The hotel room was quiet except for the ambient sound of the city filtering up through the window. It was the kind of quiet that sits in a room when two people are occupying it and one of them is very unhappy about being there.

’Thank god... he didn’t fuck me at all, but still... my... ugh... stop! It’s over!’ Madison shook her head.

Madison Reed sat on the edge of the bed, her posture tense and rigid, a reflection of someone who had resolved that the only thing she could control in this situation was her body language. She was staring at Mike, frustration simmering within her, as she replayed the limited options in her mind multiple times since they had entered the room, arriving at the same conclusion each time.

"Ahhhh~! Fuck, that shit was good..."

Mike stretched his arms overhead and rolled his neck, then turned to her with the relaxed demeanor of someone accustomed to these kinds of situations, where emotions ran high but urgency was seldom necessary.

"You’re going to get lines if you keep looking at me like that, you know?" he said.

She looked at him. "What?"

"Frowning like that." He crossed the room and sat down in the chair besides the window. "You’ve got a shoot tonight, right?"

"Wasn’t there something in the entertainment calendar about a cosmetics campaign or some shit?"

"I just hope that they don’t ask you to wear something revealing because I know those marks are still there," Mike laughed.

His knowledge caused her expression to change, similar to how expressions often shift when someone realizes that another person has conducted significantly more research than they anticipated.

"You’ve been looking into me," she said.

"Well, yeah, I spend hours and hours punishing you to just look at your sorry-ass expression of getting ruined," Mike said. "I look into everything."

"That’s not normal behavior."

"We’re calling it normal behavior now, huh? Since it’s going to be a family-friendly context, then..."

"Showing up to a university campus in disguise to meet a boyfriend that your agency is unaware of is also not normal behavior." He tilted his head. "We can argue about what’s normal if you want."

"I’ve got time, a lot of time, because I’m unemployed."

She folded her arms. It was a defensive gesture, which he noted, and also an uncomfortable one, which meant the composure was costing her something.

"So what is the matter? What do you actually want?" Madison tried to not look at his face. "Spill it fast because I want this to be a time thing only..."

"I told you! A conversation." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked at her directly. "And your phone number."

"My number," she repeated.

"Your personal one. Not the management contact or the line that goes to an assistant." He maintained eye contact with her. "I want your number."

She was quiet for a moment. "And if I give you that, you’ll—"

"I’ll keep what I have where it is," Mike said. "For now..."

"That’s what I’m offering at this moment. It’s not about permanence or guarantees. It’s just a starting point."

"That’s not a very reassuring offer."

"No," he agreed. "It’s not."

"You do realize this is extortion."

"That’s a strong word."

"It’s the correct word," Madison said. "You followed me, you photographed me without consent, and now you’re sitting in a hotel room telling me what you will and won’t do with it."

"That’s the definition."

"I prefer to think of it as leverage," Mike said. "Extortion sounds hostile, and I’m not hostile."

"Oh, fuck you... you really are hostile for what you did hours ago!" Madison gritted her teeth. "But... weird... You’re really not bothered by any of this, are you?"

"Should I be?"

She stared at him. "Most people, when they do something like this, at least have the decency to look guilty about it."

"I’ve found guilt is mostly just the emotion people perform when they want the other person to feel sorry for them," Mike said. "I don’t need you to feel sorry for me."

"I just need you to hear me out, or maybe it’s better if you start being submissive to me," Mike laughed.

"Oh, fuck off," she said, her voice flat. "Still... I don’t have a lot of other options right now, do I?"

"You always have options," Mike said. "You just don’t like the ones that are available."

She regarded him with the scrutinizing gaze of someone who had dedicated a considerable part of her career to understanding people, now faced with an individual who was not providing the familiar cues she relied on.

He exhibited no signs of nervousness, and he showed no excitement at all. There was none of the eager anticipation typical of those who believed they held power over someone from whom they desired something.

Instead, he simply sat in the chair, observing her as if he had already determined the outcome of their interaction and was allowing her the courtesy of reaching the same conclusion in her own time.

"Why my number specifically?" she asked. "What does that get you?"

"Access," Mike said. "The ability to reach you directly when I want to."

"Well, the same thing a number gets anyone."

"And then what? You call me? We chat? You tell me about your day?" Madison looked disgusted. "You’re not my boyfriend!"

"Maybe." He almost smiled. "You have a nice voice... I think the calls would be good."

"After what you just did to me..." She let out a short, humorless laugh. "You’re unbelievable."

"I’ve been told that before. Usually in a better context, but I’ll take it."

"Don’t do that," she said.

"Do what?"

"That." She gestured at him with one hand. "The charm thing. The smile. Whatever you think you’re doing right now—it doesn’t work on me."

"I’m going to remember everything that you just did to me, and trying to sweet talk it is just going to make it worse!"

"I’m not trying to charm you," Mike said. "I’m just talking to you."

"If those are the same thing, that says more about the kind of conversations you’re used to having than anything about me."

She opened her mouth. Then closed it.

The expression that crossed her face was neither anger nor any other specific emotion, and she appeared to decide not to examine it closely enough to identify it.

"You’re enjoying this," she said.

"I’m interested," Mike said. "There’s a difference."

"Enjoyment would mean I don’t take it seriously, but well, I do take it seriously."

"You have a very strange way of showing that."

"You’re still here," he said. "I think you take it seriously too."

A beat of silence. The city filtered in through the window, the low, moving noise of a Saturday evening that had no interest in what was happening in this room.

She reached into her clutch and took out her phone.

"As long as my reputation is safe... I think it’s safe to just do this, but I won’t answer fast if you try to chat or call me."

"Eh, that’s fine by me." He passed her his.

They exchanged numbers in a quiet moment that both understood was purely transactional.

She handed his phone back and looked at the contact she’d saved. "What do I call you?"

"Mike Hawk," he said. "It’s the name I’m using."

Something in the way he phrased that caught her attention. She looked at him. "The name you’re using."

"Everyone’s using something," Mike said. "You’ve been using Madison Reed all night."

"I’m fairly sure that’s not what’s on your birth certificate either."

She almost said something to that, then didn’t, which was the response of someone who had just recalibrated slightly.

"Should I call you the actress that got tainted by me?" Mike laughed.

"S-Shut up! Just Madison Reed is fine..."

"And... This doesn’t mean anything," she said. "You have my number, and that doesn’t mean you have access to me."