The Salihović files had just landed on my desk.
Neatly stacked. Paperclipped. Color-coded tabs already in place.
I tapped the corner with the edge of my pen, brow furrowed.
She definitely planned this before last night.
She already knew she was handing me the file.
Last night wasn't strategy—it was rollout.
Which meant this wasn't a test.
It was trust.
Or worse—expectation.
"Wait," Jasmina said, leaning over just far enough to be nosy without committing. "Is that the Salihović file?"
I glanced at the header. "Looks like it."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Wasn't Emir handling that one?"
I kept my tone light. "I just work the pile. What lands on my desk isn't my call."
Jasmina whistled under her breath. "Oof. Okay."
I didn't look at her, but I could feel the grin forming anyway.
She lowered her voice. "Is that who you had dinner with last night?"
"Yes."
"With Lamija?" She blinked. "So why'd she move Salihović to you?"
"You'll have to ask her." I said dryly.
She laughed. "I mean, sure. I'm curious. But asking Lamija why she reassigned something? Yeah, no thanks."
"Career suicide," I muttered.
"Instant."
We both laughed—quiet, short, enough to make the tension pass.
But even after she turned back to her screen, I kept staring at the file.
It wasn't Lamija who brought it over.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi2Ja9cOh5F
It was Emir.
She wanted it done.
And he made it happen.
I didn't know if I was being trusted, tested, or watched.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDjWoOlWo5V
Maybe all three. I didn't like it.
Jasmina stayed bent over the presentation deck, cleaning up the final visuals for the client pitch that afternoon. Lamija had been leaning hard on cohesion, polish, edge. Every line mattered. Every visual told a story.
I was already deep into the Salihović file—flipping pages, scanning notes, sorting timelines. Emir had kept everything clean. Efficient. His annotations were sharp and fast, like someone who expected me to keep up or get left behind.
Jasmina worked quietly beside me, her fingers gliding over the trackpad, muttering occasional curses at formatting inconsistencies.
I didn't say much. Just kept reading.
People began filtering into the conference room behind us. The staff meeting was about to start.
I stood, straightening my shirt.
It wasn't until then that I noticed—my powder blue button-down and cream slacks mirrored Lamija's outfit almost exactly as she stepped through the door.
Cream cable-knit sweater. High-waisted ivory skirt that moved like tailored silk. The same blue cuffs and collar peeking out from beneath the knit. Her hijab, white and clean. And a gold watch.
Everything intentional. Everything sharp.
She looked like she belonged to a brand.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ64kCnAmV87
I looked like I was trying to match it.
She paused when she saw me. Just for a second. And smiled.
Jasmina elbowed me. Hard.
"Whatever you're doing," she whispered, "keep doing it. She doesn't look like she's about to drag you in front of all of us again."
I chuckled under my breath. "It's still early."
We took our seats as the meeting began. Department heads gave updates—logistics, legal, design, vendor operations. The usual shuffle of names, numbers, and deadlines.
Lamija stood at the head of the room, tablet in hand, posture perfect.
"As of this morning," she said, voice calm and clipped, "Salihović has been moved to Ayub Selimović."
The room broke into polite claps. Jasmina smacked my arm lightly.
Lamija didn't stop. "Emir will be assisting me directly with Serkan."
I blinked.
My breath left me in a short puff.
Damn.
Serkan was the crown jewel. The legacy account. The one everyone fought to touch.
I'd spent all of last Sunday working that file. With her. With Imran. I knew it inside out.
And now it was gone.
Lamija caught my reaction. One brow lifted.
"Sorry," I said, not sounding sorry at all.
She smirked—slow, unapologetic, and a little too pleased with herself.
"That being said," Lamija continued, scrolling her screen, "we need lead support for three new clients: B. Delić, Vioma, and Vuk."
She didn't even look up when she said it.
Before anyone else could speak, I raised a hand. "I'll take them."
Now she looked.
"Which one?"
I met her eyes.
"All of them."
Jasmina turned to me like I'd lost my mind.
Then she reached for her coffee like it might settle the damage I'd just done.
I pretended not to see her.
Lamija looked at me—just a second too long to be professional.
Then her mouth curved. Not sharp. Not smug.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXPOAQYU3lI
Just... amused. Like she found me entertaining.
"Don't disappoint me, Selimović," she said—soft, almost teasing.
The meeting wrapped twenty minutes later. Jasmina was already grumbling before we were even halfway back to our desks.
"You just signed us up for six weeks of hell."
"Relax," I said, opening my laptop. "I'll lead. You do data entry."
She stopped, mid-step, and gave me a look. "You're insufferable."
"And yet here we are."
She dropped into her chair with a sigh. "Next time you want to impress Lamija, leave me out of it."
I didn't look up. "I wasn't trying to impress her."
"Oh, please." She spun her chair to face me. "You volunteered for three clients like it was a damn game show and she was the prize."
I shook my head, trying not to smile.
She pointed at me. "There. That smug little smirk? That's guilt."
"It's confidence."
"It's thirst."
I scrubbed a hand down my face. "You're insane."
"I'm observant." She leaned in a little. "You think I don't see the way your eyes track her and Emir in the conference room like you're studying battlefield strategy?"
I blinked. "I don't—"
"You do. It would be annoying," she said, spinning lazily in her chair, "if it wasn't so hot."
I stared at her. "You need help."
"Maybe. But I'm not the one showing up to work accidentally matching my boss like it's a couples' brunch."
I grabbed the folder I'd been working through before the meeting. "There is nothing going on between me and Lamija."
She grinned. "Sure. Say that again the next time she looks at you like you're dessert in a business suit."
She paused.
"And if you ever wear a matching shirt again, I'm calling HR."
My phone buzzed. Then again. And again.
I'd been ignoring it for the past twenty minutes, even as it pulsed against the table during half the department updates. Probably a scheduling ping. Maybe logistics. Nothing urgent.
Or so I thought.
Lamija appeared in the doorway of the conference room—jaw tight, phone clutched like she wanted to throw it.
"Check your phone," she said. No hello. No greeting. Just exhaustion wrapped in authority.
I looked up. "Now?"
"Yes, Ayub. Now. The school's trying to reach Imran. They can't get through. I'm in a meeting. You're not."
Her tone wasn't angry. Just... done.
She looked at me like I was her last functioning brain cell.
She didn’t even wait for an answer.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhHBgZnwvff
Just handed me the mess and walked off like I was the designated adult.
I glanced down.
Fam Chat (minus Babo)
ADEM: Selaam. Call the school. They’re trying to reach Imran but no answer.
TARIK: Amina punched slimy
LAMIJA: What?
AMINA: deserved it 😌👊
TARIK: what did he SAY to you
AMINA: idk 🤷♀️ something gross
TARIK: amina
ADEM: AMINA
LAMIJA: Who's slimy? You punched someone??
TARIK: We saw the video. He’s covered in blood.
AMINA: HELL YEA HE IS 👊💥🩸 learned from the best 💅 (thank you, superman 🦸♂️😘)
TARIK: You TOSSED NAPKINS on his lap and told him to clean himself up!
AMINA: i gave him tissues 🥺🩸that’s called being compassionate
TARIK: stop joking
ADEM: Tell us what he said… or we’ll beat his ass on principle
AMINA: ugh y’all are so dramatic 🙄
LAMIJA: ADEM AND TARIK NO!
LAMIJA: It’s 11:42 in the morning. This has to be a new record for you, Amina.
LAMIJA: Can't you behave for one day?
AMINA: tell the men to calm down 😇
TARIK: TELL US WHAT HE SAID
AMINA: ew no. y’all will overreact
TARIK: not overreacting if i knock his teeth out
ADEM: fr
AMINA: see 🙃
LAMIJA: Imran, are you seeing any of this?
LAMIJA: Your baby sister is getting kicked out of school.
I dragged a hand down my face.
Jasmina peeked over my shoulder. “So… are we calling HR or bail?”
I ignored her and hit call on Imran’s name.
No answer.
Tried again.
Still nothing.
I stared at the screen for a beat, then sighed and stood up.
“I’m going to his office.”
Jasmina raised her brows. “Bold move.”
Then, under her breath—14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF4kytHSgv0
“But who’s gonna watch Lamija and Emir now? I was counting on you to chaperone.”
I paused, looked at her.
She didn’t even glance up. “I’m just saying. It’s not not getting flirty in there.”
I walked away before she could say something worse.
She definitely would have.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
In this chapter:
Ayub gets a promotion.
Lamija commits psychological homicide with a smile.
Jasmina files an unofficial HR complaint in her mind.
Amina commits an actual felony.
Adem and Tarik start planning a legally questionable sibling-led manhunt.
Imran? Nowhere to be found. Probably drinking Bosnian coffee like he didn’t raise these people.
This is not a drill.
We are in triplet crisis mode, Lamija is matching outfits like it’s a hostile takeover, and Ayub just volunteered for three accounts like a man who’s never valued his weekends.
Someone call HR. Or the police.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkOGrRaIlGL
Whichever shows up first.
-Ash&Olive
14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmo9CpX3CVo
