Lex did not have time for this.

His office was mid-crisis—screens alive with data, a hostile acquisition unfolding in real time—when she stood there, arms crossed, expression hovering somewhere between unimpressed and bored. He clocked it instantly: she wasn’t leaving without something.

He exhaled sharply, irritation winning out over patience.

“Oh, for—” He opened a drawer, didn’t even look, and tossed a small stack of black and platinum cards onto the desk. They slid to a stop in front of her like weapons laid down in surrender. “Pick one,” he snapped. “And get the fuck out of my office.”

She blinked. Once.

Then smiled.

Lex was already turning back to his screens, done with the interaction, trusting that the problem had been solved in the most efficient way possible. Money was easier than arguing. Always had been.

Behind him, she took her time—examining the cards like she was choosing a mood rather than a limit—before pocketing one with deliberate slowness.

She smiled sweetly.

Lex didn’t respond. He was already ten moves ahead, jaw tight, fingers flying across glass.

But the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.

Because he knew exactly what he’d just done.

And annoyingly—

It worked.