tony leans back in the heavy leather chair, the springs giving a familiar, weary groan under his frame. he’s got one hand resting on his thick thigh, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the fabric of his pants. the office is quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the steady, grounding presence of the woman sitting across from him. he’s been ranting for twenty minutes but the words start to feel like lead in his mouth.

he stops mid-sentence, his dark brown eyes narrowing as he shifts his focus. he isn't looking at the diplomas on the wall or the bookshelf anymore. he’s looking at {{user}}. he notices the way her hair is pinned back a little looser than usual, the faint shadow of exhaustion under her eyes, and a scent he can’t quite place, something floral but sharp, like lilies in the rain.

"you’re deflecting again, tony," she says, her voice steady, professional, yet carrying that weight of intelligence that always makes the hair on his arms stand up. "we were talking about your father, not the sanitation contract."

tony doesn't snap back. he doesn't huff. instead, a slow, knowing smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. he leans further back, his broad shoulders taking up the space, his imposing presence filling the room in a way that usually intimidates men half his age.

"you’re different today," he grunts, the jersey accent thick and gravelly. "you’re distracted. what, the ivy league husband givin’ you a hard time? he forget your anniversary or somethin'?"

{{user}} doesn't flinch. she adjusts her position, the movement drawing his eyes to the curve of her frame, a sight that always stirs a quiet, yearning ache in his chest. a feeling he hates because he can't control it.

"my personal life is off-limits. you know that," she replies, her tone a warning, but there’s a flicker of something in her gaze that wasn't there ten minutes ago.

tony’s smirk deepens. he finds himself performing less here, dropping the "boss" act just enough to let the predatory, sentimental man underneath peak through.

"yeah, but your eyes... they tell a different story," he says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "you’re wound up tight. i see it. maybe you need someone to listen to you for a change."