Chapter four.

Meeting moved without you.

The e mail came in at nine forty six, a m buried between vendor updates and a company wide memo about the cafeteria's new menu.

Ave almost missed it, subject change of time project sink body.

We'll start at nine o'clock instead of nine thirty today, see you.

Then she blinked at the time stamp.

The meeting had already happened.

Her calendar still showed the original nine thirty slot.

She scrolled up, searching for a cancelation notice or an updated invite.

Nothing.

A knot formed low in her stomach.

Missing a meeting wasn't the end of the world.

But missing one without knowing it had been rescheduled, that was something else entirely.

Colin appeared at her desk just before ten, coffee in hand.

Missed you in the sink, he said, I didn't know it was moved, she replied.

Riley said you were tied up on something else.

Colin said, with a shrug.

We figured you'd catch the notes later.

The words stung.

She hadn't been tied up.

She'd been sitting at her desk ready for the original start time, oblivious to the fact that every one else was meeting without her.

Was it important, she asked, just status updates?

Colin said, but you know how it is easier to be in the room.

She did know.

Being in the room wasn't just about hearing what was said.

It was about being seen, having your presence logged in people's minds.

Miss enough of those and you became a question mark.

At ten twelve, Riley strolled up, looking fresh from the meeting.

We got through the agenda faster without the late start, he said.

Lightly.

My invite still said nine thirty, Ava said, ah.

Riley replied, tapping his temple.

I sent an update last night.

Must have gotten lost in the shuffle.

I didn't get anything well, he said, with a shrug.

We'll make sure you're looped in next time.

The easy tone made it sound like nothing, a harmless oversight, But in Ava's mind the facts arranged themselves neatly.

He had been in the room, she had not, and now everyone there had heard.

He thought she was tied up.

She opened her note book and wrote day eight to nine forty six a m project sink moved to nine o'clock.

No updated invite in inbox.

Riley told group I was tied up.

Then she added a question in the margin, who saw the updated time.

The rest of the morning crawled.

Ava kept replaying the missed meeting in her head, wondering how many people had accepted her absence without question.

She thought about asking Colin to forward the notes, but stopped herself.

Notes were summaries, summaries left out, tone, pauses, side glances, all the small things that mattered when you were trying to read the undercurrent.

By lunch, she'd made a decision.

She wasn't going to accuse any one of anything.

She was simply going to keep her own record of calendar changes, every invite, every update, every cancelation.

If there was a pattern, she'd see it.

She created a private folder on her desktop labeled cow logs and took her first screenshot today's invite, showing the original nine thirty start time untouched.

Two days later, it happened again.

It was a Thursday morning, and Ava had blocked her first hour for prep work before the weekly client check in.

The invite in her calendar had been sitting at ten a m.

Since the start of the month, solid consistent.

At nine thirty eight, a ping appeared in her inbox, starting in five, Conference Room B.

She checked the time stamp.

The message had been sent at nine thirty three.

No formal update to the calendar, no change in the invite, just a last minute, off the record email.

Ava grabbed her note pad and hurried to conference Room B, arriving with one minute to spare.

Inside, the table was already full, the air warm from conversation.

Riley sat near the far end, leaning back in his chair like he'd been there for a while.

Glad you could join us, he said, smiling.

The words were neutral, the tone was not.

The meeting moved quickly, and Ava took notes, careful to record action ida in her own words.

Still, she could feel eyes on her once or twice when someone referenced a prediscussion she hadn't been part of.

When the meeting ended, she lingered just long enough for the others to file out.

Riley stayed seated, scrolling on his phone.

You switched the time, she asked, keeping her voice steady.

Didn't switch it, he said, without looking up.

Just started a little earlier so we could wrap before the client call.

You didn't send a calendar update.

It was last minute.

I figured you'd see my email.

I did, she said, but I was almost late.

He glanced up.

Then eyes easy, you made it.

That's what counts.

Back at her desk, Ava took her second screenshot for the cow log's folder, the original recurring invite showing ten am paired with the nine thirty three starting in five email.

She added a new entry to her notebook.

Day ten.

Client check in began early.

No calendar update email notice sent twenty seven minutes before scheduled time.

She underlined the date twice.

That afternoon, she overheard Riley talking to someone in the hallway just outside her cubicle.

His voice carried enough for her to catch every word.

She's solid on the deliverables, but her timing can be unpredictable, hard to pin down.

Sometimes the person he was speaking to she couldn't see, who made a small sympathetic sound.

Riley's tone softened, almost conspiratorial.

It's fine, I keep her on track.

Ava stared at her monitor, willing her expression not to change.

She knew the image he was building.

Not careless, not incompetent, just unreliable enough to need managing.

It was the kind of perception that could settle quietly into the background of people's minds until it felt like truth.

She typed another note in her log day ten, Riley tells collagam hard to pin down, offers himself as the solution.

She closed the note book and set her jaw.

The next morning, Ava arrived fifteen minutes earlier than usual.

She wasn't here to impress any one.

She was here to make sure her own record started before anyone else's version could take root.

She opened a blank spreadsheet in her personal drive and titled it attendance Log.

The first row had four columns date, meeting, scheduled time, actual start time.

A fifth column read notes.

In the note's column for that day, she typed, and at eight forty five a m at desk logged into all systems before nine o'clock.

It was tedious, but that was the point.

If the perception was going to be that she was hard to pin down, she would have a counterweight ready, facts, time stamped, and neat that day's project status meeting stayed on schedule.

She made sure to arrive at the conference room ten minutes early, her note pad and pen already on the table before anyone else walked in.

Riley entered two minutes before start time, coffee in hand, his gaze flicked to her seat, eyebrows lifting slightly, but he didn't comment.

The meeting passed without incident.

Still, when Ava updated her log afterward, she noted arrived eight minutes before start.

Present for all discussion.

It was less about the entry itself and more about what it meant.

She was building a parallel history, one that couldn't be quietly edited by anyone else.

The real test came the following week.

She was at her desk, headphones on, reviewing a proposal draft when Riley stopped by.

Hey, we're starting the budget review now.

Didn't you see my message?

Ava clicked out of her document.

What message sent it a few minutes ago, he said, gesturing vaguely toward her screen.

She checked her inbox.

The email was there, time stamped nine fifty seven a m with a subject line quick change review starting early.

The original invite had the meeting set for ten fifteen.

Ava glanced at her watch.

Ten o two.

I'll be there in thirty seconds, she said, standing When she walked into the conference room at ten o four, most people were still settling in papers, shifting laptops opening.

She took a seat and opened her notebook, noting the actual start time as ten o six.

Back at her desk, afterward, she updated the attendance log scheduled ten fifteen early start email sent at nine fifty seven actual meetings start ten oh six, present before first agenda item.

Later that afternoon, she heard Riley in the hallway again.

This time his voice was light, almost joking.

I tried to throw her off this morning, but she beat me to the room.

A small victory, but one that told Ava two things.

He noticed her timing, and he was aware she was watching his moves just as closely as he was watching hers.

By the end of the week, Ava's attendants log had grown into something more than a spreadsheet.

It had become a quiet anchor.

Every meeting, every schedule change, every quick adjustment email was there, with time stamps and brief notes.

She didn't share it with anyone she didn't need to.

Its value wasn't in broadcasting, It was in having something solid to stand on when the ground shopfted.

She also started saving full calendar screenshots whenever an invite was updated or a meeting time moved.

Each screen shot went into a dated folder on her personal drive, named in a way only she would recognize.

Ten calendar proof, eleven calendar proof, and so on.

The system paid off sooner than she expected.

It was Monday morning and the weekly planning meeting was set for nine forty five.

At nine thirty five, Ava received an instant message from Riley, don't rush.

Meeting pushed to ten.

She glanced at the open conference room across the aisle.

Through the glass, she could see three team members already inside, papers spread on the table.

Riley sat with his back to the glass, speaking to the group.

She clicked open the official calendar invite.

It still said nine forty five, No update, no change.

A slow, deliberate calm moved through her.

She gathered her notebook and pen, stood and walked into the conference room at nine forty one.

Conversations dimmed slightly as she sat down, flipping to a fresh page in her notes.

Riley's head turned just enough for their eyes to meet.

There was no visible reaction, just the faintest pause in his sentence before he continued.

The meeting began on schedule at nine forty five.

Ava took careful notes, jotting down every action item with time stamps in the margin.

Back at her desk, she added the morning's entry to her attendant's log, scheduled nine forty five, nine thirty five am from Riley, saying meeting push to ten arrived nine forty one, meeting began nine forty five.

She also took a screenshot of the unaltered invite and saved it to the day's calendar proof folder.

For a moment, she just sat there, staring at the neat rows of entries in the log.

This wasn't paranoia, This was documentation.

This was a wall she could build, brick by brick until it was high enough to see over whatever game Riley was playing.

That afternoon, as she packed up for the day, she felt the shift wasn't just trying to manage her perception with others.

He was now testing her directly, setting traps to see if she'd step into them.

She walked out of the building into the cool evening air with her bag over her shoulder, knowing the chapter had changed.

The moves were no longer subtle scheduling quirks.

They were deliberate positioning plays, and she had no intention of letting him play alone.

Chapter five a joke that wasn't.

The office cafeteria was never quiet, but thursdays had a different energy.

That was the day.

People drifted in a little earlier, formed loose circles around the tables, and lingered longer after lunch.

No big reason, just a midweek habit that had built up over time.

Ava rarely joined these gatherings.

She preferred eating at her desk, where she could finish her food without performing small talk.

But today Riley had stopped by mid morning with an almost too casual invitation.

We're all grabbing lunch in the cafe, he'd said, leaning against her cubicle wall.

Be good for you to come, team bonding and all that.

It was the kind of request that wasn't really a request.

Declining would be noted, so she said yes.

By the time she got there, most of the team was already seated at two long tables pushed together.

She took the open chair at the far end, across from Maya from Design and next to Chris from Operations.

The noise was easy forks on plates bursts of laughter from the middle of the table.

Riley sat near the center, angled so he could see down both sides.

His plate was still mostly full, but his coffee cup was empty.

He was talking about a project deadline when the conversation shifted, as it always did, into something more personal.

It happened fast.

One moment they were talking about delayed shipments, the next Riley was grinning in her direction.

Speaking of delays, he said, did you guys hear about Ava's famous elevator adventure?

The words landed like a small stone dropped into a pond light, but with ripples that reached every seat.

Heads turned, even those mid bite looked up.

Ava frowned slightly.

What elevator adventure?

Riley chuckle, leaning back, Oh you know that morning you got stuck between floors and were almost late to the client call.

You were panicking, pressing all the buttons like in the movies.

A few people laughed, not loud, but enough.

She remembered the day he was talking about, except it hadn't been like that at all.

She'd stepped into the elevator, the doors closed, and for about thirty seconds, it hadn't moved.

She'd pressed the door open button once, stepped out, and taken the stairs.

She'd been five minutes early to the call.

But that wasn't the version Riley was telling.

Ava kept her expression neutral, Correcting Riley in front of the whole table would make her look defensive worse.

It would turn a passing comment into a prolonged exchange, and he would win either way.

If she laughed along, it would reinforce his version.

If she pushed back, she'd risk looking humorless.

So she let out a small smile and said, guess I'm famous now, then took a slow sip from her water bottle.

Riley smirked, clearly satisfied, and launched into an exaggerated retelling.

In his version, she had jabbed the buttons like a street fighter and yelled for help into the security camera.

He even mined the button pressing, leaning forward with jerky movements, making the table laugh harder.

Chris, sitting next to her, glanced over mid laugh, as if checking her reaction.

Maya didn't laugh at all.

She was looking down at her plate, pushing food around with her fork.

That told Ava something.

After the story ran its course, the conversation shifted, but the residue stayed.

She could feel the subtle change in the air, the slight smirk on one colleague's face when she mentioned a deadline later that afternoon, the teasing tone someone used when asking if she survived the elevator ride.

The next day.

It wasn't about the elevator.

It was about introducing a label, a character trait, in this case, a subtle frame of incompetence wrapped in humor.

And that was the problem with this kind of move.

It traveled faster than the truth.

When she got back to her desk, she opened a new tab in her attendance log file.

This wasn't about meetings, but it was still evidence.

She labeled the sheet humor incidents and added date Thursday, setting team lunch story Riley Retell's elevator delay incident, inaccurately framing his panic and incompetence.

Audience full team reactions mixed, maya silent Chris laughed, Others varied impact, subtle teasing afterward from two colleagues.

Then she sat back, tapping her pen against the desk.

If Riley was willing to reshape small, harmless events into jokes at her expense, there was no reason to think he'd stop there.

Humor made it harder to challenge him.

After all, it was just a joke, except it wasn't.

The afternoon dragged, but Ava's mind wasn't on her tasks.

It kept replaying Riley's grin as he told the elevators story.

Not the words, she could hand handle those, but the way he used the room.

He had a rhythm to it, drawing people in, pacing his delivery.

So the punchline landed after he'd made I contact with half the table.

It was an improvisation, it was performance, and if this was a performance, it meant he'd rehearsed it, even if only in his head.

By three o'clock, she decided she couldn't let it go unaddressed.

Not by confronting him outright.

That would be too direct, too easy for him to twist.

No, she needed to set her own precedent.

When her small project team gathered in the breakout space later that day, the chance came faster than she expected.

Chris, flipping through his notes, looked up and said, with a grin, Ava, no elevator delays today.

She smiled, Nope, still haven't had one since that thirty second pause in January.

She let the phrase hang in the air, calm, precise, impossible to twist without looking obvious.

Then she added, good thing, I'm faster on stairs than Riley is with a coffee order.

The group chuckled.

It was a big laugh, but It shifted the moment the jab was light, and Riley wasn't there to counter it.

More importantly, it reframed the incident in their minds thirty seconds, not a stuck elevator, and a reminder that she'd been early, not late.

That night.

She added the exchange to her humor Incident's file, not because it was damaging, but because it was her first deliberate correction.

It made her think about Maya's reaction at lunch.

Maya's silence hadn't been loyalty.

It had been discomfort.

People who stayed quiet in moments like that weren't allies, but they weren't enemies either.

They were potential neutrals.

If she handled things carefully, she might shift a few of them into her corner.

The following week, Ava saw it happen in real time.

It was Tuesday morning, barely past nine, and a few people had gathered by the coffee station.

Riley stood with two analysts from finance, leaning on the counter, cup in hand.

His voice had that casual, offhand tone she'd come to recognize the warm up phase before he tried something.

And you know how Ava is with her deadlines, he said, smiling in that half charming way, always early, but somehow still looks like she's running late.

The analysts chuckled politely, but it wasn't the easy laughter from the cafeteria last week.

Riley's eyes flicked toward them, gaging, and he added, it's like her superpower.

That softened it, made it sound more like a compliment, and the analysts nodded before drifting away.

Ava had been at the printer when she caught the exchange.

She didn't step in, didn't comment, She just filed it away.

He was testing, not the elevator's story this time, but something similar in tone, a slight nudge toward an image of her as flustered, just barely keeping it together.

It was smaller, more controlled, no audience of ten people, just two, both low risk, both unlikely to relay it back to her unless she overheard he was shifting his approach.

That afternoon, she passed Riley in the hallway.

He gave her a friendly nod, as if nothing had happened that morning.

That was the trick, Keep it light, keep it smiling, so if she ever called him out, he could feign confusion.

What I was joking, You're reading too much into it.

She decided to push back again, not hard, not directly, just enough to leave a mark.

Hey, Riley, she said, as they crossed paths.

Next time you're telling people about my superpower, make sure you mention how I beat you to that client proposal last week.

Balance the story right.

Her tone was warm, but her eyes stayed steady.

He paused a fraction too long before smiling.

Of course, he said, wouldn't want to leave out the good parts.

When she returned to her desk, she opened her Humor Incidents file and typed in the update, but this time she added a new column response.

Given if this was going to keep happening, she needed not only to track his moves but also her counters.

It was starting to feel less like defending her reputation and more like a chess game.

Chapter six.

After hours, the quarterly team mixer supposed to be casual, a few drinks, some appetizers, and a chance to mingle outside the office.

The bar was dimly lit, all warm amber tones and low music, the kind of place where conversations blended into a low hum Ava arrived early, claiming a small table near the wall.

She preferred having her back against something solid in settings like this, it gave her a better read on the room.

Riley walked in twenty minutes later, already talking to two colleagues from sales.

He wore that slightly loosened tie, the off duty but still professional look.

His eyes scanned the room and landed on her for half a second before moving on.

For the first hour, things were fine, light talk about weekend plans, travel stories, work, gossip that stayed comfortably surface level.

Ava even found herself laughing at a story from Maya about a disastrous camping trip.

Then Riley slid into the conversation, beer in hand.

Hey, speaking of disasters, he said, remember that time Ava nearly sent the wrong fire to the client.

Whole thing was Ava's stomach tightened.

She knew exactly what he was about to do.

Like a movie scene.

He continued, papers flying her talking a mile a minute.

Don't send it.

Don't send it, he grinned, and the group laughed.

Only problem that wasn't what happened.

The file mix up had been caught before it left their system, and she hadn't been the one who caught it late, Riley had.

This time.

Ava didn't let it slide.

Riley, she said, her voice steady, but cutting through the laughter.

You're forgetting the part where you uploaded the wrong version, and I had to stop it before it went out.

The laughter dimmed.

Maya's eyebrows lifted.

Riley chuckled, but it was tight.

Ah, yes, my heroic savior, he said.

Guess I left that part out?

You did, she replied, holding his gaze.

Important detail.

He smiled, but there was a flicker, a brief tightening around his eyes before he turned back to the group.

The conversation moved on, but Ava could feel the shift.

She'd interrupted the flow of his story in front of an audience, and he hadn't expected it.

By the end of the night, she'd made another note in her humor incident's file.

This one she tagged with a different color red to mark it as crossing a line.

It wasn't just an exaggeration or playful jab anymore.

It was a rear write of events that shifted blame, and that was dangerous.

The next morning, Ava arrived early, as she always did.

The office was quiet, sunlight spilling across rows of empty desks.

She had barely set her bag down when she heard footsteps behind her.

Morning Riley said, his voice casual.

He carried a coffee in one hand and leaned against the edge of her desk got a second.

Ava closed her laptop lid, keeping her expression neutral.

Sure, he smiled, but it wasn't the easy, room filling smile he used in group settings.

This one was small or tighter, meant for a one on one about last night.

He began, I hope you didn't take that story too seriously.

You know me, I like to keep things light.

Ava nodded slowly.

I like light, but I like accurate too.

Riley's smile didn't waver, but his eyes sharpened just slightly.

Fair enough.

I just think sometimes you can come off a little intense.

Not a bad thing, he added quickly, But you know how people can be there.

It was a neatly rapt warning.

Now I'm upset, you corrected me.

But if you keep doing that, people might think you're difficult.

Ava let the silent stretch.

She wanted him to feel the weight of it.

Then she said, I'm okay with being intense if it means being truthful.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Riley gave a soft chuckle and pushed off her desk.

Fair enough, he repeated, we'll keep it balanced.

He walked away, and she watched him go.

Her pulse steady.

She knew balanced, and his language meant something entirely different from hers.

She opened her humor Incidents file and logged the conversation.

In the response given column, she wrote, pushed back, no apology.

In the note section she added private framing attempt, subtle thread about reputation.

It was becoming clear that every interaction was part of a pattern.

The question now was whether he was aware she was mapping it out, or if he still believed she was reacting in the moment.

Unprepared, She intended to keep it that way.

Two days passed before Riley made his next move.

On Thursday morning, Ava arrived to find a small paper bag on her desk.

Inside was a still warm almond croissant from the cafe across the street, the one that sold out before eight thirty most days.

Tucked into the bag was a folded note, thought you might need this after a long week.

Her first instinct was suspicion.

Riley wasn't the random kindness type.

Every gesture he made served a purpose.

Still, she unwrapped the pastry and set it beside her coffee.

When Riley appeared ten minutes later, he leaned casually over the divider between their desks.

Figured you deserved one, He said, You've been carrying a lot this week, thanks, Ava replied, keeping her tone light.

Nice surprise.

He lingered a moment, then added, you know, I was thinking about that thing the other night.

You're right, I probably should have included the part where I messed up.

I get carried away with stories sometimes.

It was almost an apology, almost, but there was no acknowledgment of why he'd left that part out in the first place, or what impact it had.

It felt more like an attempt to smooth over tension on his terms.

Later that afternoon, she caught him in the break room talking to two newer team members.

She didn't hear the whole conversation, but she caught the tail end.

Yeah, Ava's sharp keeps me honest, he laughed, as if it were a joke, but his tone was just soft enough to sound like praise.

That was the string attached to the croissant.

It wasn't about making peace.

It was about setting a new frame for her in other people's minds, one where she was sharp, maybe a little confrontational, but still part of the team.

He wasn't giving up the role of storyteller.

He was a justing it.

That night, Ava wrote in her log gesture plus reframe keeps conflict low profile, signals adaptability.

She realized that meant the game wasn't going to be won with one big confrontation.

It was going to be a slow battle, fought in moments so small most people wouldn't notice them at all, and she was fine with that.

She had the patience for it.