Distortion

Her heels tapped out a stern verdict against the glossy, well-polished floor, drawing ever closer to the intended door. Pressing down on the door handle, she glanced once more at her neat, red nails—a symbol of freedom—and then, opening the door, peered into the office. The dark walls seemed to devour the light, turning the room into an elongated portal where the only yellow beacon was a desk lamp, its steady glow falling on papers resting on the soft wood. The man looked up, his murky, pensive gaze shifting to one that was studying, cold, ready to push back. “I’ve developed a plan,” the girl began, laying out the documents she had been holding onto the desk, atop other papers. “Printed everything out so that—” “Who are you?” James glanced down briefly, skimming the letters diagonally. The girl pursed her lips when interrupted but, after a pause, placed the final sheet on the desk. “I was hired by Sam Wilson for you,” she said firmly, taking a step back. “Lauren Winter, Development and Public Relations Manager.” “I don’t need this,” he started sorting the papers, separating his documents from those Lauren had brought. “Actually, you do,” she leaned over the desk, pointing a finger at one of the items on the sheet. “After barely holding on in Congress for a year, and considering everything that happened the following year, plus in '45, and a bit later… you definitely need me.” “I’ve already atoned for everything in '45 and 'a bit later, '” James cut her off, and Lauren tilted her head, enveloping them in a soft cloud of perfume. They both knew he was lying. “The world still remembers,” Lauren straightened up, taking the papers from his hands. “To earn real redemption and a reputation not just as one of the Avengers, but as a genuinely good man, you need a plan. And I have one.” James said nothing, studying his new acquaintance intently. She definitely had grit, a core strength that could move mountains. Her appearance, alluring, shrouded in mystique and a hint of sadness, played a big part, and Lauren knew it, leveraging her traits to the maximum, perfectly timing her moves. She knew who her next client was and was ready, having remade herself entirely for the sake of victory. “I was warned you have a heavy gaze,” there was a hint of a joke in her voice, but the corners of her lips barely twitched. “That refusing is pointless when you’re not the one paying?” “Those are donations from people who already sponsor all the expenses,” Barnes leaned back tiredly in his chair, crossing his arms. “Including the parties. I know because I’ve already reviewed the budget,” Lauren looked around as if searching for a chair, but the room held nothing except a lone cabinet against the far wall. “You need to work for the people who sponsor all this, not sit here sulking in your office like it’s a cave.” “A circus monkey?” James didn’t understand when the tone of their dialogue had shifted, but deep down he was glad the excessive formality had left their conversation. “Not necessarily,” she placed the papers back on the desk again, turning them toward her interlocutor. “A few meetings, charity galas for which there are already current invitations, press conferences. I’ve signed a contract, so it doesn’t matter to me. If not you, they’ll send me to someone else. All the new Avengers have reasons to work on their reputations.” “Thunderbolts,” Barnes corrected her, leaning closer. “Perfect,” Lauren, taking his gesture as agreement, carefully pulled out the second page. “Better to start with this one.”