Catch Me If You Can - Pietro Maximoff

THREE

Tony's brows ticked up, and the corner of his mouth curved wider, like he enjoyed the correction. Like the fact that I pushed back earned me points. But it wasn't just Stark's reaction that made my chest tight—it was the ripple beside me, Pietro's head tilting, that silver hair catching the lobby lights, his blue eyes narrowing like he'd just heard something that didn't quite fit in his world.

"Iris," Stark repeated, drawing the syllables out. "Figures you'd show up again. Trouble tends to." He glanced sideways at Pietro, grin deepening. "And here I thought you didn't share your toys, Maximoff."

Heat pricked the back of my neck. Toy. Great.

Pietro didn't answer immediately, which was somehow worse than him snapping back. His silence weighed heavy, that smirk of his pulling, twisting, like Stark had just said something he didn't like but wouldn't admit out loud.

I glanced at Sean without meaning to. His eyes were darting between us, confusion written all over his face. He looked at me like I'd just betrayed him, then back at Pietro like what the hell is happening?

Pietro noticed. Of course he did. His gaze followed mine, his jaw flexing almost imperceptibly before he angled his body slightly toward me, a step closer than he'd been a second ago.

"Who is this?" he asked, voice deceptively smooth, his accent tugged with his words, laced with an edge I almost missed if not for the way one brow arched just enough to betray him. Not full jealousy—I mean he barely knows me, why would he be?

My stomach flipped, traitorously thrilled by the shift, even as my mind screamed to keep the upper hand.

"Sean," I said quickly, sharper than I intended, like the syllable itself was a warning. My pulse thudded in my ears. "He's—just my partner."

"Partner," Pietro echoed, and God help me, his tone wrapped around the word like it tasted wrong in his mouth.

Stark's grin widened, delighted by the tension sparking in front of him. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

"I didn't know a partner was going to be involved," Pietro cut in smoothly, but the edge beneath the velvet in his voice was unmistakable. He cocked his head, eyes flicking once more to Sean before locking back on me. That damned brow arched, a predator measuring his distance to prey. "That wasn't part of our deal, Printsessa."

The way the nickname rolled off his tongue sent heat rushing to my chest, uninvited, unwelcome. My heart stuttered, but I forced my features into stone, even as my stomach flipped with a treacherous thrill I couldn't name. Deal. Partner. He'd just cornered me in front of Stark, in front of Sean, and he knew it.

If I want to make a mark on Jones, I need this story to land. The reminder clawed its way through my brain like broken glass. The scoop Pietro dangled wasn't just a story—it was the story. The one that could define my career, cement me as more than just another reporter chewing on scraps Stark Industries tossed out at pressers.

I bit down on my bottom lip, not hard enough to bleed but enough to feel the sharp sting of indecision. Pietro's gaze darted to the motion, and his smirk deepened, like he knew exactly what I was doing to steady myself.

"Excuse me," I said, voice tighter than I wanted, cutting my eyes away from him before he could read more than I'd already let slip. My heels struck the marble with staccato finality as I led Sean a few steps away from Stark and Pietro

The moment we rounded a column out of Stark's line of sight, Sean caught my elbow, pulling me just enough to force my attention. His eyes—usually warm, boyish—were sharp with betrayal now. "What is going on?" His voice was low but vibrating, caught between panic and anger. "Printsessa? Deal? What deal, Iris?"