The Mismatch
Zara lane was having a perfectly controlled morning, until her boss walked into her office holding a podcast microphone.
“Cancel your lunch plans,” he said, dropping it onto her desk like it was a live grenade. “You’re co-hosting a charity episode. Today.”
Zara blinked. “A what?”
“A podcast,” he repeated, already heading for the door. “About modern dating in Velora. Good PR for the firm. They want a lawyer’s perspective.”
She glanced at the neat stack of files on her desk, her carefully timed schedule flashing through her mind. Tuesdays were for client meetings, not… whatever this was. She didn’t do unscripted. She didn’t do casual banter. And she definitely didn’t do strangers.
But one firm eyebrow raise from her boss told her this wasn’t optional.
An hour later, Zara was in a small recording studio on the other side of Velora City, smoothing the lapels of her navy blazer and wondering how exactly she’d ended up here.
Then he walked in.
Leke Bush didn’t just enter a room—he strolled into it like he owned the air. Tall, with a relaxed smile and an effortless confidence that was almost irritating. Ripped jeans, plain black T-shirt, messy curls that probably took no effort at all. A laptop under one arm. A takeaway coffee in his hand.
He glanced at her and grinned. “So… you’re the serious lawyer they warned me about.”
She arched a brow. “And you’re late.”
“Traffic,” he said easily, sliding into the chair opposite hers. “Also, I stopped for coffee. Want some?”
“No.”
He leaned back, clearly amused. “This is going to be fun.”
The sound engineer gave them a thumbs-up from behind the glass.
It wasn’t fun. At least, not for Zara.
The first ten minutes of recording were like sparring with a stand-up comedian who didn’t know when to quit. Every time she gave a precise, well thoughtout answer about relationships or modern dating, he twisted it into something playful, borderline ridiculous.
Listeners whoever they were were probably laughing. Zara was mostly just trying not to roll her eyes.
“So,” Leke said, after she made a point about long-term compatibility, “are you single because no one meets your legal standards, or because you’re secretly married to your job?”
The nerve.
“Maybe I’m single,” she replied coolly, “because I prefer intelligent conversation over cheap provocation.”
The sound engineer snorted. Leke just looked delighted.
Somewhere between his exaggerated impression of a bad first date and a playful argument about love languages, she caught herself almost smiling.
Almost.
When the episode finally wrapped, she gathered her notes and stood. “Thank you. Good luck with… whatever it is you do.”
“Podcasts,” he said with a grin. “And charming people who don’t want to be charmed.”
She left without replying. She would never see him again.
Or so she thought.
Two days later, her phone buzzed with a message from her boss:
Episode’s gone viral. They want you and Leke for a full season.
Zara stared at the text, her stomach tightening. Somewhere in Velora, Leke Bush was probably smiling like the devil.
