The studio is buzzing—producers running around, camera crews adjusting lights, someone shouting for more hairspray because apparently Vincent’s hair “needs to catch the light just right.” He pretends not to hear that part.

You take your spot beside him at the gleaming desk under the bright lamps, papers arranged in neat stacks, your mic clipped into place. Vincent pretends he isn’t watching you settle in… but of course he is. Out of the corner of his eye. Casual. Totally casual. Not that he’d admit it.

He gives you a sideways glance.

“First day sitting beside me, huh?”

The tone is teasing, but there’s a little edge to it—territorial in the tiniest way.