My knuckles had hardly brushed the surface of the walnut door when I heard, "Come in," from inside the office.

I grimaced. It was Friday, not Thursday; he couldn't have been expecting me. I refused to let my mind roam to all the possible witches he could be expecting as I sucked in a breath and wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and finally, after a long moment of hesitation, pushed.

The door creaked open to reveal a tower of parchment where Draco Malfoy should've been. Then, as if drawn upward by an invisible string, Malfoy's head slowly rose above the pile, a scowl already plastered across his face.

"Granger," he said bluntly. There was an unspoken message in his tone and the lack of light in his eyes—'what are you doing here?' I heard it loud and clear.

I felt anything but welcomed. I disguised the regret rising in my throat with a glare and shut the door behind me. When I turned around, Malfoy was staring at the long sheet of parchment in my left hand.

"No." His face was solid as stone.

"Malfoy—"

"No," he repeated. I opened my mouth to speak and he held out a finger. "I believe, if my linguistics lessons were effective, it's pronounced no in Spanish and Italian as well.

I stood a little straighter, refusing to back down. "You don't even know what—"

He didn't let me finish. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not an imbecile, Granger. I know exactly why you're here, and I am saying no."

"Malfoy—"

"Nein."

"Let me—"

"Non. Nee. Nie." He looked amused now.

My apprehension boiled into rage. "Malfoy I swear to God—"

"No."

"I am leaving, Malfoy." I stomped, shoving the parchment in his direction. "This is my two weeks notice."

He was unmoving. I crossed the room and slapped the notice into his chest, but he made no motion to take it. I seethed. "Malfoy—take the fucking paper."

"I will do no such thing." He took a step back. I followed him. He took another, then another. I stayed at his toes every time. "I am not accepting your two weeks notice, Granger. You can chase me around this office all you like, but you are not leaving."

I snorted. "You cannot decline a two weeks notice, Malfoy. That's not how this works!"

"But I can, you see. That is exactly how this works." He said. "And that is what I'm doing. Go back downstairs."

"If I walk down those stairs and you have not accepted my notice, I am packing my things and leaving today," I seethed.

"Then stay here Granger. I have a love-seat you can sleep on and a tiny muggle icebox with all the ingredients you need to make a charcuterie board." He pointed to the corner of the room where a mini-fridge sat. "Surely you can survive a few days until you come to your senses."

Something about the sincerity in his voice made me want to laugh. I shook my head instead. He was serious; it was almost incredulous. Draco Malfoy, corporate brat, office whore and Malfoy heir, war hero and Order spy, was standing in front of me, so adamant that I stay at his corporation.

"It's called a fridge," was the only response I could muster in the midst of the battle humor and anger were waging within me.

"I don't give a damn."

"You cannot go around calling things muggle this, muggle that, objects have names. You obviously did not pay attention in Muggle Studies—"

"Guilty," he threw his hands up in surrender. "Forgive me, Granger, for being incorrect. Let me repent for my sins: I have a fridge. It has food."

"All fridges have food. That is the purpose of a fridge—"

"Unless you're out of food. Then it is just a fridge—"

I watched him walk back to his desk and sit, unperturbed by both my irritation and the way his stack of files threatened to topple onto his head. He looked as if we were discussing the weather. Stubborn, stuck up, spoiled git. "That is not the point, Malfoy."

"The point, Granger, is that you are not quitting, and if you insist on leaving today, you are not exiting this room. So wherever you choose to reside, it will be in this building, with this company, doing something helpful with your Golden brain."

His calm demeanor made me want to scream and do terrible, filthy things. I blinked to push away the memories of him between my legs. "You have made it all too clear you plan to thwart my efforts in the Puddlemere United project, therefore I refuse to believe you will find any of my future efforts helpful—"

"Your efforts have occasionally dug a few graves for me, but you are still of use to this company—"

"And I will be of just as much use elsewhere, where I can actually make a difference." I roared.

"And who said you couldn't make a difference here?" he cocked his head. "Sometimes differences are negative. Rookie mistake. Better luck next time.

That blew the roof off of my head. My vision clouded and my hands began to shake. "I have been urging you to use cheerleaders and influencers since the moment our profits began to drop. We represent a failing team—stockholders are withdrawing at rapid rates, and we have done nothing to keep up with the times."

I paused for only a moment to catch my breath, before plowing forward to avoid another interruption. I would be heard, and I would be listened to, whether Malfoy chose to object or not.

"Modern witches and wizards are more intrigued by the rush of muggle entertainment since the end of the war, and everyone else but this corporation has realized Quidditch is a dying sport. It was always barbaric and dangerous, and our people are traumatized by violence now. If we plan to do any good in promoting a sport people are either too scared of watching, or too bored to care about, we need to modernize it—

"I do not know if it is because I am a woman or a muggleborn that I have been ignored and berated for all of my suggestions, but it is clear to me you do not value my Golden brain enough to truly listen to me. And therefore, I will not be staying at a corporation where I am devalued and quite frankly, dehumanized to nothing but a pretty face in a pencil skirt. I helped Harry win the war just as much as you did, in any case you have forgotten. You may have thrown Harry a wand in the final battle, but I was there, scouring books and hunting Horcruxes long before any of you decided to join the cause! You may have redeemed yourself, but you still bear the mark of the people who wanted me and my friends and family dead—

"You made it very clear that I was worth nothing to you in Hogwarts, and you have done little except fuck me on a weekly schedule to prove you ever changed your mind. If I am not respected here, I will go somewhere I am. There will not be a 'next time,' Draco Malfoy, because I am quitting, whether you like it or not."

When the red cleared from my vision, I expected Malfoy to be angry, the way he was when he first discovered I'd put Pansy on the newest Puddlemere poster. I hadn't spoken to someone with such fury in years; truly I hadn't realized it was in me. I grimaced in anticipation of the cruelty I remembered Draco Malfoy to be capable of.

Instead, I opened my eyes to find Malfoy's pupils blown wide, wearing a grin so wide the corners of his eyes were creased. He was all the way reclined in his chair, leaning back like he'd been listening to his favorite song.

I felt something akin to a fire in my cheeks. "Did you hear anything I just said?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, believe me, I did Granger."

"Then why in Merlin's name do you look so pleased with yourself?"

I shifted my weight to a different foot. I'd decided to wear heels again today, in hopes I'd be a little closer to Malfoy's face in case he decided to loom over me and do exactly what he had done—reject my resignation—and I was beginning to regret the choice of footwear.

"Give me the letter, Granger."

"I—what?"

"Give me the letter."

I let out a sigh of both relief and exasperation. I dared to walk closer to his desk, but too far for him to touch me, and handed him my two weeks notice. He held it carefully, appearing to scan it with his eyes. Then he rummaged through a drawer beside him and pulled out a quill. He precariously pushed aside a few towers of parchment and laid the letter on the mahogany desk.

"To whom it may concern," he began to read aloud. "I am grateful for the opportunities I have been given through Finborough Management—" He stopped, pressing his quill to the parchment and scratched out a word. "Change 'been given' to 'earned.' If you're quitting there's no need to be humble."

"Malfoy," I warned.

"I'm working on it," he waved a hand in my direction without looking in my direction. "—and I will cherish the memories I have made with this company—you'd do well to list a few memories, Granger. I have a few suggestions, but I'm not quite sure they are professional."

A blush creeped up my neck. He continued. "However I believe I have reached a point in my life—" He took his quill and scratched out another word, clearing his throat as he did so. "However I have reached a point in life, where I must begin to explore further career aspirations."

He stopped abruptly and turned to face me. We made direct eye contact. He gazed at me as if analyzing something, before he spoke again. "What aspirations do you have, Granger?"

"I—" I stuttered. I couldn't quite come up with an answer off the top of my head at the moment, likely because the way Draco Malfoy was looking at me made thoughts of a career very far back on my list of priorities.

"What do you want to do that you are not doing here?" He asked, oblivious to my current condition.

"I want to—" I blinked to clear my mind. "I want to make a change. I want to do something good."

"Have you not done anything good at Finborough Management?"

I thought of the way I had stooped so low as to recommend we sexualize women to promote a stupid sports team and immediately shook my head. "No."

"Are you sure?" There was a gleam in his eyes that suggested he too was thinking of our Thursday endeavors.

I crossed my arms indifferently and attempted to scowl. "Yes."

"That is unfortunate, Granger." He frowned. The expression would've appeared genuine to anyone who did not know Draco Malfoy beyond a professional setting. I began sifting through my mind for rebuttals to anything he could say next.

"Define good."

I blinked again. That was not the question I had anticipated.

"Good—" I stammered. "Good is good."

"That is the same word. Good is good, Granger. After all the reading you did in school, I don't suppose you need to revisit English—"

"Piss off, Malfoy." I actually laughed at that. I couldn't help it. My shoulders shook until I forced them to be still. "I want to make a change in the world. Do something that helps people. There are so many people who need help, and I cannot help them sitting at a desk at a quidditch firm."

"Then let's donate to charity." He proposed, appearing proud of himself.

"Monetary donations do very little in the grand scheme of things—"

"Then let's volunteer." He said firmly. "I will set something up with the executives."

I faltered. "Do you have an answer for everything?"

"Yes, actually. Thank you for noticing." He fixed his robes arrogantly, then returned his gaze to me. It was solid, unwavering. "Tell me what to do and we'll do it Granger. A hundred galleons to any charity of your choosing."

"That's a one time donation, Malfoy, not a career pathway." I huffed. "And a hundred galleons won't even cover two years of textbook expenses for a Hogwarts student."

"Two hundred galleons, then."

"Four years of textbook expenses."

"Three—"

"That is not a job Malfoy. That is still not something I can do with my life."

"Then we'll make it a job." He stated like I was the daft one. "We can plan a full workplace venture to any food bank or shelter you'd like. Give a portion of our profits to any cause your heart desires. I remember you proposed a charity event once at a meeting. How do you think we should make that happen?"

I remembered the two week's notice on his desk and realized he'd distracted me for far too long. I pointed at the parchment with vexation. "You're too little, too late."

"It's never too late, Granger." He shook his head. "One owl from myself to the board of executives and it's all a done deal. Anything you wish, and it's done."

"Why didn't you say all this the first time I proposed a charity event, Malfoy?"

"Because it wasn't urgent," he said bluntly.

"Oh," I derided. "And it's so urgent now?"

"Yes, because you're quitting."

"Exactly!" I did everything in my power not to scream.

"But you're not," Draco crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Since we are doing this."

I groaned. He was so agonizingly tranquil. Like nothing could bother him—like he had no doubt in his blond head that he had the power to keep me from leaving.

"We're not doing this, Malfoy," I stated.

"Well, I have a few ideas of what else we could be doing," he smirked.

"Malfoy." I glared.

He sighed now, his stillness faltering. "You're not going to quit because of me, Granger."

"I am not quitting because of—"

"So it is simply coincidental you wrote a two weeks notice the day after I told you we would not be shagging again?"

I balled my hands into fists. "You are infuriating. Do you believe I was only staying at this job for you? For your Thursdays?"

"It's a hypothesis, Granger," he looked glum now. "You tell me if it's true."

My heart lurched for a moment. I had written a two weeks notice a few times in the past two months, but for some reason, every Thursday I'd get a new burst of motivation to shred the letter. I'd told myself it was hope, that I could do something noteworthy at the company. But there was another downside to leaving Finborough, and that was missing out on Draco Malfoy.

"No." I lamented.

"You are the worst liar I know, Granger."

I threw my head back and gained the sudden urge to cry. Hot tears welled up in my eyes. A rush of emotions left me confused. Draco Malfoy left me confused.

"I will take you to dinner," his voice cut through my thoughts like a blade. I whipped my head back to him. His face held genuine sincerity, no hint of humor left. "On the company card. Steak and lobster. Maybe even a glass of wine."

"Begging doesn't suit you, Malfoy."

"I am not begging yet. I am simply proposing solutions."

It was all too frustrating. I let the intruding thought I'd been battling that maybe he was doing this because he cared—that maybe I was special. It was the same hopeful yet bittersweet feeling I'd felt when he asked to meet again. I hated the way Draco Malfoy's attention had the power to make me squirm and change my mind. I hated that a man was the reason I was staying at a job I hated—that I was doing everything in my power to please him for years, not just months. I needed to get away from him. I needed to be free.

I steadied myself. "Here is a solution, Malfoy. I will take that letter to the Senior—"

He stood and cut me off by placing a hand over my lips. I bit him, but the hand did not move. "I will promote you. Director of Operations. Head of public relations. Charity organizer. Poster supervisor," his eyes were pleading. "Whatever you want, you're hired."

He held my gaze—likely satisfied by the way my glare turned into a look of curiosity, before taking his hand off of my mouth and stepping back. "You give me the word, Granger and I will make it happen. You'll have an office by Monday."

"Why," I turned my head to the wall to forbid him from seeing the way that left me flustered. "didn't you do this before I turned in my two weeks notice?"

There was a hint of that old humor in his voice when he said, "You haven't turned in your two weeks notice yet."

I chuckled drily, hope and hopelessness—anger and satisfaction—battling each other inside my chest. "Let me go, Malfoy. I need you to let me go."

"I can't do that, Granger."

"Draco—" I let his name slip from my lips, and it felt oddly effortless.

He grabbed my chin and forced me to face him. I avoided his eyes, knowing whatever I would find there would make me falter in the way only Draco Malfoy could. "I will owl the executive that we just filled the seat for Director of Operations."

"Malfoy, what if I don't want the Director seat?"

"Too bad, promotions are my decision." He said. The corner of his lip twitched.

"Malfoy I have the right to quit—you cannot force me to stay—"

And then, before I could breathe, his lips were crashing into mine.