Next day at work Nevaeh decided to push her luck and try to bound with Mordred and be his peace but mordred wanted to just be him ...
Nevaeh leaned against the doorway of Mordred's dressing room, arms folded, a playful smile on her lips.
"Have lunch with me," she said casually.
Mordred, who was fixing his cuffs in the mirror, barely spared her a glance. "No."
His response was instant, effortless, as if he had been expecting the question and had already decided on his answer long before she even asked.
Nevaeh raised a brow, undeterred. "That was fast. You didn't even think about it."
"I don't need to," Mordred replied smoothly, finally turning to face her. "I don't do lunch dates. Or whatever this is."
Nevaeh scoffed, stepping further into the room. "Relax, superstar. It's just lunch. No hidden motives, no expectations. Just two people, sitting down, eating, and maybe having a conversation that doesn't involve me holding a recorder in your face."
Mordred exhaled, shaking his head as he grabbed his jacket. "Not interested."
He brushed past her toward the exit, but Nevaeh wasn't done. If there was one thing she hated, it was being ignored.
—
For the rest of the day, she pushed.
She found ways to insert herself into his space, lingering near his crew, "accidentally" bumping into him in the hallways, and even making playful remarks whenever their paths crossed.
"You know, you're making this more suspicious by avoiding me," she teased at one point.
Mordred shot her an unimpressed look. "Or maybe you're just persistent to a fault."
"Oh, absolutely," Nevaeh admitted shamelessly.
By the third time she casually brought up lunch, Mordred finally stopped, turned to her, and sighed deeply.
"Nevaeh."
She grinned. "Mordred."
His jaw clenched, his patience visibly thinning. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" she asked innocently.
"You know what." His voice was sharp, his gaze hard.
Nevaeh tilted her head. "Because you fascinate me."
Mordred let out a short, humorless laugh. "Fascinate you? I'm not a damn mystery novel, Nevaeh."
"No, but you're just as frustrating," she shot back, crossing her arms. "You act like you're untouchable, like no one can get close to you. But I don't buy it."
His expression darkened. "That's your problem, not mine."
For the first time, there was real irritation in his tone. Nevaeh could see it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists. She had been poking at a locked door, and Mordred was dangerously close to slamming it shut in her face.
But instead of backing off, Nevaeh smiled.
"You're pissed," she mused. "That means I'm getting somewhere."
Mordred stepped closer, his towering presence almost suffocating, his blue eyes stormy with frustration. "Nevaeh, you don't know what you're messing with."
She held her ground, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Then enlighten me."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was thick, charged, neither willing to back down. Then, with a low exhale, Mordred shook his head and turned away.
"Stay out of my way," he muttered before walking off.
Nevaeh watched him go, a slow smirk forming on her lips.
He was running.
Good. That meant he felt something.
And she wasn't about to let that go.