"You know, Jason? Technically, humans require space to breathe. And you are currently standing so close I can smell your laundry detergent. It's very... industrial."
Scarlett halted at the threshold of the black van idling at the film set. She glanced back at the mountain of a man behind her, a figure who looked as though he had been carved from premium-grade concrete.
Jason didn't blink. His eyes, as flat and unreadable as a chalkboard, continued to scan the studio parking lot. "My duty is not to manage your oxygen circulation, Miss Scarlett. My duty is to ensure no 'pollution' comes within a two-meter radius of you. Mr. Julian's orders are absolute."
"Pollution?" Scarlett arched an eyebrow. "You mean the Manhattan dust?"
"I mean anything with two legs, a male anatomy, and the potential to disrupt your emotional stability. That includes your co-star," Jason replied, his intonation unwavering.
