Luna Chen sat down in Wilson's chair without asking. She swung one leg over the other, perfectly poised, the tip of her heel tapping against the metal frame. Her perfume was sharp, a note of sweetness with something darker underneath.
She didn't say a word at first. Just watched him like a cat who'd found a mouse pretending it wasn't cornered.
Wilson leaned back on the edge of his desk, arms folded, fighting to look unaffected while his head filled with the echo of her thoughts.
Poor Mia. She really thinks she's so different. She forgets men never stay loyal to the ice queen when fire's right in front of them.
He forced himself not to react. He'd always known Luna was ambitious. He hadn't known how deep the game went.
She ran a fingertip along the armrest of his chair, casual but deliberate. "You handled the pitch well," she said lightly. "Better than I thought you would."
In her mind: Better than I wanted. Next time, maybe I'll distract you first.
He gave her a lazy smile, hoping it would hide how his pulse was hammering. "Was that a compliment, Chen?"
Her mouth curved into something dangerous. "Call it an observation. You don't usually need backup. But lately…" She let the word hang between them. Her eyes flicked to the door where Mia had left just moments ago. "Seems like you do."
Her thoughts tangled with amusement and calculation.
Let her keep cleaning up your mess. Eventually, she'll snap. And when she does, I'll be right here.
Wilson couldn't help it he laughed under his breath, just enough to keep the panic buried. "You're very interested in my support system today."
Luna's smile widened. "Only because you're interesting when you're off your game. You never let anyone see you slip except her."
Wilson didn't answer. He didn't trust his voice not when her mind kept throwing knives and sugar at him in equal measure.
She leaned closer in his chair, her perfume hitting him full force. "We should talk sometime. Alone. About how you're really doing."
Her mind whispered: About how I can break you open.
Before he could answer — or throw her out — a sharp knock broke the air. Wilson's breath caught.
Mia. Standing just inside the door she hadn't fully shut. She must have doubled back. Her eyes swept over Luna in his chair, then flicked to Wilson. Her expression gave nothing away. But her mind was fire.
Of course she's here. Should've known. Shouldn't care.
"Wilson," Mia said, tone clipped. "The Wexler team wants final figures by noon. Don't be late."
Her gaze cut to Luna. "You're needed in digital, Luna. Now."
Luna's smile didn't slip, but her mind bristled.
Don't get possessive, Mia. You'll lose.
She rose slowly, smoothing her skirt, all sugar and steel. "Of course. Good talk, Wilson."
She brushed past Mia at the door, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Sparks flew silent ones only Wilson could hear.
Mia stepped inside, shutting the door harder than necessary. Wilson opened his mouth to say something, anything, but her glare pinned him to the desk.
"You think this is a game?" she asked.
Before he could answer, her thoughts cracked through him louder than her voice.
Don't you dare lie to me now.
Wilson had been many things clever, careless, charming. But in that moment, standing in front of Mia Hamilton with Luna's perfume still clinging to the air, he realized something dangerous.
He couldn't lie to her anymore. Not even to himself.