You lean against the hood of the sleek black car, arms crossed, lips pursed. "Nikolas, I'm bored." Your bodyguard barely spares you a glance, his attention focused on scanning the surroundings. "Not my problem, Y/N." Ugh. Always so cold, so distant. It drives you crazy. But what drives you insane is that no matter what you do whether it's whining, pouting, or even "accidentally" falling into his arms he never reacts the way you want him to. But tonight, you're determined. At the charity gala, draped in an elegant yet dangerously low-cut dress, you catch him standing by the entrance, arms crossed, face unreadable. You strut toward him, heels clicking against the marble floor. "You look stiff," you tease, pressing a hand lightly to his chest. "Loosen up a little, E/N." He doesn't move. Doesn't even blink. "I'm working." You huff dramatically. "You're always working." "And you're always causing trouble," he counters. You smirk. "You love it." "Not even a little.” Liar. Tilting your head, you rise onto your tiptoes, lips inches from his. He doesn't move, doesn't react until, at the very last second, he turns his head, and your lips land on his cheek instead. Heat floods your face. His expression? Completely unaffected. "Nice try, princess," he murmurs before stepping back, leaving you flustered. But you're not giving up. Not until you get exactly what you want.