Manson leaned back slightly, his voice smooth as ever.
"Congratulations," he said lazily. "You're officially the saddest woman on earth."
Fiona dropped back onto the couch with a sigh.
"No point arguing with you," she muttered.
Almost instantly, Manson leaned forward. The shift was subtle but deliberate. The director's eyes widened slightly, sensing something shift in the air.
"Then don't argue," he said softly. "Be sweet with me instead."
Fiona lifted her gaze, meeting his directly.
"In your dreams," she replied without hesitation.
A beat of silence passed.
Then Manson raised a hand mid-air toward her face but didn't touch her yet.
"But my dreams do come true," he murmured.
Fiona turned her face away on instinct, but his fingers gently caught her chin, guiding her back to face him. Slowly. Unavoidable.
His eyes darkened slightly as they locked onto hers.
"Don't you dream about me?" he asked quietly. "Because I dream about you... often."
