pulled into a grin.  

TUESDAY

Elsa had been in D.C. for nine days straight, and she was already fantasizing about committing arson.

Specifically, she wanted to torch the sleek black sedan that was parked smack in the middle of her assigned spot. Just a fleeting, totally reasonable thought.

Her actual first day at the station had been a breeze. Smiles, handshakes, endless forms, pretending to remember everyone’s name. Today was different. Today she was going live, her name in the chyron, reading actual news in front of actual cameras, and her stomach was doing flips it hadn’t pulled since her very first reporting years ago. Which was ridiculous because she’d been doing this forever.

She’d practically sandblasted her skin in the shower that morning, swapped outfits four times before landing on a deep maroon blouse with ruched sleeves and matching trousers, and still managed to leave the apartment three minutes late.

So, naturally, there was a car in her space.

She squinted at the number stenciled on the curb, checked it twice. Shot a look at the license plate, then back to the curb. No doubt about it, it was hers.

Her jaw tightened as she eased her own car into neutral, parked crooked a few feet back, and climbed out. The click of her heels echoed faintly off the concrete as she marched up to the intruder. She rapped her knuckles against the driver’s window. The tinted glass buzzed down exactly one grudging inch. A guy in a sharp suit, hair salted at the temples, glanced up at her with the bored, dismissive look of someone who’d already sized her up and found her lacking.

“Yes?” 

Elsa gave him a tight smile. “This is my spot.”

His eyes didn’t move. “And?”

She blinked. Huh? “And… I need you to move your car. Because this—” she pointed down at the painted curb like he might be blind—“is my spot.”

“This is Mr. Frost’s car,” the driver said, his voice clipped and disinterested. “It stays here.”

Elsa barked out a laugh so sudden that it even surprised her. “Mr. Frost? Which one are we talking about here—the dead one, the son, or the grandson?”

“Director of Communications,” the man replied, as though that explained everything.

“The grandson? Oh, well, that changes everything.” Her tone went flat, dry as paper. “Move the car.”

The driver didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t even give her the satisfaction of rolling his eyes. He just looked straight ahead at the windshield, as if she were an inconvenient reflection.

Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a breath. “Look. I don’t care if Mr. Frost is the Director of Communications, or the President of Communications, or, I don’t know, the Director of the Universe. This is my spot. Move the car.”

“Mr. Frost—” the man began.

“—can park somewhere else,” she cut in crisply.

Nothing. The driver’s eyes stayed forward, his jaw set in professional indifference, clearly deciding she was not his responsibility.

Elsa stared at him, her patience running out. “Excuse me?” She rapped on the glass again, louder this time. “Are you actually ignoring me right now? You can't just sit there pretending I don't exist.”

He didn’t say a word. Just sat there like a statue in a suit.

Elsa blew out a slow breath, reminding herself to keep it together. First real day on the job and she wasn’t about to kick it off with a screaming match in a parking garage. But no way was she rolling over for some spoiled legacy brat who thought rules were for peasants.

The elevator pinged behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder as two people stepped out: a redhead in a razor-sharp navy suit, already frustrated and yelling into the phone, and trailing just behind her was the guy who apparently owned the car squatting in her spot.

Jack Frost.

No mistaking him. That face had been plastered across screens and front pages for years, either getting hero-worshipped or ripped to shreds, depending on the news cycle. Director of Communications. Political blue blood. Son of Richard Frost, the legendary senior advisor, grandson of Leonard O. Frost, actual former president. The name Frost was basically woven into the fabric of the country. He looked about as thrilled to be here as someone waiting for a root canal, fiddling with the cuff of his overcoat like he was already mentally halfway out the door.

Merida Wallace, Elsa assumed, no, Elsa knew was Jack’s publicist, given the way she was talking, barely spared Elsa a glance before turning to the driver. “What’s the problem?”

Elsa didn’t bother with Merida. She looked straight at Jack and said, in the flattest voice she could muster, “Move your car.”

That’s all she had to say to get his attention.

Jack blinked, as if he wasn’t used to being addressed like that. His eyes flickered to hers, in what she assumed was him taking in details, measuring if she was really worth his time. And then he sighed, like this was already exhausting. “Right,” he said, stepping forward before glancing at the driver. “What happened?”

“The lady wants the car moved,” the driver replied.

“Because it’s in my spot,” Elsa corrected.

Merida made an impatient little noise, thumb scrolling furiously on her phone. “Jack, we’ve got Commerce in twenty, and traffic’s already—”

“Merida, hang on,” Jack interrupted, not even looking at her. He tilted his head at Elsa, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Let’s hear the lady out.”

Merida rolled her eyes so hard it was practically audible, then flicked her gaze to Elsa. “You actually work here?”

“No, I just wake up at dawn, put on heels, and roam random parking garages begging strangers for spots. It’s my hobby.”

While Merida’s eyebrow shot up, not really expecting that response from Elsa, it was Jack who spoke. “Why is it such a big deal?”

“Because your car is parked in my spot.”

“And?”

“And you need to move it.”

"It’s just a parking spot."

She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Great. Then you won’t mind finding another one.”

“I just had a meeting.”

“What an amazing, crazy coincidence!” Elsa replied. “I too, have a meeting. Right I park my car. In my spot.”

“Jack, we really don’t have the time,” Merida announced, turning to the driver. “Move it.”

“No,” Jack stopped her, his eyes on Elsa the entire time. “Leave it.”

“Move your car.”

Jack sighed like she was the one wasting his time. "You’re really this stubborn over a parking spot?"

"You’re really this entitled over someone else’s?"

His lips pressed together. "You do realize there’s a visitor section, right?"

"Yeah, that’s where your car should be parked," she shot back.

Jack gestured vaguely behind him. "It’s a few yards that way. I can’t be bothered to walk."

"You can park somewhere else."

“I could,” he said, drawing the word out like he was savoring it. “But I’m not going to.”

"Then I’ll have it towed.”

“Oh, please do. I’ll have it un-towed before the truck even hits the street.”

"You can’t do that."

"I really can. Perks of the job."

She scoffed. “That’s not how it works.”

“It is when your last name opens doors.”

The nerve of this guy. He was straight-up enjoying himself. She didn't have any patience left. “Move. The. Car.”

“Jack, we really got to leave. This isn’t funny anymore.” Merida said, her tone serious, eyes darting back and forth between Elsa and Jack.

He didn’t answer right away. He just studied Elsa for a long second, something unreadable flickering behind the amusement. Then he turned to the sedan. “Move it. It’s her spot now.”

“Like it always did,” Elsa muttered under her breath, already spinning on her heel toward her own car.

“Pleasure meeting you,” Jack called after her, voice dripping with lazy sarcasm.

Elsa didn’t even glance back. “Delightful.”

Then came Merida’s gasp, which made Elsa turn around out of instinct. Jack had stepped forward. He was sliding into the car himself, hands shoved deep in his pockets, smirk spreading slowly.

“Oh, I think the fuck not!” Merida nearly tripped after him, her voice scandalized. “Jack! You are not allowed to!"

OCTOBER

FRIDAY

The elevator ding yanked Elsa back to reality.

She'd dragged herself straight from the station, feet screaming from her heels, that dull ache crawling up her calves. The wine bottle in her hand, her half-assed contribution to the night felt like it weighed twenty pounds. She rapped on the door once, sharp knuckles against wood, and sucked in a deep breath to steady herself.

Kristoff swung it open, that big dumb grin splitting his face. "Elsa!"

Before she could respond, he wrapped his arms around her in a firm hug. She patted his back, just as firm, just as brief.

"Glad you made it," he said, snagging the wine bottle right out of her grip like it was a newborn.

Elsa peeked past him into the apartment as he kicked the door shut. "Nice place."

Just a handful of people scattered around, voices murmuring and blending into each other. She clocked Rapunzel first, that laugh cut through everything, bright and bubbly as her endless golden hair. Right next to her was Astrid, arms folded tight across her chest but eyes sparking with whatever story was flying, leaning in like she couldn't help herself. Anna's crew from way back. Elsa flashed to late-night dorm crashes, holiday chaos, all that messy college shit. Hadn't crossed paths much since, but yeah, some people just stayed the same. Familiar in the best-worst way.

Kristoff spotted her lingering by the door and waved her over with that big, enthusiastic sweep of his arm. “Elsa, come meet the guys.”

He steered her toward a man with twitchy energy, Flynn, she caught the name, who was already halfway through some story. And next to him stood Hiccup, Kristoff’s oldest friend, the one she remembered as Astrid's husband. Lean, quiet, with that dry half-smile that said he was always three steps ahead of the conversation. He shook her hand, polite, quick-witted in that understated way that didn’t demand attention but earned it anyway. Elsa liked him instantly.

The small talk rolled along easy enough. Everyone recently seemed to ask her about work, the move, the usual. She nodded in the right places, laughed when everyone else did, all while her feet begged for mercy and her brain quietly counted down the minutes until she could collapse onto a couch. She slipped her bag off her shoulder, setting it on the little table by the door, and gathered her hair back into a messy ponytail just to get it off her neck. That’s when she felt it, the stare.

A redhead across the room. Arms loose at her sides, body perfectly still, eyes locked on Elsa like she’d crashed the wrong party.

Elsa’s hands froze mid-tie. Their gazes snagged and held. "…Hi?” Elsa said finally, the word coming out smaller than she meant, more question than hello.

The redhead, Merida, unmistakably, blinked once. Then she tilted her head back with a groan, muttering with theatrical despair, “Oh, for the love of God. Not you.”

Elsa narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"

The woman sighed, stepping forward. "Merida Wallace."

"Elsa Stenford. Anna’s sister." She paused, unsure what this was actually about. "What are you doing here?"

"Kristoff’s a friend from college." Merida tilted her head, studying her. Then, suddenly, she stepped in closer, voice lowering. "Could you maybe do me a favour?"

Elsa frowned. "Depends on the favour."

Merida pressed her palms together. “Could you maybe—just maybe—not pick a fight with Jack tonight?”

Elsa let out a sharp huff. "Did you ask him not to argue with me?"

"No," Merida admitted. "I’m asking you."

"Why not him?"

Merida sighed, like she was explaining something obvious. “Because I work for him. He tells me to jump, I ask how high. I don’t get to tell him to chill out, he’d just laugh and do the opposite. Also, he literally never listens to me.”

“So your buddy won’t take advice from you, but you figure I, a complete stranger who already wants to strangle him, will just nod and play nice because you asked?”

“Yes.” Merida nodded, entirely serious. “That’s exactly what I expect.”

Elsa’s mouth twitched, humorless. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not going to stand there and let him get away with it.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, where do I even start?” Elsa said, ticking off on her fingers. “Because he’s the most unbearable, entitled, insufferable—”

“Okay, that’s plenty—”

“—spoiled, smug, self-important—”

Before Elsa could finish, another voice cut in.

"Elsa," Kristoff said from behind her, sounding vaguely hesitant. "This is Jack Frost."

Elsa’s voice stilled, but she turned instinctively.

And there he was. Standing right next to Kristoff like he’d materialized out of thin air, like the apartment had been waiting for him to show up before it felt complete. Coat gone, tie intact, posture easy, like the world bent around his convenience. Those icy blue eyes locked on her with immediate recognition. Judging. Calculating. Already filing her into whatever box he thought she fit.

“Well, don’t stop on my account,” he drawled. “I caught most of it. Pretty spot-on, actually. I especially liked the ‘self-important’ bit. Really captures the essence.”

“Now that you're here," she said, her voice steady, "I suppose I could add 'infuriating' to the list."

Jack's smirk only grew, the corners of his lips pulling up with amusement. “Flattered. You’d be surprised how much effort goes into being this intolerable.”

“Again,” Kristoff stepped in while Merida glared at Jack. “Jack Frost, Elsa Stenford. Anna’s sister. Elsa is a political journalist-”

“Ah,” Jack cut in, tilting his head just enough to make it condescending. “That explains it. Is that why she’s so starstruck?”

Elsa snorted. “I knew you were going to be here, I could smell the arrogance from two miles away.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Merida groaned, and Elsa had barely a moment to register the words before Merida turned on her heel and walked away, shaking her head.

Jack’s smile didn’t waver, but there was something sharper beneath it now. "Most people lead with ‘nice to meet you.'"

“There’s nothing nice about meeting you.”

Kristoff took a step back. "Okay, great, love this energy—"

“Do you two have it in you to be civil for, say, two minutes?”

“This is me being civil.”

Kristoff groaned. “Right. Perfect. Then I, personally, need a drink.” He clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder before the man could protest. “Jack, care to join me?”

“No, I’d rather be—”

“Excellent, thank you for joining me, Jack,” Kristoff cut in, herding him toward the kitchen before either could land another hit.

Elsa’s phone vibrated again. 

Across the couch, Anna groaned, already tipsy, already over it. “Jesus Christ, Elsa. Just answer it already.”

“It’s not important,” she said, her voice flat, her eyes fixed on the screen just long enough to confirm the name she didn’t want to see. Her fingers curled around her glass, the rim pressing cool against her palm. On the TV, John Wick pulled the trigger. Another body hit the ground.

She took a sip as everyone did the same. Her phone stopped ringing. She glanced up at the tv, raising her glass to her lips again. When it rang again, Elsa swiped left, switched her phone to silent, and set it down on the coffee table.

Which turned out to be absolutely useless. Because even when she couldn’t hear it, the screen still lit up. Again. And again. And again.

It was Kristoff who sighed, tilting her head back against the couch. “Elsa, please. Just pick up. Put him out of his misery. I’m starting to feel bad for the guy.”

She turned her head slowly toward him, her look pointed enough to shut him up, and then pushed herself up, ignoring Anna’s raised eyebrow and slipped into the kitchen. The laughter and the movie blurred into a hum behind her, muffled by walls and distance. The moment she hit answer, a breathless, slurred voice filled her ear.

“Elsa?”

Great, he was drunk.

Ten minutes later, her glass of whiskey sat untouched on the kitchen island. The ice had melted into a thin, amber puddle, and outside the kitchen, the world had vanished entirely. Connor was crying. He was not a pretty crier, especially when he was drunk. Every sob a jagged little pulse of self-absorption, completely unaware of anything but himself.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he slurred, words tumbling over each other. “I don’t—I don’t know how to let you go.”

Elsa just stared at the way condensation gathered at the base of her glass. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His breathing hitched, uneven. “I—I keep waiting for it to stop, but it never does.”

She pressed her lips together, feeling the faintest trace of something like exhaustion settle behind her eyes. “That’s not my problem.”

There was a sharp, wet inhale, a pause heavy enough to feel in her chest. “I love you,” he admitted, the words cracked and raw, like they were wrenched out of him against his own will.

Elsa traced the rim of her glass absently, the amber liquid catching the light. “I know.”

Then, quieter, almost cautious, “Do you love me?”

She swallowed. “No. I don’t.”

The pause was deafening, and for a fraction of a second, Elsa almost regretted her words.

“I still have your hair tie.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“I—I found it in my bedside drawer last night. The black one, the one you used to wear all the time.” His laugh was wet and broken. “It was just sitting there, like—like you’d left it on purpose. Like you’d come back for it. I want you to come back for it.”

She said nothing. She didn’t tell him she had forgotten all about it.

“I see you everywhere,” he whispered, voice small, desperate. “Your coffee order, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear, the way you—God, the way you used to look at me.” His breath hitched again. “I just—I miss you. I miss everything.”

“I don’t miss you.” Elsa inhaled, her fingers tightening around the phone. She shut her eyes, pulling together whatever frayed threads of courage she had left. “And stop calling me.”

She hung up before he could respond. Set the phone down beside her untouched drink. For a long moment, she stood there, staring at nothing. The world beyond the kitchen felt distant with the hum of the television, the rise and fall of laughter, the occasional clink of glasses as someone took another shot. The drinking game had probably moved on without her. John Wick kept killing people. Everyone kept laughing, nothing had changed.

And yet, the whiskey in her glass had gone pale, ice thinning it into something weak and diluted. She picked it up, drained it in one go. It wasn’t even strong enough to burn anymore. Just cold, an idea of what it should have been.

The glass made a dull sound as she placed it back on the marble counter. Then, she heard a sound. Soft, barely there. A purr.

Elsa turned.

A grey Egyptian mau sat on the kitchen counter, tail curled around its paws, eyes locked onto hers. For a second, she just stared at it. She knew this cat—Anna’s, the one she’d had for years now—but gun to her head, she couldn’t remember its name. Catsby? Biscuit? Nugget? Something ridiculous.

It was an ugly little thing, all wiry muscle and sharp bones, light eyes. Elsa had never liked cats. She had never cared for them. But this one, this one looked like it was judging her.

“What?” she muttered.

The cat didn’t move. Just watched her. Wide, knowing eyes.

“I don’t love him.” The words slipped out before she could think better of them.

Nothing reached back, just silence.

“I really don’t,” she repeated, softer this time. “If I’m not mean to him, he’ll think I love him. And then he’ll think he has another chance.”

The cat said nothing, didn’t even blink.

Elsa sighed, slow and tired. “I have to be mean to him. I don’t have a choice.”

The cat flicked its ear and, without so much as a glance, turned its attention elsewhere.

Elsa frowned. She couldn’t explain why, but it felt like a betrayal, as if even this ridiculous animal was taking sides against her. “Come here,” she murmured, stretching a hand toward it. The cat shifted a fraction, just enough to remind her it had no intention of obeying. “Pspspsps,” she tried, a little sharper this time.

It glanced at her, but didn’t move.

“Come here, you ugly thing,” she said again, softer now, almost coaxing. “Pspspsps.”

Nothing. The kitchen was quiet except for the muffled movie playing in the next room. Elsa kept her hand extended, watching the cat, a small pulse of frustration rising in her chest.

And that was exactly why she jumped when she heard the voice.

“That doesn’t work on her.”

Her breath caught. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, wishing she hadn’t heard it, and then turned, already bracing herself for the moment she would regret.

Jack Frost was standing in the doorway. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but there was something in the way his eyes glinted with something sharp, something amused which made her stomach twist with irritation.

Elsa kept her expression neutral. She didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t move, hoping if she ignored him long enough, he would leave.

He didn’t. He stayed. And when he spoke, it was the absolute worst thing he could have said. “You’re doing it wrong.”

And then, unhurried, he stepped into the kitchen. Elsa didn’t turn to look at him, she didn’t really want to. His presence settled beside her, smug and uninvited, like he had all the time in the world to stand there and irritate her. As if he had nothing better to do than annoy her.

“How long have you been standing there?” Elsa asked, her attention still on the cat. She caught the faintest trace of his cologne. Something clean and sharp, like winter air laced with cedar. He smelled expensive, just like he looked.

“A few seconds.” He answered. “You looked pathetic trying to woo Turnip.”

Turnip?

She frowned. “Turnip?”

“Turnip.”

Elsa shook her head. “That’s a terrible name for a cat.” She muttered. “Anna changes her mind every other month. Last time I saw her, she called her Biscuit.”

Jack huffed. “Yeah, well, Turnip stuck.”

She gave the cat a flat look. “Figures. You look like a Turnip.”

The cat blinked at her, unimpressed.

“Turnip,” she repeated, leaning closer to the cat. She could see the gold tag hanging from the collar, with the word ‘Turnip’ engraved. “Let’s add eavesdropper to the list, shall we?”

Jack let out a huff, and stretched his open palm towards the cat. For a second, Turnip looks interested, but then, she didn’t care anymore. 

“She doesn’t like you,” Elsa gloated, a small sense of victory.

“Yeah, she doesn’t  like you either,” he shot back. “Probably sensed all that evil energy from you.”

“She’s my sister’s cat. She’ll come around.”

“You didn’t even know her name,”

“Just because you knew her name, doesn’t mean she likes you better.”

“She’s known me longer.”

“Again, she’s my sister’s cat.”

“Again, she’s known me longer.”

“Yeah, but she’s practically my family.”

“What? Through Anna and Kristoff? They don’t count, I know them better.”

Elsa furrowed her eyes, straightened and turned to him, brows furrowed. “Anna is my sister, we grew up together. How could you possibly know her better?”

“Because we hang out every week,” he scrunched his face like she was crazy. “And I know for a fact that they like me better.”

“No, they don’t.”

“They do, Kristoff told me.”

Elsa scoffed. She looked at Turnip, who was oblivious, minding her business on the counter. “Add liar to the list.”

“Turnip,” he took a step closer. “You don’t like the crazy lady, do you?”

Turnip looked at Jack, gave him a regal blink and then licked her paw.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, and then looked at Elsa. “She doesn’t like you. She knows you’re bad with animals.”

“I am not taking criticism from a nepo hire.”

Jack hummed, unbothered. “And you’re still bad with animals.”

“I’m not bad with animals,” she said. “I just don’t care for them.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what someone bad with animals would say.”

“She’ll like me in a few weeks. I’ll make sure of it.”

Elsa looked at the cat, licking its paw. “Turnip, in a few weeks, I’ll train you to pee in this man’s shoes. Would you like that?”

Turnip looked at her, and Elsa smiled. “See? She’d love to learn.”

“Not if I get her to like me first.”

And for Elsa, those words were an inviting challenge, wrapped in the prettiest, shiny red bow. It was on.

WEDNESDAY

The debate wrapped with that tight, professional smile Elsa had perfected years ago. She shifted in her chair as the outro music swelled, the director’s voice crackling in her earpiece. “And we’re clear.”

The studio lights softened a touch, the electric hum of live TV fading into something more human. A tech darted in to unclip her mic while one of the panelists leaned over.

“Nice job moderating,” Senator Holloway said, fiddling with his tie like he was already prepping for the next camera.

Representative Steele didn’t bother with niceties. “You let him steamroll me the whole second segment.”

“You got your shots in,” Elsa said, calm and even, pushing up from her seat. “And you had rebuttal time.”

Steele rolled her eyes but let it drop. Holloway gave Elsa’s shoulder a hearty clap, way too chummy for a guy she’d met exactly twice. “Good to see a journalist with real spine,” he boomed, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. “You ought to moderate the big ones.”

Elsa just smiled, thin and polite. It wasn’t a compliment, it was a sound bite for himself. She traded a few more empty pleasantries, then slipped away, scanning the chaotic wind-down on set. Cameras powering off, crew chatting, cables coiling like snakes.

A producer caught her eye, grinning. “Killed it tonight. We’re trending hard—Steele and Holloway are already viral.”

“Fantastic,” Elsa said, dry as dust.

Some staffer shoved a tablet under her nose, graphs spiking, viewership numbers, live reactions scrolling like ticker tape. She handed the tablet back, finally stepping off the set, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Her office, her desk, felt far away. The noise of the studio dulled behind her as she walked, tension slipping off her shoulders one knot at a time.

Casper, her assistant, fell into step beside her, holding out a bottle of water before she even reached for it.

“Solid moderating,” Casper said without looking up from his phone. “Producer’s happy. Steele’s team… not so much.”

Elsa cracked the bottle open and shrugged. “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

“Exactly.” Casper pocketed his phone as they walked. “Ratings went through the roof in segment two. Expect a bunch of execs tomorrow pretending they always knew you were a star.”

Elsa huffed a quiet laugh. “Schedule Gardner’s sit-down before his launch.”

“Done,” Casper said, smirking like he’d read her mind. “Rundown meeting at nine.”

When they reached her office, Casper pushed the door open. “Anything else?”

She shook her head. “Go home.”

“Unlikely,” he muttered, grinning. “I’ll send you notes on the debate in the morning.”

Elsa didn’t answer. She stepped inside, letting the door click softly behind her. The office was quiet, and the lights from the city smeared through the windows. She sank into her chair, set the water down, and unlocked her phone.

The screen lit up, and it was a google search from...whenever.

‘How to get a cat to like you’

Elsa stared at it. Then rolled her eyes, scrolling past articles with titles like The Science Behind Feline Affection and Winning Over a Difficult Cat in 10 Steps. She clicked on one, skimmed the first paragraph before getting bored. Then she sighed, dragging a hand over her hair. Of all the things she had to deal with today, this was what stuck in her head.

But Elsa was never the one to back down from a challenge. 

FRIDAY

It was Friday. Elsa had been waiting for it all week. And for all the wrong reasons.

Everyone looked forward to Friday because of the weekend, and Elsa did too. The brief illusion of rest, the chance to breathe between the chaos of work. But now, Friday meant something else. Friday meant the cat.

She didn’t know how it had come to this, how a creature that weighed no more than a few pounds had managed to plant itself in her head like a problem she refused to leave unsolved. But apparently, it had. And apparently, she was doing this now.

She needed to win. Which was why, instead of going home after work, Elsa found herself standing outside a pet store. The store smelled like hay and fish food. A bell chimed above her head as the door swung shut, and before she could so much as glance at a shelf, a cheerful voice popped up beside her.

“What can I help you with?”

Elsa turned. A girl, barely out of her teens, beamed at her, wearing a name tag that read Katie and a t-shirt with a cartoon dog on it. “What do I need to buy to make a cat like me?”

Katie blinked. 

When Elsa got to Anna’s apartment, a bag of overpriced cat treats in one hand and her phone still open to a half-read article titled How to Bond with Your Cat in the other, Anna was the one who answered the door. She looked at Elsa, then at the bag, then back at Elsa again, suspicion settling into the lines of her face.

Before she could ask, ‘What are you doing here?’ Elsa spoke. “Yeah, Anna, nice to see you too. Where’s the cat?”

Anna shook her head, stepping aside to let her in. “Balcony. What are you—”

“I missed you.” Elsa tossed her bag onto the couch, already making her way toward the dining room.

Anna scoffed, following. “I know that isn’t true.”

Elsa ignored her. She was scanning the apartment, already halfway to the balcony when Anna spoke again.

“Is this some weird thing with Jack? I know you don’t-”

Elsa stopped. Her fingers flexed at her sides. She turned her head, slowly. “Why did you say his name?”

Anna hesitated. Opened her mouth, then shut it again.

Elsa narrowed her eyes. “Is he here?”

Anna didn’t answer. Just lifted her brows, glancing, too obviously at the heavy drapes covering the balcony doors.

Elsa moved. Fast. She yanked the curtain open and cursed. “What the fuck?!”

Jack was on the floor of the balcony, legs crossed. He held out his other hand, open-palmed, a small pile of treats resting on his skin.

That stupid cat was eating out of it.

He barely glanced up, smug and relaxed. He looked at her like he'd been expecting her.

Elsa barely spared him a glance. Her eyes were on Turnip, who, with absolute betrayal, was eating out of Jack’s hand, purring like he was the greatest thing to ever exist. "Are you kidding me?!"

“You’re late, Stenford.”

“No,” Elsa snapped at him. “You are early, and that makes you a cheater. Add that to the list.”

“I am not early, you are late.”

“Well, I do have a job.”

“Everyone in this room has a job.”

“Well, not everyone were handed their jobs on a gold platter.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He shrugged nonchalantly, and turned to Anna. “Do you know what she’s talking about, Anna?”

Elsa turned to Anna, expecting to be backed up. Anna opens her mouth to say something, but then her eyes dart to Jack.  Then, she just leaves without a word. 

Elsa’s eyes follows Anna, but here attention shifts when Jack speaks. 

“Look how fast you drove her away. I’m almost impressed, Stenford.”

Elsa scoffed. The audacity. She steps into the balcony. “You’re playing dirty.”

“It’s your fault for expecting better,” he says, his focus on the cat. 

Elsa drops to the floor, crossing her legs, watching the cat chew on its treat. “Stop bribing her.”

"That’s how life works." Jack shrugged. "Connections and influence. The occasional under-the-table deal."

Elsa scowled. "That’s corruption."

"That’s politics." He shot her a look before turning back to Turnip, scratching behind her ear. "Isn’t that right, princess?"

Elsa’s mouth fell open in silent outrage. Her hand shot out, finger pointing straight at Jack. "Get away from her."

Jack barely spared her a glance, his gaze still fixed on Turnip, his lips curling into that insufferable smirk. He went right back to showering the cat with affection.

"We need rules," Elsa said, her voice firm.

Jack lifted an eyebrow but didn’t look up. "What for?"

"You came here early, so you had an advantage. We set a time, and you won’t arrive even a second earlier than that."

Jack’s eyes finally flicked to hers. "What if you’re late?"

"Then you wait for me by the door. If I’m late, I’ll wait for you by the door."

"I don’t trust you."

"I don’t care," Elsa snapped, holding his gaze. "Are we clear?"

He didn’t respond immediately. Jack just looked at her. Finally, he broke the silence, his eyes moving off her, back to Turnip. “Fridays at eight.”

And she took that as a yes.

She rose, ready to step back into the living room. Just as she was about to leave, his voice stopped her.

"Turnip likes tuna-flavored treats."

FRIDAY

Elsa sat on the floor outside Anna’s door, the bag of tuna-flavored treats resting in her lap. She had left work early, tidied up her apartment, and headed straight over to Anna’s. It was 7:46 p.m. when she arrived, and, as promised, she sat and waited.

Two minutes later, she was bored.

So she opened her laptop and messaged Casper.

‘Got a minute? Give me a call if you do.’

Her phone rang almost instantly. "What's up?"

Elsa looked at the door briefly before typing. "Any pending work I can catch up on? I’ve got time."

Casper’s response was quick. "You have a few briefs to go over. I’ll send them now."

She opened the email as soon as it came through, scanning through the documents. It was straightforward. Fact-checking, adjusting tone, minor edits. The usual.

She pulled the documents onto her screen, eyes already darting over the first few paragraphs. The press briefing, written by Jack Frost’s team, was set to focus on the upcoming budget proposal. She skimmed over the polished sentences, but her fingers hovered over the keys as she spotted a few discrepancies. She didn’t waste time second-guessing.

"Okay, here's the budget overview," she typed into the shared document. "There’s a discrepancy in the stats here. Needs to be updated before it’s finalized. Recheck with the finance department."

“Anything major?"

Elsa didn’t hesitate. "A couple of misquotes in the middle section. Some of the tone is too soft for a press release. They’re trying to make it sound more 'approachable,' but this needs to be firmer."

Casper responded almost instantly. "On it. Anything else?"

"Just the usual," she replied, eyes still on the screen. "Some filler words, too much fluff. Clean it up, make it leaner.”

The edits were quick, but her mind kept flicking back to the tone of the briefing, Jack's name latching onto her thoughts. She didn’t let herself linger on it, though. Focus.

"They’ve padded the opening with too much background. Trim it."

He replied, "Already on it."

She quickly skimmed through the last section of the document, making sure nothing was overlooked. Her fingers typed out the last line of comments.

"Done," she muttered under her breath, sending the revised document off to Casper with a click of the mouse.

"Why are you working on a Friday night?" Casper’s voice crackled through the speaker, and Elsa balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear, her fingers still tapping on the keyboard as she wrapped up the last of her edits.

"I’m waiting for someone," she replied. "Just had a few minutes."

She checked the time. 7:59 p.m.

"Wait, like a date?" Casper asked, the curiosity clear in his voice.

Elsa couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "No. I hate the person I’m waiting for."

There was a brief pause on the line, and then Casper’s voice came through, incredulous. "Why?"

Elsa leaned back against the wall, her gaze steady on the elevator doors. "The list is too long."

“So a friend? Is it someone from the office?” Casper’s voice crackled through the phone.

"Why would you assume that?" Elsa's tone was clipped.

"Well, you've been here almost four weeks, and that's not enough time to socialize with the outside crowd."

Elsa shifted slightly, her eyes never leaving the elevator. "You’ve heard about him, yes. He’s a friend of my sister."

"So a friend?" Casper pressed.

At that exact moment, the elevator beeped. Elsa’s eyes flicked toward it, and Jack stepped out. He was sharp, impeccably put together, looking like he came straight from work. A crisp shirt, a blazer that seemed to fit too well. Elsa wondered if he was ever normal.

She quickly glanced at her laptop. 8:01 p.m.

She caught his eyes across the room, his gaze steady on hers. She didn’t look away. “No,” she muttered into the phone. “He’s not my friend. Gotta go.”

Elsa dropped the phone into her lap and closed her laptop with a sharp snap. Her voice was firm as she stood, eyes still on Jack. "You're late."

Jack didn’t flinch. He just shrugged. "Breaking news. Sometimes people are late."

"You were gloating about being early last week."

Jack knocked on the door, barely sparing her a glance. "Your point?"

"My point is that you’re late."

"And what are you trying to achieve with that?"

"I’m just pointing it out."

Before Elsa could add anything, the door swung open, and Kristoff blinked at them, eyes wide. "Hello, Jack."

"Hi, Kristoff." Jack strolled forward.

Elsa stared. "He gets a hello, and I don’t?"

Kristoff hesitated. "I just—uh—"

Jack turned to her, smug. "Told you they like me better." And then he walked inside, past Kristoff.

Elsa scoffed, following him in. "That’s not true. Kristoff, tell him."

Kristoff, who clearly wanted no part in this, rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh—"

"Come on, Stenford, you’re putting him in a difficult position," Jack said, slouching against the wall. "He doesn’t need to choose."

Elsa huffed. "You’re just saying that because you know he’d choose me."

"Sorry to burst your delusional bubble, but he won’t.”

"And that’s why I asked him." Elsa turned to Kristoff, arms crossed. Jack did the same.

Kristoff, now trapped between two warring forces, shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the wall like it might offer divine intervention.

"Well?" Elsa pressed.

"I like you both the same—"

Jack groaned. "Wow. Incredible. What a brave stance."

"Very helpful," Elsa added flatly.

"Thanks, Kristoff," Jack drawled. "That really cleared things up."

"Don't be mean to him!" Elsa shot Jack a glare.

"He’s my friend."

"He’s my sister’s boyfriend."

Jack blinked at her. "Do you hear yourself? A friend is better than sister’s boyfriend."

"Kristoff!" Elsa turned to him again, and—because Jack had to be annoying—he followed suit.

Kristoff exhaled slowly. “Right now? I don’t like either of you."

Jack nodded solemnly. "Devastating."

Elsa narrowed her eyes. "Your loss."

“What are you both even doing here?”

“Don’t worry, we didn’t come to see or check on you,” Jack said, sliding out of his blazer and tossing it onto the couch. “Where’s—”

“—Turnip?” Elsa interrupted with a grin, knowing exactly how to get under his skin.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jack asked, genuinely puzzled.

“She’s in the house,” Kristoff replied flatly. “But I don’t know where in the house.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re useless,” Jack muttered, eyeing the room like he could will Turnip to appear by sheer force of will.

“Do whatever you want,” Kristoff muttered, disappearing into the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Elsa asked, following him, clearly not willing to let him escape that easily.

“On a date.”

“With Anna?”

“No,” Jack answered for him, as if Elsa hadn’t asked. “He’s going on a date with Aliza Hewitt.”

“Nobody asked you.”

“Nobody asked you to listen.” Jack shot her a pointed look, clearly enjoying himself.

Elsa ignored him. “When will you be back?”

Jack responded, in that infuriatingly calm tone. “After the date’s over. So, a couple of hours?”

Elsa closed her eyes, fighting the urge to roll them so hard they’d fall out of her head. “Did I ask you?”

“I have the right to answer questions.” Jack said it like a constitutional amendment.

“Kristoff, you’re leaving me alone with him?”

“You’re free to leave,” Jack said, shrugging as though he didn’t care in the slightest. “I don’t mind spending time alone with Turnip.”

Elsa’s face went deadpan. As much as she wanted to escape, she wasn’t about to let Jack think he could get away with anything. She needed to win. “I’m not leaving you alone with Turnip.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Kristoff walked out of the bedroom with a sigh like he’d just been handed the worst homework assignment ever. “Bye,” he said, stepping toward the door. “If you want to kill each other, just do it outside. The carpet is vintage, and I hate cleaning blood off of it.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Elsa was alone. A soft click. 

Also, she was alone because she had determined on ignoring Jack all night.

She stood there for a moment, making sure her resolve was set. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. 

“Pspspsps,” she murmured, glancing around.

Jack’s voice came from the other side of the room. “I told you she doesn’t like that.”

“I’m ignoring you,” Elsa said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She didn’t turn to look at him. She could feel the weight of his stare, though. It wasn’t physical, but it might as well have been.

She moved toward the kitchen, her footsteps quick and calculated, like if she kept moving, it would be easier to ignore him. But as she entered the room, the cat was nowhere to be found. Of course. Why would that ugly fucking cat make it easier for her?

Her phone buzzed against her thigh. She pulled it out, glancing at the screen. 

Connor.

A groan slipped past her lips before she could catch it. Of fucking course. Friday. He was calling again.

With a quiet swipe, she slid the screen to the left, muting the call, and placed the phone down on the counter. The world seemed to quiet around her for a moment, but not for long.

The phone buzzed again. The soft hum of the vibration against the counter felt like an insistence, a demand. She swiped it left again, and the buzz came again, louder this time. She leaned back against the counter, staring at the phone like it might disappear if she looked hard enough.

“Yeah, ignore it forever,” Jack muttered under his breath. 

She shot him a look, but he already had his back turned towards her. And when the phone buzzed again, he thread of her patience snapped. “What?!”

“Elsa?” Connor’s voice cracked, slurring. “I miss you. Please come back.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Connor, I told you. I’m not coming back.”

“Please?” he begged, and his voice broke again. She could hear him sobbing.

Her grip on the phone tightened. She didn’t want to deal with this. “Connor, stop. I’m not having this conversation.”

“I was wrong,” he sniffled, “I should’ve never let you go. I miss you. I need you here.”

“You need to stop being so pathetic.”

Another round of hiccuping sobs. “How can you be so mean to me?”

“I’m not coming back,” she said again, her voice void of any trace of emotion. “This conversation is over.” She pressed end, sliding the phone back into her pocket.

Jack wasn’t in sight.

Elsa’s gaze swept the empty dining room, the feeling of unease crawling in. She didn’t wait long. She moved swiftly to the bedroom.

And there it was. The damn cat, sprawled on the floor, greedily munching on treats from Jack’s hand. Again.

For a moment, she stood frozen at the door, staring with disbelief. She was supposed to be the one who got the cat’s attention, not Jack. This was supposed to be hers to handle.

“Really?” Elsa’s voice cut through the air, cold and sharp.

Jack looked up, too casual, his eyes flickering briefly to hers. He didn’t even look guilty. “I was just feeding her. You should try it sometime.”

Elsa’s jaw tightened, her eyes flickering between Jack and the cat, now comfortably settled on the floor. “This is cheating,” she said, her voice tight with restrained annoyance. “I was on a call.”

“Not my problem,” Jack replied, his voice as calm as ever, like he hadn't just broken every unwritten rule they had.

Elsa’s patience thinned. “We had rules.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, unfazed, “about the time we got here. Nothing after.”

Her hands balled into fists. “Okay, new rule then,” she shot back. “If I’m busy, you are not allowed to play with the cat. And vice versa.”

Jack didn’t even look up. “No.”

Elsa blinked, momentarily thrown off by the simplicity of his refusal. “What do you mean ‘No’?”

“No,” Jack repeated, eyes meeting hers. “No is a noun, used as an adjective. Used as a negative response.”

Elsa’s narrowed eyes darkened. “I know what ‘no’ means,” she snapped, taking a step closer, her voice suddenly cold and sharp.

Before she could say anything else, the cat, apparently tired of their bickering, turned around and slipped underneath the bed. Elsa’s frustration flared.

She looked at Jack while he turned to look up at her. 

“Oh, no, you don’t.” She darted to the side of the bed and immediately dropped to her knees, crawling under it with quick, determined movements.

“Cheater!” Jack called out, as he followed suit, slipping beneath the bed.

Elsa froze for a moment. She could feel his presence next to her. She could hear the rustle of his movements, could feel the heat of the small space constricting around them.

Their actions only made Turnip meow and dart further into the shadows, tail flicking in betrayal, leaving them alone under the bed.

Elsa huffed, shifting on her elbows. “Great. Look what you did.”

Jack scoffed. “Look what I did? You’re the one who lunged at her like some kind of—”

“Some kind of what?” she snapped, already annoyed, already too aware of how little space there was between them.

“Lunatic.”

Elsa exhaled sharply, turning her attention back to the dark corners of the bed frame. “She wouldn’t have run if you hadn’t chased after her.”

Jack hummed, all casual. “Right. Because you crawling under here at full speed was a normal, calming sight.”

Elsa ignored him, stretching an arm forward, trying to see if she could at least hear where Turnip had gone. Silence. Nothing but the sound of Jack breathing beside her.

“Well,” Jack said, exhaling dramatically. “Since we’re stuck here—”

“We are not stuck here.”

“—we might as well agree that I was winning before the cat bailed.”

Elsa turned her head slowly, eyes sharp. “Winning what, exactly?”

“Her love.”

“You bribed her with treats.”

“And you think she likes you for free?”

Elsa opened her mouth, then shut it. Because, okay, maybe Turnip had yet to warm up to her. But that wasn’t the point.

But she couldn’t control herself.   “I hate you.”

“Tragic.” Jack sighed, all mock grief. “However will I ever get over it?”

Elsa shifted, ready to fire back, but the movement brought her closer, way too close for her liking. The space under the bed was already small, but now, inches separated them.

Her words stuttered, breaking apart before they could even form. She had never seen him like this.

Of course, she knew he was attractive. Any one with eyes would know he’s attractive. His face was everywhere, a fixture in every tabloid, every screen. She had seen women thirsting over him, had heard the way they talked, laughing, conspiratorial. And she had thought it herself, in passing. That he was good-looking, in an obvious, effortless way.

But that was different. That was distant.

Now, under the bed, in the soft light and the deep shadows, she saw him up close. Not a headline. Not a soundbite. Not an extract. Not a story. A person, breathing, watching her the same way she was watching him.

Jack Frost had the kind of face that made arrogance look easy. Sharp jaw, sharp cheekbones, sharp everything, like he’d been carved out of ice and never quite melted. His mouth curled at the edges, lazy, knowing, like he was always in on some joke she wasn’t. His eyes, pale and cutting, dragged over her face, tracking every hesitation, every breath.

The light hollowed out his features, made him look sharper, his gaze heavier. His hair had fallen over his forehead, always just messy enough to seem unintentional. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just watched her, waiting for her to look away.

She didn’t.

And she wouldn’t, if it wasn’t for the knock on the door that shattered the moment.

Jack flinched, his muscles tensing, while Elsa almost jumped, hitting her head on the underside of the bed. She hissed, rubbing her scalp, but recovered quickly, pushing herself out of the cramped space with a speed that she didn’t know she was capable of. Jack followed, crawling out just as swiftly.

Another knock. And then, a doorbell.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Elsa’s voice was still edged with disbelief.

"No," Jack said, his tone flat, irritated. "It’s not my house."

Confused, Elsa stood up, dusting herself off before heading toward the door, Jack trailing behind her, barely more than a step away.

She opened it.

Merida stood there, her eyes wide with fury, flanked by two security guards. The sight of them made Elsa freeze for a moment. Merida’s gaze darted straight to Jack, narrowing.

"Jack!" she snapped, her voice loud and sharp, the kind that left no room for argument.

Jack groaned, a familiar sigh escaping him as he picked his coat off the couch. "Alright, fuck, I’m coming.   No need to bring the wrath of God down on me."

Merida’s expression didn’t change, though her eyes flicked to Elsa, then back to Jack.

"What are you are doing here?” Merida asked Elsa, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Am I not allowed to be here?”

“Oh, don’t act smart, Elsa. What are you doing here?”

“This is my sister’s place. I don’t need—”

Apparently, Merida was done with Elsa. She quickly turned to Jack. “And may I ask what you were doing here?”

“No, you may not.” He answered, tightening his tie. 

“Jack.”

“Alright,” he groaned. “Stenford here wanted lessons on how not to be a loser.”

“No the fuck I did not—”

“You’re both losers,” Merida said, motioning Jack to get out the door. “Do you get off on my suffering?”

“Unfortunately not. I get off on pain,” he stepped past Elsa, towards Merida. “And, apparently, arguing.”

Before Elsa could narrow her eyes at him, he looked at her. “I had a really nice evening, Stenford. Tomorrow, same time?”

“What is going on—” Merida started, but Elsa put her out of her misery. 

“He’s joking,” She said, glaring at him. “And I didn’t have a nice time with you. But thank you for reminding me why I can’t stand you.”

SEPTEMBER

FRIDAY

The next Friday, Elsa didn’t know what to do with herself.

She had spent the week trying to woo the cat, but that gnarly little creature wanted nothing to do with her. It stared at her like she was an inconvenience and bolted the second she got too close. She had tried everything—coaxing, bribery, even outright begging at one point—but Turnip remained unmoved.

Now, she stood at Anna’s apartment lobby with newfound determination. The week had been good. Productive. Almost enough to make her scoff at the idea of showing up here again. Almost enough to make her stay home.

But she needed the win.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and Elsa stepped inside, absentmindedly checking her phone. No messages. No updates.   She tilted her head back against the cool metal wall, but movement at the entrance caught her eye. 

Jack Frost.

He was near the lobby, saying something to the doorman, all easy confidence and that effortless posture, that made him look like he belonged anywhere. That easy smile that everyone fell for. The one she refused to fall for. One hand in his pocket, the other gesturing with careless precision. Whatever he was saying, it made the doorman laugh.

His voice was smooth, casual, until his gaze flicked toward her.

And their eyes met.

Elsa moved before she could think. Her finger slammed the “Close” button.

Jack moved too.

She pressed it again. And again. Rapid-fire.

Jack’s stride quickened.

The doors were almost shut. And then, she looked at him through the gap of the inching doors.

For the briefest second, his expression flickered, brows lifting, mouth parting in stunned disbelief. And then, just as quickly, something else settled in. Something smug. Something challenged.

And the last thing he saw, she was certain, was the satisfied smirk curling on her lips.

The elevator hummed upward, smooth and unbothered.

Beep. One floor. Beep. Two. Beep. Three.

Elsa shifted on her knees, her hands slipping into the pocket of her leather jacket. She rolled back her shoulders and stepped forward.

The doors slid open, and Elsa recoiled. Physically stumbled back. 

Jack stood there, bent over, one hand gripping the edge of the elevator’s marble frame, the other braced against his knee. His chest rose and fell in harsh, uneven breaths. A strand of hair clung to his forehead, damp with now forming bead of sweat.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Elsa stared.

Jack lifted his head just slightly, breath still coming quick, and when she put the pieces together—when she realized what, exactly, he had just done—

She blinked.

"You ran," she said. Slowly. Carefully. Like she was testing the words.

Jack swallowed, trying and failing to level his breathing.

"Three flights of stairs," she continued. “In ten seconds.”

He said nothing, but looked at her with that evil gleam in his eyes.

Elsa’s brows pulled together, and before she could stop herself, before she could even process it—

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jack let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh if he weren’t still gasping for air. He straightened, slowly, pushing off the elevator’s frame. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and his shirt clung to him in a way that made him look almost—she wouldn’t go there, so she settled on—human. Imperfect. Which was funny, considering he clearly thought he was invincible.

Elsa stood rooted to the spot, watching as he rolled his shoulders back, like shaking off the last remnants of whatever lapse in judgment had possessed him to run three flights just to stand in front of her now.

“What?” he finally said, voice raspier than usual. “You looked so happy pressing that button. Thought I’d return the favor.”

She stared at him.

Jack huffed, shaking his head with something like amusement. “You should’ve seen your face when the doors opened.”

“You should’ve seen yours when they closed.”

He wiped a hand across his forehead. “You’re really committed to this whole villain arc, huh?”

Elsa narrowed her eyes. “You’re not the victim here.”

“Yeah?” He took a step closer, but the elevator door inched close. 

Elsa immediately pressed the ‘open’ button, the same time Jack’s hand shot out, blocking the door. When the doors opened again, he looked better. Not human. Just how she preferred him.

Recovering now, the smirk returning to his lips as he tipped his head to the side. “You fully knew even if you made it here before I did, you had to wait infront of the door. You just did that to purely inconvenience me.”

She scoffed, walking out the elevator. “You flatter yourself way too much.”

“Sure.” His voice was light, as he followed her to Anna’s door. “You got pure evil in you.”

Elsa stopped in front of Anna’s door. “Only for the people who deserve it.” 

Jack let out a low whistle. “Fucked up sense of vigilance.”

Elsa ignored him, ringing the doorbell. Behind her, she could hear him shift his weight, could feel the heat of his stare like a hand pressed against her spine. She didn’t acknowledge it.

A second passed. Then another. Then another, but this time there were footsteps. The door swung open, and Anna stood there, eyes bouncing between them. Her gaze settled on Jack first.

“Why do you look like you just ran a marathon?”

“I did,” Jack said. “For love.”

Anna blinked. “For what?”

“For pain,” Elsa corrected flatly, stepping inside.

“So why are you both here?”

“I came to win over the damn cat,” Elsa muttered. “He’s just here because he needs to drain life from people.”

“False,” Jack countered. “I came over here because Turnip needs someone who she likes when the insane woman tries to scare her.”

Anna raised a brow. “You mean me?”

“No,” Jack said, shrugging his coat off, but leaving the vest on. “Her.” He nodded toward Elsa, stepping past her like he wasn’t afraid of being clawed alive. “Turnip can smell desperation.”

Elsa shot him a glare. “Then it’s a miracle she tolerates you.”

“She adores me. I radiate safety and charm.”

A loud hiss came from the kitchen.

Jack winced. “Stenford, that was probably about you.”

Anna sighed, already heading toward the noise. “If you two are done being nightmares, maybe you can try not making Turnip feel like she’s being hunted for sport.”

She ignored Anna and Jack, stepping into the kitchen. Turnip sat in the middle of the floor, tail flicking, her golden eyes sharp and untrusting. Elsa took a deep breath. She was ready.

Jack crouched beside her, voice low, almost conspiratorial. “Have you tried meowing?”

Elsa turned, expression flat. “Have you tried shutting up?”

He grinned, like he had been waiting for that. “People appreciate when I speak. You wouldn’t know the feeling.”

Before she could fire back, Anna’s phone rang. Elsa barely glanced at it, already half-expecting her own. It was Friday. Connor was probably a drink away from calling.

But it wasn’t her phone.

Anna picked up, holding it to her ear. “…Yes,” she said, gaze flicking toward them. “…Yes.”

“You aren’t funny, Merida,” Jack said, loud enough to carry. “I know it’s you.”

Anna ignored him. “Yeah, I’ll be here,” she said into the phone. “Alright.” She set it down on the counter.

Jack tilted his head. “How much did she offer you to babysit me? I’ll pay you triple.”

Anna didn’t even look up. “No, you won’t.”

Elsa might’ve laughed if she wasn’t so focused on what was happening right in front of her. Jack, effortlessly shifting his attention to Turnip. His hand stretching out, palm open. And Turnip—the menace—walking up, sniffing his fingers, and pressing her head against them.

Jack barely seemed to react, like he expected this, like it was simply the natural order of things. His fingers moved lazily, scratching behind Turnip’s ears, and the cat purred.

Elsa could feel her soul leaving her body. “No,” she said, voice hollow.

Jack didn’t even look up. “Yes.”

And as if it was just on cue, Anna spoke. “Jack, where did you keep the catnip? I can’t seem to find it.”

His eyes snapped up to Elsa, his expression unreadable, and then darted towards Anna. His lips parted, but it was Elsa who spoke. 

“What catnip?!” Her eyes were on Jack the entire time. “Anna?”

“Catnip, given to cats,” Anna answered. She peeked towards Elsa and Jack, and immediately took a step back, and away from the kitchen when Elsa put two and two together. 

“You’ve been giving Turnip catnip?”

He met her eyes again. “Well,—”

“You’ve been drugging her?!” Elsa’s eyes went wide. 

“It’s not called drugging—”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Elsa’s voice sharpened. “No wonder she likes you better!”

“So you admit she likes me better?”

“Because you get her stoned!” Elsa narrowed her eyes. “You’re her plug!”

Jack leaned back, crossing his legs, completely unbothered, as the stupid fur rubbed itself all over him. “An act of generosity. And I prefer the word benefactor.”

“You are a back alley dealer for all Turnip cares. She just comes to you because you have the drugs! You’re nothing more than the man with drugs!”

“To be fair, if Anna came to me with drugs, I’d like her better than I like you too.” He paused, reconsidering his words. “That’s not fair, I actually like her better and she’s not even giving me drugs.”

“You cheated.”

Jack looked up at her, amused. “There were no rules.”

“They were implied.”

“No, they weren’t.”

“Don’t drug the cat! How is that not implied?!”

Just before he could answer, Elsa’s phone buzzed.

Ah, yes. The Friday ritual. 

Connor fucking Lambert. “Of course.”

Like clockwork. So she let it ring.

“Connor?” Anna’s tired voice reached Elsa. “Is he not tired?”

“He is,” Elsa answered. “He just gets drunk out of his mind, and he’s a nasty drunk.”

“When is he going to take the hint?”

“Hopefully, soon.” Elsa replied just in time for her phone to buzz again. This time, she sighed, and picked up.  She didn’t say anything at first. Just held the phone to her ear and waited.

A beat of silence. 

“Elsa,” Connor’s voice slurred through the speaker, thick with alcohol. “You’re avoiding me.”

Elsa could feel the headache creeping in. “Go to sleep, Connor.”

“Not before you talk to me.”

Jack, still on the floor, tapped his fingers idly against his knee. Listening. Turnip stretched against him, blissfully unaware.

Elsa turned away. “We have nothing to talk about.”

“That’s not true,” Connor said, his voice dropping into something softer. “C’mon, Elsa. Don’t do this.”

Feeling his eyes on her, Elsa shot Jack a glare, but he sat unmoved, fingers still lazily stroking the cat.

Connor sighed, tired and exasperated. “Just come over.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Elsa clenched her jaw. “Because I don’t live in New York anymore.”

A pause. A shift in his tone, quieter now, needier. “I miss you.”

And then she hung up.

TUESDAY

It was Tuesday, and Elsa was well rested, having a good week.

Until Casper walked into her office with a last-minute change.

He didn’t say anything at first, just held out the printed schedule, lips pressed together like he was bracing for impact. Elsa took it without looking up.

“What now?” she muttered, scanning the page.

Then she saw it.

Thursday’s debate. The name under Guest:

Jack Frost.

Her fingers tightened around the paper, as her brain went into overdrive. They might as well kill her. “You’re kidding.”

Casper stood by the desk, far too casual for the crisis at hand. “Nope. Harrington bailed. Network had to do something.”

Elsa let out a sharp breath. “And he’s the best they got?”

“It’s a win,” Casper shrugged. “They wanted him to do it for a while, but his schedule never allowed it. The execs are happy about it.”

“Fuck,” Elsa muttered, tossing the paper onto her desk. “He’s Jack Frost. He’s media royalty. He could walk in, say absolutely nothing of substance, and people would still call him the smartest man in the room.” Elsa’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He usually doesn’t do debates.”

Casper shrugged. “I think he’s only doing this for Irene Archer. Anything for the love of his life, I guess. ”

Oh. Yeah. Elsa had forgotten about that. Irene Archer. Jack Frost’s fiancée. Daughter of Henry Archer, who owned the very network Elsa worked at.

She tapped her fingers against the desk. “He doesn’t seem like a person who does things just because someone asked him to.”

Casper tilted his head. “Yeah, but don’t you think his family is getting him ready to run for president someday? He’s genuinely good at what he does, but he needs this experience.”

Elsa sighed, nodding. “Well, that’s fucking fantastic. I need to start from scratch.”

“You already know what he’s about. Charming, deflecting. Also, very intimidating.”

Elsa’s eyebrows furrowed. Intimidating would not be a word she would use to describe Jack. “He is?”

“Very,” Casper said with a huff. “I have only met—” he paused, reconsidering. “Well, met would be the wrong word. I’ve only seen him three times, and all three times, he was very much in control. It’ll be interesting seeing him at a debate.”

Huh.  

“You’ll see for yourself tomorrow,” he continued. “You know what, you might like him. It’ll be easy.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Elsa shot him a flat look. “I need to be prepared. He’s not some incompetent trust fund kid fumbling through talking points. He’s sharp.”

“I don’t think he’ll say anything stupid.”

“That’s not the point.” Elsa ran a hand through her hair. “He’s too good at spinning things. He makes everything sound reasonable, even when it’s complete bullshit. And if I don’t pin him down, he’ll just—” She made a vague gesture. “—charm his way through it.”

“Sounds like you have something against him.”

She glared at him. “No.”

“So you like him then?”

She gave him a death stare and he dropped it. “I need everything we have on him. Past interviews, statements, policy stances. If he so much as blinked in a way that contradicted something he said three years ago, I want to know about it.”

“On it.”

As he left the room, Elsa turned back to the paper in her hands. Jack Frost. Thursday night. On her stage.

Well, at least one of them would walk away bleeding.

That night, Elsa stared at the google sheet she had created. 

Reasons to hate Jack Frost.

1. Insufferable
2. Entitled
3. Arrogant
4. Smug
5. Rude
6. Could probably mansplain air
7. Spoiled
8. Nepo baby 
9. Unappreciative
10. Has the audacity to exist in my general vicinity.
11. Eavesdropper (nosy).
12. Cheater.
13. Loser.
14. Back Alley drug dealer.
15. Manipulative.
16. Somehow gets away with everything
17. Thinks he’s funny (he’s not)
18. Thinks he’s loved (he’s not)
19. Talks way too much (never shuts up)
20. Probably never had a genuine consequence in his life
21. …

Elsa stared at the list, fingers hovering over the keyboard, expression unreadable. She exhaled, leaning back against her chair, pressing her fingertips against her temple. The problem wasn’t the list itself. The problem was that she had started it to get it out of her system, and now it was growing.

And twenty reasons? That couldn’t be right.

There had to be more. A hundred. A thousand. She just didn’t know them all yet.

But she would.

WEDNESDAY

Elsa stepped into her office, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. Casper was already there, adjusting the stack of papers on her desk. He glanced up as she walked in.

“You ready?”

Elsa nodded, setting her coffee down. “As ready as I can be.”

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine.”

“I lost a whole night’s sleep over this. It better go great.” She pulled out her chair and sat down, rolling her shoulders back.

Casper leaned against her desk, flipping through the schedule. “Alright, technical check. Moderator's intro—thirty seconds, yeah?”

Elsa nodded. “Thirty seconds.”

“First segment’s policy. You’re pushing back on Frost’s—?”

“His stance on media regulation,” she said immediately. “He’s vague about what ‘accountability’ actually means.”

Casper nodded approvingly. “Good. Are we touching on his father’s transition team, or leaving that alone?”

She exhaled. “I’ll bring it up if he dodges. Otherwise, no.”

Casper studied her for a beat, then grinned. “You’re sharper than him, you know that?”

Elsa reached for her coffee, saying nothing. For the first time in her career, she wasn’t sure. She always went back and forth, digging into research before a debate or an interview, but this was different.

Different because she didn’t know.

She thought she did. Thought she had him figured out. But the truth was, she had no idea who Jack Frost really was.

And that meant she didn’t know what to expect.

In the corner of her eye, she noticed the rack of clothes tucked into the room’s corner. Casper followed her gaze and gestured toward it.

“Oh, right. Wardrobe needs you to pick one.”

Elsa barely had time to glance at the rack of clothes before a knock came at the door. Casper gave her a quick look—careful, before stepping aside as Daniel Greer, the network’s Political Director, walked in.

“Morning,” he said, setting his coffee on her desk. He was in his mid-forties, sharp and composed, always speaking in the same measured tone, the kind that made everything sound like a directive.

Elsa nodded. “Morning.”

Greer sunk into the chair across from her desk, leaning forward. “Big day. You okay?”

She smiled, considering how much honesty she was willing to offer. “Fine.”

He gave her a look, skeptical but not pressing. “I read your draft. It’s solid. You know your stuff, always do. Just take it easy up there.”

Elsa set her coffee down. “Easy?”

Greer nodded. “Henry Archer likes Jack. So does the board. Two plus two, five.”

Of course. She should’ve known. “Relax, I’m not going to attack him.”

“No one’s saying that,” Greer said evenly. “Just, don’t push too much.”

She nodded once, sharp. “Noted.”

Greer studied her, as if gauging whether she’d actually listen. Then, apparently deciding that was the best he’d get, he pushed off the chair and grabbed his coffee. “See you out there.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Casper raised his eyebrows. “That sounded exactly like ‘play nice, or else.’”

Elsa exhaled through her nose, looking back at the Google Sheet tab still open on her screen. Reasons to hate Jack Frost.

Yeah.

She wasn’t feeling very nice.

Elsa clicked on the tab and typed with a calm precision:

21) People expect me to be nice to him (I don’t want to be).

There. A thousand reasons would come, and she wasn’t even close to finished.

Casper, apparently not willing to leave her in it, cleared his throat. “So… should I let McMillans know you didn’t like anything?”

Elsa glanced at him, then at the rack of clothes. Her gaze lingered for a moment, but all it took was one second to decide.

“Baby blue.”

The lights overhead buzzed.

Elsa sat still, letting the makeup artist do a last-minute touch-up, eyes fixed on the notes in her lap. The words blurred slightly. She blinked, refocused. 

Across the set, Mason Jarvis was already in place, speaking in low tones to his staff. He looked comfortable. Relaxed. Like a man who had done this a thousand times before. 

Jack, however, was nowhere to be seen. His team had updated that he was running late. Not late enough to be unprofessional, just enough to make an entrance.

The room felt crowded. Staff, producers, executives, Henry Archer himself stood near the monitors, engrossed in a conversation with someone equally important. But his daughter wasn’t there. Elsa had expected her to be. Jack’s fiancée. If anyone had a reason to show up, it was her.

And then the door opened.

Irene Archer walked in first, dark hair, casually dressed, confident in the way that people who had never been overlooked often were. Beside her, another woman, similar in the way polished women often were, but sharper, more formal. Elsa didn’t recognise her quickly, but when she did, it came with a sting of annoyance.

Casper noticed her looking. He leaned in slightly. “Irene Archer and Emma Frost.”

Elsa turned to him. “That’s Jack’s sister?”

Hen nodded. “Yeah. They’re best friends. Emma doesn’t really mingle with anyone else.”

Elsa didn’t answer. She looked back towards them, watching as they moved through the room with quiet certainty. Emma didn’t glance at anyone, didn’t pause for small talk. She followed Irene, step for step. Like she knew exactly where she belonged.

Anyway, it wasn’t Elsa’s business.

She went back to her notes, underlining a phrase, crossing something out. She forced herself to focus, to tune out the noise of the room. Five minutes. That was all she needed. Just five minutes.

And then the door opened.

Jack walked in.

He looked crowded today. Not just in the way important men always were, but physically, security detail flanking him, advisors trailing close. And then there was Merida, red hair swallowing the room, her voice cutting through the low hum of conversation like a blade.

Elsa had no option but to stare.

Everyone in the room was already looking at him. Casper had been right. When Jack walked in, people noticed. Even without the crowd around him, they would have known. There was something about the way he moved, the way space bent around him. He looked like he could control a room without trying.

She watched as he greeted Henry Archer, exchanging a firm handshake, a polite smile. And then, his eyes found Irene.

Irene stepped forward without hesitation, her arms slipping around him, her head resting against his chest. Jack leaned in, murmuring something low enough that only she could hear. For a second, the rest of the room faded. It was a picture-perfect moment—an image that would make a good headline if someone cared enough to print it.

And Elsa was sure someone would print it.

Then, suddenly, his gaze lifted. His eyes snapped to hers.

The obvious thing to do was look away.

She didn’t.

She sat there, spine straight, fingers curled around the edge of her notes. His gaze was sharp, cutting through the space between them, peeling her apart, piece by piece. The room was loud, filled with voices, but all she could hear was the silence stretching between them.

Jack leaned in, pressing a small kiss to the side of Irene’s head. A quiet, effortless gesture.

But he looked at Elsa the entire time.

And when he finally looked away, she felt the loss on her skin. Goosebumps. A reaction she couldn’t control, couldn’t explain.

Rationality came back to her in slow, uneven pieces. She looked down at her notes, willing herself to focus, but the words blurred at the edges, slipping through her grasp. Nonsense.

He was trying to get under her skin. And she had almost let him.

She looked up again, forcing herself to meet his gaze, but there was nothing to meet. Jack was already turned away, deep in conversation with an executive, with Henry, like she wasn’t in the room at all. Like he hadn’t looked at her like that a minute ago.

The realization settled in, cold and sharp.

She was going to walk out of here bleeding. N ow, she knew what to expect.

He was a cutthroat bastard. And she needed to get it together.

Ten minutes later, Elsa was still buried in her notes when Casper cleared his throat. She looked up, instinct sharp, and followed his gaze.

Daniel Greer was walking toward her. And beside him, Jack Frost.

She switched to professional mode instantly, straightening in her chair.

"Elsa Stenford," Daniel said, stopping in front of her. "This is—"

Jack cut him off before he could finish. "No need for introductions," he said smoothly. "I’m sure she could smell my arrogance from two miles away."

Daniel looked confused, glancing between them as if trying to decipher something unspoken.

Elsa smiled, effortlessly composed. "He’s joking," she said smoothly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Frost."

Jack didn’t miss a beat. "Likewise, Miss Stenford." His tone was cool, polished. The kind of professionalism that didn’t need effort, because he was the one who set the tone.

She met his gaze head-on, steady and unreadable. "I trust you were briefed on the format?"

Jack nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets, the gesture casual. "I was." He tilted his head slightly. "I assume you were given the same advice I was?"

Elsa arched a brow. "Which is?"

Jack glanced toward Henry Archer before looking back at her. "Be smart about where you press."

Elsa didn’t blink. "Good advice. I assume you plan to follow it?"

Jack’s mouth curved slightly. "I tend to follow my own rules."

Daniel let out a short, uneasy chuckle. "Well, let’s keep it a constructive discussion."

Jack barely acknowledged him. His focus remained on Elsa, assessing, waiting.

She didn’t waver. "I’m sure we will."

Something flickered in his eyes, approval, amusement, something she didn’t care to name. Then, with a slight nod, he stepped back, turning away as if the conversation had been on his terms all along.

Elsa exhaled quietly, then, just as smoothly, turned back to her notes.

The mirror caught her staring. Elsa adjusted her hair, fingers steady, breath shallow. It would be fine. It had to be.

The door opened and s he turned around instinctively. She didn’t know who to expect, but it wasn’t him.

Jack stood, all broad shoulders, presence swallowing the entire room whole. Something in the way he stood, something about his presence near her felt still and uneasy.

She stepped forward, in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

He walked towards her, slow and measured stes which did not help her. “Relax, Stenford. Just here to wish you luck.”

She didn’t blink. “That’s not why you’re here.”

His mouth curled, a ghost of a smirk. “You’re right.”

Silence stretched between them. Elsa was the one to break it. “Then what do you want?”

Jack tilted his head slightly, watching her. “Ignore whatever instructions you were given. I don’t need special treatment from you.”

A pause. She frowned. “What?”

“If you want to tear me apart, this is your best shot.”

He took another step, and he was close now. Closer than she ever wanted him to be. The scent of his cologne hit her, warm, sharp, clean, transforming into a blade and slicing all her thoughts in half.

Jack noticed. He knew what he was doing to her, and he knew how she was taking it. His gaze dragged down, then back up, prickling her skin. “That dress.” His voice was low, husky. “It’s throwing me off my game.”

Elsa’s pulse kicked. She locked her jaw. He was playing with her. A cat, playing with its prey.

Then he moved again, leaning in just enough. Just barely. His mouth close to her ear, breath warm, the space between them evaporating.

"Don’t go easy on me." A slow pause, his voice dipping lower. "I like it rough." Another beat, closer now, a breath against her skin and hair. “And I know you like it rough too.”

The words slid against her skin like silk and while it felt soft, it was comfortable in the worst way ever.

Then he was gone, stepping back, eyes flickering with something sharp, knowing.

Elsa closed her eyes shut. 

And just like that, he had thrown her off her game. 

He was playing dirty. So dirty.

Elsa sat still, poised, her fingers resting lightly on her notes. Across from her, Jack Frost and Mason Jarvis sat side by side, Mason tense, Jack relaxed, his presence calm but unmistakably dominant.

She cleared her throat. “The question we’re addressing tonight: should media platforms face increased government regulation to ensure journalistic integrity and prevent misinformation?” A brief pause. “Senator Jarvis, you’ve been a vocal proponent of stricter regulation. Why?”

Mason leaned forward, a practiced politician’s smile on his face. “Because the media no longer serves the people, Miss Stenford. It serves itself. We’ve given corporations the power to shape narratives with no oversight, no accountability. And what has that given us? Partisan spin, misinformation, sensationalism. Regulation would mean fairness.”

Elsa nodded, turning her gaze to Jack. “Mr. Frost, you oppose regulation. Why?”

Jack’s expression didn’t shift. “Because when the government controls the press, it stops being a press. It becomes a mouthpiece.”

Elsa tilted her head, considering his words. “But aren’t private corporations already controlling narratives? What’s the difference between that and government oversight?”

Jack leaned back, his voice smooth, measured. “Control and censorship aren’t the same thing. Private bias exists—of course it does. But the solution isn’t giving the government a veto over what gets published. Regulation under the guise of ‘fairness’ doesn’t create truth, it creates propaganda.”

Their eyes met for a brief moment, the tension palpable.

Elsa didn’t let the silence linger. “So you’re saying the government should have no role at all?”

“I’m saying the moment the government has the authority to decide what’s true and what isn’t, we lose the ability to challenge it. Right now, if a media outlet pushes an agenda, the public can call it out, other outlets can contradict it. But if the government decides what’s allowed?” He shrugged. “Then it’s law.”

Elsa glanced down at her notes for a beat before returning her attention to Mason. “Senator Jarvis,” she said, her tone shifting slightly, “you just heard Mr. Frost argue that government involvement could lead to propaganda. How do you respond?”

Mason exhaled sharply. “That’s a slippery slope argument. We’re not talking about silencing the press, we’re talking about accountability. Take social media, for example. Algorithms push misinformation, extremism—”

Jack interrupted, his tone firm. “Which is why we need media literacy, not government control.”

Mason’s jaw tightened. “So your solution is to let the free market regulate itself?”

“Yes,” Jack replied simply.

The silence that followed was thick, charged. Elsa’s gaze shifted between the two men, but she didn’t break the tension.

Finally, she cleared her throat. “I think we’ve heard enough, gentlemen,” she said, her voice cutting through the charged atmosphere. “But as this debate shows, we’re far from reaching any agreement. Let’s see where the public stands on this issue.”

“Well,” Mason said with a smirk, trying to lighten the tension. “I suppose we’ll let the voters decide. But don’t tell my wife I said any of this—she’s a journalist, too, and I’m sure I’ll hear about it at dinner.”

Jack let out a small chuckle, which made Elsa fixate on him.

Mason’s grin reappeared, his posture easing as the conversation lightened. “Well, you’ll get it when you get married and have someone waiting to nag you at home.”

“I don’t know about my wife,” Jack replied. “But I do have a cat. Pretty sure she’s waiting to nag me as soon as I get home.”

“Yeah? What’s her name?” Mason asked, teasing.

Jack looked at Elsa, a smug glint in his eyes. “Turnip.”

Mason paused. “Turnip sounds sweet.”

Oh. Oh, this was war.

Elsa sat there, outwardly composed, but internally? Internally, she was gripping the arms of her chair and screaming into the void.

Turnip. He named Turnip. On live television. Like this was just some casual comment and not a deliberate, strategic, calculated attack.

That smug look in his eyes told her everything. He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He had planned all of this. This was why he had shamelessly flirted with her in the dressing room. He was playing astronomical levels of dirty. 

She had spent weeks trying to win that cat over. Weeks of carefully rationed treats, painstakingly slow approach tactics. Meanwhile, Jack had drugged her in one day, sat down, and just like that—Turnip was in his lap, purring like he was the second coming of catnip.

It had been humiliating. And now, he was rubbing it in.

“She is, but she doesn’t like everyone,” Jack said smoothly.

Mason laughed. “But she likes you?”

Jack turned, met her eyes, and smirked. “Oh,” he said, voice full of quiet satisfaction. “She loves me.”

Elsa blinked. Once. Twice. She kept her expression neutral. Barely.

She was going to kill him. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day, when he least expected it, she would find a way to make him pay.

Elsa’s smile stayed in place, perfectly composed. “Are you giving Turnip catnip?”

Jack barely hesitated. “Yes. I do.”

Her fingers brushed over her notes, as if making a mental calculation. “Maybe that’s why she loves you.”

Jack exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head. “That’s an interesting theory, Miss Stenford. But I’d argue Turnip has excellent judgment. Independent judgment.”

Elsa nodded, her expression thoughtful, professional. “Of course. Though I’d imagine external incentives can sometimes influence judgment, no matter how independent it is.”

Jack gave a slow, deliberate shrug. “I don’t believe in coercion. I simply provide opportunities. Turnip responds accordingly.”

Elsa lifted a brow. “So you’re saying Turnip's loyalty is entirely organic?”

“I’m saying she knows who takes care of her,” Jack said, tone even. “Who makes the effort.”

Elsa inclined her head slightly. “Effort. And by effort, you mean well-placed incentives?”

Jack didn’t blink. “I mean consistency. You can’t expect loyalty if you only show up when it suits you.”

Elsa’s smile didn’t waver. “Interesting. So in your view, loyalty isn’t about principle, it’s about maintaining a steady presence?”

“Loyalty is loyalty, Miss Stenford. The method is just a matter of strategy.”

Elsa let a beat pass before responding, measured. “Then, by that logic, if someone were to offer Turnip a better incentive, she could just as easily be swayed?”

Jack leaned back slightly. “That would depend on whether the alternative offer is sustainable.”

Elsa nodded, polite. “So, in your opinion, loyalty isn't earned. It’s negotiated.”

“Negotiation is just another word for understanding priorities.”

Elsa’s expression remained unreadable. “Fascinating. And you believe those priorities never change?”

Jack held her gaze. “I believe those who provide the most value tend to win.”

Elsa’s smile didn’t waver. “That’s one way to look at it, Mr. Frost.” She turned slightly, adjusting her notes, her movements calm, deliberate. Then—light, almost offhand—she added, “Though, for someone so confident in his value, you seem awfully concerned about a cat’s loyalty.”

Jack’s smirk froze, just for a fraction of a second.

The moment was small. Barely there. But Elsa caught it.

Elsa didn’t press, didn’t gloat. Just smiled—professional, composed—and turned smoothly back to the camera.

“That’s all the time we have for tonight,” she said, voice cool, polished. “A conversation that is far from over, but one that, as always, the public will continue beyond this stage.” She shifted her notes, a practiced movement. “Thank you to our guests, Senator Jarvis and Mr. Frost, for joining us. And thank you to our viewers for staying with us. We’ll see you next time.”

She held the poised expression for the exact number of seconds required before the red light above the camera blinked off.

And only then did she finally look at Jack.

As soon as the cameras cut, the studio shifted. The controlled, polished atmosphere unraveled into quiet conversations, rustling papers, and footsteps moving across the floor.

Mason Jarvis was the first to approach, his politician’s smile still in place. “Hell of a debate, Miss Stenford.”

Elsa turned, professional, composed. “Senator.”

Beside him, Graham Whitmore, an executive from the network, nodded in approval. “Engaging discussion. Ratings will love it.” His tone was smooth, calculated. The kind of praise that came with expectation. “We need more debates like this.”

Elsa stood by, ready to leave, her mind already shifting toward the next task. She’d done her part. But Graham Whitmore’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“Hang on, Elsa,” he said, his voice low but firm. He gestured toward Henry, who had been talking to a producer across the room.

Henry looked up, catching Graham’s glance. He paused, then made his way over, a steady presence.

“Elsa,” he said, his tone calm, direct, and oddly approving. “I just wanted to say, you did well tonight. Kept the discussion sharp, stayed on track. Exactly what we needed.”

Elsa met his gaze briefly, her expression professional, almost indifferent. “Thank you, Mr. Archer.”

Graham offered a quick nod of agreement. “It was impressive. You didn’t let the chaos throw you off.”

Elsa, keeping her composure, smiled politely. “Appreciate it.”

Her gaze flickered toward Jack for a moment. He was still talking to Irene, looking effortless, the ease of his posture. Irene leaned into his side, and Jack placed his arm around her shoulder, and Irene placed her hand on his waist. Emma Frost laughed at something Jack said, and Elsa wondered about what he said that was so funny.

Casper appeared then, holding a tablet, a grin on his face. “Here you go, Elsa. Stats are in. Viewers loved you—especially during the back-and-forth with Frost.”

Elsa glanced at the screen, scanning the numbers. Viewer retention was solid, engagement spiking noticeably during Jack’s remarks.

“Good,” she said, her tone quiet but satisfied. “That’s the kind of reaction we want.”

Casper eyed the numbers. “Yeah. You and Frost? A winning combo.”

Elsa glanced around, expecting to find Jack lingering somewhere. But all she saw was Irene and Emma in deep conversation with Merida. That annoying silver hair, though? Nowhere to be found.

She frowned. Did he leave?

Elsa handed the tablet back to Casper, barely noticing anything else. He handed her the water bottle, but her mind was elsewhere.

Her fingers brushed the bottle, but it wasn’t quite right. 

Before she could register it, she felt a hand grab the bottle. She didn’t need to look up to know. That cologne. That damn cologne. It hit her like a punch to the stomach, the one that made her want to both roll her eyes and breathe through her nose. Something that was a distant memory had burned itself into the folds of her brain now.

Jack. 

Jack’s smile lingered, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he handed her the bottle. “You know, you handled yourself pretty well out there tonight. It’s not easy keeping up with me.”

Elsa took the bottle, her fingers brushing his, but her gaze remained calm, composed. “Thank you, Mr. Frost,” she replied, her tone even and professional. “It’s always a challenge, but you somehow made it interesting,” Elsa said, her voice even. “Not everyone can turn a debate into a conversation, though some prefer to keep it... more theatrical.”

Jack’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes as he leaned in slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Keeping it theatrical keeps things memorable.”

Elsa met his gaze, her expression neutral. “I suppose it does. But it’s not always the kind of memory people want to keep.”

Before Jack could answer, someone called out to him, and when he turned their way, Elsa walked away.

Two minutes later, she found herself in her office, her beloved google sheet open, as she stared at it with a storm of thoughts.  

22) Makes everything a competition.

23) Thinks he’s the center of attention (he’s not)

24) Thinks he’s charming (he’s NOT)

She would reach a thousand reasons very soon.

The phone rang.

Probably someone calling to remind her that Jack Frost was, in fact, still allowed to roam free despite being a menace to society.

Casper, who was walking behind Elsa, stopped immediately when Elsa stopped.

Seriously? She was just gone for three minutes.

The blinds were drawn. The door was shut. And right outside it, Jack’s security detail. All sharp suits and stoic faces, like they were guarding national secrets instead of whatever fresh nonsense was waiting inside.

Elsa sighed. She could turn around, pretend she hadn’t seen it. But, of course, half the office was watching. Because nothing screamed "normal workday" like the Director of Communications staging a hostile takeover of her workspace.

So she smiled. Like this was fine. Like this was expected. And then she pushed the door open, immediately regretted it.

Jack was in her chair. Leaned forward on her desk, her laptop open in front of him, fingers suspiciously close to the trackpad.

Jack looked up, perfectly at ease. “Oh, good. You’re here.”

Elsa stared at him. “Oh, good. You’re leaving.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Jack didn’t react, didn’t smirk like she expected him to. Instead, he leaned back, gaze flicking past her, sharp and unreadable.

That’s when she realized. Casper had followed her in.

She turned just as Casper did, like he’d walked straight into a crime scene and was only now realizing he was the victim.

“I—” he started. “I think I should leave.”

“You should.”

“No, stay.”

Their words collided, and Elsa turned a glare on Jack, who only looked amused.

“What’s your name?” Jack’s voice dropped, the shift immediate. The same tone he’d used on set. Calculated and controlled. The kind of voice that didn’t invite pushback.

Casper glanced at Elsa before answering. “…Casper.”

Jack didn’t even blink. “Last name.”

Casper hesitated. Then, quietly, “Shields.”

Jack nodded once. “You should leave.”

Casper hesitated, glancing at Elsa like she might save him.

Jack didn’t miss a beat. “Did I stutter, Shields?”

Casper shot Elsa a last, fleeting look before stepping toward the door.

Jack didn’t stop him. But just as Casper reached for the handle, Jack spoke again, easy, unbothered. “And don’t let anyone in until I leave.”

The door clicked shut behind Casper.

Elsa gave him a sharp stare. “Was that necessary?”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “Yes, completely.”

Before she could roll her eyes, his attention dropped to her laptop screen. And that was when Elsa realized, far too fucking late—what he was looking at.

She moved faster than she ever had in her life, reaching for the laptop, but Jack was quicker. His hand shot up, fingers wrapping around her wrist with practiced ease.

“No, no,” he said, far too amused. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

“You have no right to access my personal property,” she snapped, trying to yank her hand back.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of your business.”

Jack finally let go, but not before flicking his gaze back to the screen. His smirk widened.

“Oh, I’d say it is my business,” he said, leaning back. “Considering my name is on it. Reasons to Hate Jack Frost. Really?”

Elsa lifted her chin. “That is private.”

Jack leaned back, reading. “Insufferable. Entitled. Arrogant.” He clicked his tongue. “Harsh.”

“All accurate.”

He scrolled. “Thinks he’s funny—” He looked up. “I am funny.”

She snatched for the laptop, but he turned it just out of reach.

“Oh, here’s a good one—‘Could probably mansplain air.’” He chuckled. “Creative. Unfair, but creative.”

“Are you done?”

Jack shook his head, scrolling. “This is just slander at this point—‘Loser’? Really? You can do better.”

Elsa didn’t blink. “That one just felt right.”

He scoffed. “‘Probably never had a genuine consequence in his life’—I’ll have you know, I once was grounded for a whole weekend.”

“Tragic.”

Jack ignored her, still reading. “‘Thinks he’s loved’—okay, wow. That’s a little existential for a list of petty grievances.”

She just glared at him harder.

He scrolled further, then snorted. “‘Makes everything a competition'—first of all, I win most of them, so—”

“Exactly,” she cut in.

Jack looked up, grinning. “Oh, you hate losing.”

“I hate you.”

“Mm. Again, as I said, I’ll get over it.”

The door swung open. Merida peeked in, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?”

Jack didn’t even look up. “Get out.”

“Jack—”

“Merida.” His voice dropped, cold and final. “Out.”

A pause, and then the door clicked shut.

Jack turned back to Elsa, all casual ease again. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Loser.”

“Get out of my office.”

“Yes, in a minute.” His fingers skimmed over the trackpad.

Elsa glanced at the screen. Her stomach sank. He was sharing the file.

“To me,” Jack added, as if reading her mind. “Relax. Personal email, not the White House server. Only you are allowed to badmouth me.”

Elsa said nothing, already planning to delete it later.

Jack hummed, scrolling. “Although, Stenford, just twenty-four reasons? I expected more. Clearly, I need to put in more effort.”

“Please do. I’d like to hit a thousand.”

He clicked enter. The file was gone.

Jack leaned back, watching her. “And when you reach a thousand?”

Elsa smiled. “I’ll aim for a thousand more.”

He held her stare for a beat, then looked away, eyes flicking over her office. "E xactly how I imagined,” he said. “Is the theme self-importance?”

Elsa scoffed. “If office spaces reflected self-importance, you’d need an entire floor.”

Jack muttered, "Good one, Stenford," his lips curling into a brief, almost involuntary smile, but his posture was already shifting.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment, and Jack’s shoulders dropped. “Meri—” he began, but then the door swung open.

It wasn’t Merida. It was Irene.

Irene Archer.

Elsa knew the story. Everyone knew the story.

Irene and Jack.

A love story written in headlines, spread across glossy magazines. It had been everywhere when the news broke a year ago, their engagement splashed across every channel, every page. A fairy tale for the public, each detail dissected like some kind of spectacle. Their history, their childhood meeting, their inevitable path toward each other, it was all part of the narrative.

They were okay. Elsa didn’t care about either of them.

Elsa’s gaze flicked between them, watching the subtle shift in Jack’s expression, his moment of neutral before his smile clicked into place. He straightened, pushing himself up from her desk chair.

“Hi, Reena.” The name slipped off his tongue, too easy, too familiar.

Elsa took a step back, her posture stiffening just a little, all while keeping a polite smile in place, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. She watched Jack, his warmth directed entirely at Irene now. The change was too noticeable, too quick.

Irene’s presence seemed to pull Jack in a direction Elsa had no intention of following. She tried not to let her gaze linger, tried to ignore the way the dynamics shifted. There was no room for hesitation in this, he had switched the play just like that.

Jack turned toward Irene, his posture shifting as he adjusted the space between them. There was a slight smile on his face, almost protective in its warmth. He motioned toward Elsa. “Miss Stenford, this is Irene Archer. Irene, Elsa Stenford.”

Irene’s presence seemed to soften the air around them. She was quieter, more measured than Jack, her voice like a soft hum that seemed to fill the space without forcing its way in. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said with a warmth that, while genuine, felt almost rehearsed in its gentleness. There was nothing brash about her, nothing that could come across as anything but kind. 

“Likewise," Elsa replied, her tone clipped but courteous, maintaining the professional distance that had become her second skin.

Irene smiled, her eyes gliding over Elsa “The debate was very impressive, you did a great job.”

“Thank you,” Elsa replied. “Mr. Frost made it very easy.” 

Then, Irene glanced at her watch, and the shift was instant. Her smile faltered slightly as she added, "We’re late for dinner." 

Jack nodded. “Of course.” Then he turned to Elsa, the shift immediate. “Hope we meet again, Stenford.”

Elsa held his gaze, expression steady. “Likewise, Mr. Frost.”

The door shut behind him. She turned, pulling the blinds open without hesitation.

Not a minute later, Casper stepped in, hesitation written all over his face. He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at her.

Elsa sighed. “What?”

Casper tilted his head. “Should I ask?”

“No.”

He nodded slowly. “Thought so.”

Everything came back to her. The laptop. The smug look on his face. The absolute nerve.

She understood why he did the things he did. The calculated arrogance. The impossible charm. The way he maneuvered through conversations like he was always ten steps ahead. That was just who he was. Predictable in his unpredictability.

What she didn’t understand was herself.

Why her pulse jumped when he leaned in too close. Why she went still, caught in some invisible push and pull. Why the sharpest thoughts in her head dulled the second he looked at her like he was waiting for something.

And before she could stop herself, she wondered, how would Jack Frost look if she cornered him?

Would he let her?

THURSDAY  

This wasn’t working.

He was a married man.

Well, almost. Technicalities.

And she was Elsa Stenford. She had discipline. Restraint. A finely honed ability to ignore men who thrived on their own audacity. She was not supposed to think about him. Not supposed to replay every infuriating smirk, every slow glance, every time he got just a little too close.

But here she was, thinking.

And worse, wondering. Wondering how Jack Frost would look if she cornered him, if she gave him back every ounce of aggravation he had given her. Would he let her? Would he enjoy it? Would he fold, just a little, if she pushed?

She shook her head, shutting her laptop harder than necessary.

This wasn’t working. She needed a distraction. A drink. And later, a lobotomy.

So, she did the reasonable thing. She opened the shared google sheet, and typed in.

25) He’s stupid and refuses to leave me alone.

FRIDAY

“You’re late.”

Jack shrugged, slipping off his coat, tossing it over his arm. “It was intentional.”

“Of course it was. Wouldn’t want to accidentally be considerate.”

“Considerate?” Jack almost laughed, standing next to her. “I’m sorry, were you waiting for me? That’s sweet. Almost makes me feel bad.”

“Shut up.”

“People have schedules, Stenford.”

“Oh, and I’m sure yours is just packed with terribly important things, like terrorizing your staff and finding new ways to be insufferable.”

Jack glared at her. “Right, because political communications is just so unpredictable. What happened? Got stuck debating the moral implications of a coffee order?”

Elsa narrowed his eyes. “Yes, actually. Unlike you, some of us still have to work for a living.”

Jack let out a low laugh. “Oh, please. You love this job, and you love arguing. If anything, I did you a favor.”

“You know, for someone who claims to be busy, you sure have a lot of time to be a pain in my ass.”

“I learned multitasking early.”

Ignoring him, Elsa knocked on the door. No response.

She knocked again. And again. And again.

Still, nothing but silence.

“I don’t think they’re home,” Elsa muttered, tapping her foot. “Weird.”

“There’s light under the door,” Jack said, pointing like he just cracked a code. He knocked this time. “Open up, I know you’re in there.”

Silence.

“You either open the door, or I call in a SWAT team to break it down,” Jack threatened.

Still nothing.

“Give up,” Elsa grumbled. But at that exact moment, the door swung open.

It was Anna.

“You’re fucking insufferable, you know that?” Anna snapped at Jack.

“I’ve been telling him,” Elsa said, a victorious grin tugging at her lips.

Anna turned to Elsa. “And you’re not any better. You both are equally insufferable.”

“Get out of the way, Anna,” Jack muttered, stepping past her like he was born to walk through doorways. “Where’s Turnip?”

“There,” Anna pointed at the cat stand. “Now leave me alone.”

“Nobody’s here for you, Anna. Don’t flatter yourself.” Jack shot her a quick glance, and Elsa followed him into the room.

Then, as if on cue, Elsa’s phone rang.

She didn’t pick up.

Turnip, however, was perched on the highest cat bed. Elsa dropped onto the couch, her feet immediately resting on the coffee table, flipping through TV channels like she owned the place.

Jack looked at her, confused. He picked up Turnip, who looked far too comfortable in his arms. “What are you doing?”

“Watching TV,” Elsa replied, casually flipping the remote.

“Why?”

“Because I want to. Because I can.”

Jack frowned, glancing between Elsa and Turnip, who had already made himself comfortable in Jack’s arms. “Why aren’t you competing for Turnip?”

“I’m ignoring her.”

“Why?”

Elsa paused, flipping another channel. “Because if you ignore someone, they’ll come to you eventually. It’s like basic human nature.”

Jack tilted his head, looking at her like she’d just said something profound. “So, you’re saying you’re just waiting for Turnip to beg for your attention?”

Elsa shrugged, nonchalantly changing the channel. “Exactly. It’s the art of being elusive. Works every time.”

“Are you sure about that? Because right now, she seems pretty happy with me.”

Elsa glanced at Turnip, who was comfortably purring in Jack’s arms. What’s so great arm being in his arms? All that stupid cat did was eat, sleep and cuddle with Jack. She didn’t need validation from an annoying ball of fur. The only sound was Turnip’s soft purring, a rhythmic backdrop to Elsa’s internal peace. She found a movie, Shutter Island.

“Oh, I love this movie,” Jack said, breaking the silence, his voice tinged with something that could only be described as an annoying, unsolicited enthusiasm.

Elsa didn’t even flinch. She picked up the remote, a small, mischievous smile curling at the corner of her lips. Without hesitation, she changed the channel.

The silence after that was satisfying. So satisfying, she couldn’t help but glance at Jack, who was now staring at the screen, bemused. “Seriously?” he asked, disbelief in his tone.

“Yep,” Elsa said. “The universe doesn’t give you whatever you want.”

Jack let out a short, defeated laugh, eyes flicking between her and the new channel, which was playing Jonah Hex. “You really are insufferable.”

Elsa’s grin widened. “I try. Hard.”

They both sank into the movie, the room quiet except for the occasional rustle of clothes. Turnip, now nestled comfortably in Jack’s arms, had drifted off to sleep, her small form curling into a ball. Elsa watched her for a moment, feeling a pang of dismay she quickly buried.

She couldn’t deny how peaceful Turnip looked, the way her fur seemed to glow under the soft light. And how warm she looked, cuddled up against Jack, something that should’ve irritated Elsa but, oddly, didn’t.

She looked away, focusing on the screen. Time passed in silence, the movie progressing, but her mind wandered. Almost forty minutes later, Elsa mumbled under her breath as Megan Fox appeared on screen.

“She’s so pretty,” Elsa said absentmindedly, not really expecting him to reply.

Jack didn’t hesitate. “She’s so hot. I had a crush on her back when I was a kid.”

Elsa blinked, her eyes flicking to Jack. “It’s Megan Fox. Everyone had a crush on her.”

Jack gave a slight nod, his gaze still glued to the screen. “Yeah, but—” he gestured toward the movie, his tone oddly serious. “I had a crush on Lilah Black.”

“The character?” Elsa raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Jack leaned back, looking oddly nostalgic. “I was fourteen. Watched this a hundred times just for her. Became my favorite movie too.”

Elsa blinked, the pieces slowly falling into place. “I get it,” she said slowly, voice flat. But then, as the realization hit her, she raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what do you mean ‘favorite movie’?”

“One of,” Jack corrected, a sly grin on his face.

Elsa gave him a deadpan look. “I don’t care what your favorite movie is!” she snapped, throwing her hands up. “You wanted to watch this, you tricked me into watching this.”

Jack tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Oh, that? Yeah. I fucking hate Shutter Island.”

Elsa’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists. She could feel her blood start to simmer. She grabbed her phone, almost mechanically, her fingers moving on autopilot.

13 missed calls.

None from work, all from Connor.

She ignored them without a second thought.

Her eyes flicked to the Google Sheet she’d been avoiding. She hadn't deleted it yet, but well, she had one more thing to add. With a deep sigh, she typed it in with the precision of someone who’d been through this before.

26) Liar.

Elsa paused for a moment, looking at the words on the screen, and then added another line underneath it.

27) Also, he’s probably lying about hating Shutter Island.

TUESDAY

On Tuesday, Elsa saw Merida.

Because as if Jack getting under her skin wasn’t enough, Merida was spawning in her workplace. A flash of red near the monitor. A voice she knew too well. She almost fumbled the news, barely caught herself in time.

She didn’t look. Not directly. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Merida talking to Casper. Laughing. And then, leaving.

Relief spread through Elsa's veins. She kept her smile, kept reading.

The last thing she needed today was Merida.  To Elsa, Merida was nothing more than an extension of Jack. Loud, impossible to ignore, and always exactly where she didn’t want her to be.

But then, when she wrapped up, Casper told her Merida was waiting in her office.

Elsa hesitated. Briefly considered turning around and leaving the building altogether. But that would be ridiculous. She was a professional. And this was her office.

Still, when she pushed open the door, she wasn’t sure what to expect. Merida was sitting in the chair opposite to Elsa’s, casually typing her own laptop like she worked there. She glanced over her shoulder, all bright eyes and easy confidence. “Good evening, Elsa.”

Elsa stared. “…Good evening, Merida.”

Merida just smiled, slow, motioning to Elsa’s chair. “Have a seat.”

Elsa eyed her own chair, then Merida, then the chair again. “…Okay.” She sat, watching Merida like one might watch a very smug house cat that had taken over their bed.

And as Merida went back to typing, like this was the most normal thing in the world, Elsa quietly wondered if everyone associated with Jack was just fundamentally strange. Maybe it was a requirement.

“What is this ab—”

“One minute,” Merida cut her off, eyes still on the screen as she tapped at the trackpad. “Jack is a generous friend. Well—sometimes. But as an employer?” She let out a low whistle. “He’s basically a dictator. This afternoon, he made four interns cry before lunch.”

“Mer—”

“And done,” Merida snapped her laptop close, and then all her attention was on Elsa. Elsa sat in her own chair, straight-backed. Merida just stared at her, like she was sizing her up. Like she was waiting for something.

Elsa bit. “...What?”

Merida smiled, slow and knowing. “Nothing. Just admiring you.”

Elsa blinked. “Why?”

Merida tilted her head. “Just thinking about how I’ll have to rewrite history when you eventually come for my neck.”

Elsa frowned. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Sure you do.” Merida shut her laptop with an easy click, then leaned forward, elbows resting on Elsa’s desk like she owned the place. “I almost consider you a friend, Elsa.”

Elsa narrowed her eyes. “But?”

“No buts.” Merida’s expression was entirely too pleased with itself. “And since we’re almost friends, could I ask you for a favor?”

Elsa exhaled, already exhausted. “Sure.”

Merida’s smile widened, the kind that spelled trouble. “Could you stop sleeping with Jack?”

Elsa stared at her, completely baffled. For the first time in her life, words failed her.

Merida, completely unfazed, just stared at Elsa.

Elsa cleared her throat. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Oh, don’t make me say it twice. It’s embarrassing for both of us.”

“You realize that’s an insane thing to ask, right?”

Merida shrugged. “Eh. Not the most insane thing I’ve done this week. Jack’s life is complicated enough. And frankly, I don’t have the energy to manage his mess and yours.”

Elsa let out a dry laugh. “That’s funny. Because I don’t recall asking you to.”

Merida looked at Elsa, her expression utterly serene. “Oh, I’m not asking you to.” She smiled, sweet as honey. “I’m telling you.”

Elsa narrowed her eyes. “You telling me doesn’t change anything, Merida. I’m not sleeping with him.”

Merida didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. “Yes, you are.”

“This is none of your business. But I’m not. And I never will.”

Merida tilted her head, her voice smooth as butter. “Whatever Jack’s business is, it’s my business, because every stupid decision he makes is a sword to my neck. At this point, I could probably start charging him rent for all the space he takes up in my personal trauma vault.”

Elsa glared at her, about to retort, when Merida leaned forward just slightly, like she was baiting her.

“So... You’re not sleeping with him?”

Elsa’s spine stiffened. “No! I would never even consider that.”

Merida smiled. “Really? You wouldn’t?”

Elsa opened her mouth, ready to say no—ready to be firm, to shut this conversation down entirely.

But then, against her will, her thoughts drifted.

Jack.

Smug, infuriating, attractive Jack.

Two weeks ago, when she thought of Jack, it was just irritation, anger and an urge to kill something. Or someone. Or him. She had been focused on the way he irked her, the way he riled her up just by existing. The game was always about losing, and she hated losing to him.

But no, of course he had to go and mess that up.

Now, when she thought of Jack, it was different. It wasn’t just the sharp sting of his words or the way he always set her on edge. No, now it was... the way his voice had sounded so close to her ear. That subtle vibration in his words. The breath he let out near her hair, warm and just a little too close.

And his gaze. Those eyes that always seemed to be on her. She could almost feel them on her skin now. Then there was the warmth, the heat that radiated from his body like a furnace, and the cologne. The scent lingered in the air around her like it had settled there, not entirely gone, luring her in.

And—okay. Sure. Maybe she’d thought about it before. In a purely abstract, fleeting way. A stray thought here and there. But consider it?

She frowned, catching herself.

Merida was watching her, eyebrows raised.

Elsa straightened, lifting her chin. “No,” she said, crisp and clear. “Absolutely not.”

Merida smiled. “Interesting.”

Elsa’s frown deepened. “That wasn’t interesting.”

“Oh, it was.” Merida shut her laptop again, looking entirely too pleased. “And just so you know, you paused for way too long.”

“I am not considering it,” Elsa defended herself.

Merida’s eyes twinkled with that too knowing smile. “It’s okay, Elsa. Jack is attractive. Everyone considers sleeping with him. You’re not special.”

Elsa shot her a glare that could’ve melted steel. “I am not considering it. I’m considering killing him.”

Merida didn’t flinch. “So you two arguing up isn’t your nasty idea of foreplay?”

“No!” Elsa said, her voice rising in horror. “Look, even if I wanted—considered sleeping with him, he wouldn’t. He hates me. I hate him.”

Merida let out a small laugh, clearly amused by the whole situation. Elsa didn’t join in. When the silence hung between them for too long, Merida stopped, catching on. “Oh, you're serious. Poor thing. You actually believe that?”

Elsa’s brow furrowed. “Believe what?”

Merida leaned in slightly, smirking. “You really think he wouldn’t sleep with you if you wanted to? If you gave him a chance?”

Elsa stared at her for a moment, completely thrown off. “What?”

Merida shrugged, completely at ease. “I mean, come on. You do realise he’s not blind, right?. He’s as stubborn as a mule, but he’s not made of stone.”

Elsa’s face flushed, her mind racing as she tried to figure out how to respond. “He wouldn’t.”

“Right,” Merida said, drawing out the word with a healthy dose of skepticism. “Sure, Elsa. Let’s keep it that way.”

“He’s engaged,” Elsa said enthusiastically, practically throwing the words at Merida like a shield. “That would be disgusting.”

Merida paused, looked at her like Elsa had just announced she was planning to swim in a pool of melted cheese. “Right. Disgusting,” she said slowly. “So, stop entertaining him.”

Elsa furrowed her brow. “I’m not entertaining him. He argues with me, I argue back. It’s called basic human interaction.”

Merida’s eyes sparkled, a slight grin tugging at her lips. “Okay, but don’t forget, he has a fiancée.” She stood up, stretching like she’d just finished a yoga session. “Wonderful conversation. Time really flew by. I had a really nice time. All that.”

Merida might’ve gotten what she wanted from that conversation, but it had the opposite effect on Elsa. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Or about him.

Every time Elsa sat down to work, she found herself distracted. Her brain was a broken record, stuck on Jack Frost. The way he stood in front of the elevator, effortlessly in her way. The way his watch sat on his wrist, like even his accessories were smug. The way his hair fell over his forehead, completely on purpose, she was sure. The way he’d looked at her under that bed, like he had all the time in the world. The way Turnip, that traitorous little gremlin, curled up in his arms like Jack was some kind of saint. The way he sounded when he wanted to intimidate someone, low, deliberate, unfair. The way he’d cornered her, like he knew she had nowhere to go.

And then, unfortunately, her brain took a hard left into other thoughts. Unholy ones. Her pulse thudded in places she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Elsa blinked hard at her screen. Closed her laptop.

Maybe she needed to go touch some grass.

Touching grass hadn't helped. Elsa had settled in bed, her laptop resting on her stomach, staring blankly at the screen, the video of Ambassador Sebastian Laurent’s interview barely registering.

But her focus wavered, her eyes flicking to the suggested tab. The title “Jack Frost speaks about his childhood” gleamed at her, the thumbnail of him sitting back, relaxed, and looking straight at the camera. It seemed to swallow her attention whole.

No. She wasn’t going to watch it.

It wasn’t necessary.

Three minutes later, she found herself frozen, staring at Jack's face on the screen as he spoke.

"So, Jack," the interviewer began, leaning in slightly, "growing up in a family that’s constantly in the spotlight must have been complicated?"

Jack's laugh was a quiet chuckle, almost dismissive. "Complicated is one way to put it. It’s like living in a fishbowl. Pretty much everyone’s watching, but nobody really gets to know you." His eyes flicked to the side, as if searching for the right words, or maybe just letting the moment breathe. "I mean, I can't complain. Sure, there were perks—trips, private schools, access to people most would never even dream of. But there’s always a catch."

The interviewer nodded, sensing there was more there. "So, what was the hardest part of that?"

Jack’s gaze softened, just for a second. "The pressure, I guess. You don’t realize it when you’re younger, but it’s always there. Expectations—everyone expects you to be something. To act a certain way, say the right things. And yeah, it’s hard when you want to just... be a kid, you know?" His voice trailed off, then picked up again. "But, at the same time, I wouldn’t change it. That stuff shapes you."

The interviewer raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "That sounds like a complicated relationship with your childhood."

Jack’s laugh was a little more genuine this time. "Yeah, complicated is the word." He glanced around the room before meeting the interviewer’s eyes again. "My sister and I, we went through the same thing. We didn’t have the luxury of normal—at least not the way most people think of it. We couldn’t go to the park and just hang out. There was always someone watching." His eyes flashed briefly, a hint of something more behind the cool façade. "But we survived. We had each other. And that’s the one thing that kept us sane. At least we understood what the other was going through."

The interviewer smiled sympathetically. "That must have been a comfort."

Jack nodded, the edge of his smile softening. "Yeah. She’s the only one who really gets it." He paused for a beat, as though weighing his next words. "It wasn’t easy, though. The constant cameras, the rumors, the assumptions. It wore on both of us. But, you learn to live with it, or you break."

There was a brief silence, and then the interviewer leaned in, voice low. "So, looking back, would you say it was worth it? The life, the attention, all of it?"

Jack’s expression didn’t change. "Would I say it was worth it? I guess so. I won’t see here and pretend that being born in my family with my last name didn’t open a lot of doors for me. Because it did. I got a lot of opportunities that I really wouldn’t have seen in different circumstances. You meet people, you see things that would blow most people’s minds. And that’s valuable." 

The interviewer pressed on, sensing the opening. "And what about trust? Growing up like that, with so many eyes on you, did that make it hard to trust people?"

Jack exhaled sharply through his nose. "Yeah. It’s tough. People want something from you, all the time. If they’re not after a scoop, they’re after a favor. It’s hard to know who’s genuine and who’s just trying to use you." He tilted his head slightly, then shrugged. "That’s why you stick with the people who get it. My sister. Some old friends. If they don’t get it, they don’t stay. Simple as that."

The interviewer smiled knowingly. "Sounds like you learned a lot early on."

Jack gave a quick nod. "You have to. You learn to protect yourself, and you learn to play the game. No one tells you how to do it, but you figure it out. I guess that’s what being raised in a spotlight does for you."

The interviewer laughed lightly. "Well, it sounds like you’ve come a long way. Thanks for sharing all this with us, Jack."

One thing Elsa had almost always admired about Jack was his ability to acknowledge his privilege. It would’ve been so easy for him to sit in his perfectly polished rooms and say he built his life from the ground up, but instead, he didn’t. He just casually dropped the truth: “Yeah, my family’s rich, but I’m still trying to figure out what I’m doing.” 

And somehow, it was charming.

Just not to her.

It worked, of course. People loved it. Jack Frost: The Relatable Billionaire Nepo Baby. The self-aware king of the ultra-privileged who wasn’t afraid to admit he had been handed everything on a silver platter. No attempt to hide it—no, that would be too much work. Instead, he wore his privilege like second skin, just casually mentioning how difficult it was to choose which yacht to take to his family’s summer house.

Elsa, on the other hand, thought it was a performance. A polished, well-rehearsed act to get people to like him. And it was working, obviously, but she wasn’t fooled. Jack had a way of making his golden spoon sound like a vintage golden spoon—no cracks, just sparkling.

What really stuck with Elsa, though, was how he didn’t even bat an eye when she called him a "nepo baby"—he just took like it was the punchline to some private joke she wasn’t in on. Most people would’ve gotten all defensive, throwing around phrases like "I earned this" or "you don't know how hard I work," but not Jack. No, he just shrugged and hurled the next insult.

So maybe he wasn’t that different from everyone else. He was just smarter about it.

Maybe, Elsa thought, just maybe, she was missing something about him.

Rationality barged in, flashing like a neon sign in her brain. No. I’m not missing anything. He was just a jerk. A smug, entitled jerk who refused to leave her alone.

The thought tried to burrow its way in, planting doubts. She wasn’t having it.

Knowing she was teetering dangerously close to something she didn’t want to examine, Elsa slammed her laptop shut and immediately opened the spreadsheet.

26) Jerk (I-can’t-help-it kind).

There. Back to business.

In her hurry to add a reason, Elsa didn’t notice the little ‘J’ icon next to ‘E’.

Oh.

Oh, good. He was here.

But what exactly was he doing?

Elsa's heart skipped a beat as she quickly scrolled through the sheet, her eyes widening with disbelief. She blinked, as if her screen might suddenly fix itself.

He was actually typing.

What was this, a “help Elsa” campaign, or was he just adding his two cents to her meticulously organized list?

She stared at the screen, squinting at the text that appeared before her:

1. I see you’re starting strong, but it’s insufferable—really? Just insufferable? I mean, that’s basic. I expected more creativity from you.
2. Entitled? Yes. You’re right. I’ve never had to buy my own coffee. My personal barista just handles that for me. My life is such a mess.
3. Arrogant? Guilty. I just happen to be spectacular at everything.
4. Smug? Nah, just effortlessly superior. It's a blessing and a curse.
5. Rude? Oh, I’m sorry. Did I offend you with my sheer brilliance? I’ll try to tone it down. No promises.
6. Mansplaining air? As I said, creative.
7. Spoiled? Yeah. I got a trust fund. And you don’t.
8. Nepo baby? What can I say? I come from a long line of people who know how to exist without working hard for it.
9. Unappreciative? I appreciate the hell out of this list. It’s the most creative thing anyone’s ever done for me, even if it’s all lies.
10. The audacity to exist in your vicinity? You’re welcome.
11. Eavesdropper? No, curious observer. And no, I wasn’t listening. I was just mentally judging.
12. Cheater? It’s a skill.
13. Loser? Ouch. My self-esteem can only take so many hits.
14. Back Alley drug dealer? Just because I occasionally sell some... you’re right.
15. Manipulative? Nope, I just know how to get what I want with a smile and charm. It’s a skill.
16. Gets away with everything? I don’t get away with everything, I just make it happen. Big difference.
17. Thinks he’s funny? I am funny. You should try laughing sometime, it’s quite therapeutic (I’ve heard).
18. Thinks he’s loved? I am loved. People can’t resist me, it’s science.
19. Talks too much? That’s just my charm seeping through.
20. Never had a genuine consequence in his life? You’re right. I live in a perpetual state of unbothered perfection. What can I say, it’s a gift.
21. People expect you to be nice to me? Well, I don’t blame them.
22. Competition? Me? No, I just like winning.
23. I’m not the center of attention, I’m the highlight—there’s a difference.
24. Charming? You bet I am. Just ask my reflection.
25. I refuse to leave you alone because I am an overachiever.
26. Liar? Me? No.
27. You are right. I lied. I don’t hate Shutter Island.
28. Jerk? No. You just love to hate me. 

P.S. You’re welcome for this incredibly thoughtful and well-articulated response.

Elsa just stared, stuck on how petty he was. There was something almost impressive about it—like a dog with a bone, but the bone was all the ways he could annoy her. 

And he didn’t even pretend to be subtle about it.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. 

29) (Very) Annoying (like a bee, but instead of buzzing, he just exists).

And in just a few seconds, letter appeared beside the 29th reason. 

29) As flattered as I am, I’d like to think I’m more like a hummingbird. Majestic in all my glory.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Elsa's lips before she could stop it. She thought about him—him, of all people. What would be he doing, what he looked like in bed, if he was thinking of her the way she was thinking of him- and then she slammed the laptop shut. 

Enough.

WEDNESDAY

Wednesday, during lunch, Elsa opened Instagram and found a picture of Jack and Irene on her explore page.

It was a good picture. Clean. Framed well. The kind of effortless elegance that came with money.

They looked good together.

The setting was familiar, endless lawn, soft afternoon light. Jack in a crisp button-down and trousers, Irene in a pale blue sundress, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her like it belonged there. They were all smiles.

Elsa wasn’t smiling. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t her business.

Which was why, two minutes later, she was on the official Communications Director Instagram page. Because it wasn’t her business.

She told herself it was professional curiosity. Nothing more. It made sense to check.

The official account was polished, curated, mostly press clips and statements. A few candid shots from events. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing personal.

Elsa frowned.

She wasn’t looking for something personal. Obviously. She was just scrolling. Just seeing.

And then, over her forgotten lunch, she found his picture. It wasn’t anything special. Just a candid from some event. A moment frozen in time, caught mid-motion. It didn’t even matter.

But he looked good.

Too good for her liking.

The sharp line of his nose. The dark sweep of his lashes. The hollow of his throat. She shouldn’t be looking this closely. Shouldn’t be staring. But she was. And she knew, then, what she wanted.

Maybe just once. Just one time. 

To flush him out of her system.

It sat heavy in her chest, this quiet, inevitable spark . Sticky, clinging to her like honey. She could ignore it, push it away, pretend it wasn’t there. But it would stay.

There was only one way out.

It had worked before. Years ago, when she’d wanted Blake Chapman, her first editor, wanted him in a way she shouldn’t have. Then, she’d met his girlfriend, Evie Heath, and just like that, the feeling had disappeared. Snuffed out like a flame deprived of air.

It was a logical plan. Sensible.

She just had to meet Irene, spend time with her, and all this would disappear. It had worked before. It would work again.

Because Irene wasn’t just anyone. She was beautiful, accomplished, poised. The kind of woman people wrote articles about. Graceful, sophisticated, effortlessly charming.

She had to meet Irene.

Irene Archer was the answer.