"That Lamborghini isn't yours," Dayana snarled, pointing while three colleagues laughed. "Is it yours?" Laure asked, smiling without moving her eyes from the espresso machine. "Stop playing dumb," Dayana said. "Everyone knows you ride Rex's coattails. You're the CEO's... you know." "You're saying I'm the CEO's mistress?" Laure's tone was flat. She set the cup on the counter like setting a small trap. "Don't act shocked," Dayana said. "We see who gets the invites. You were in his box at the charity gala. You sit in his meetings. Don't pretend you earned anything." "Then tell me," Laure said. "What should I call you? Dayana, social media star? Dayana, office hero? Dayana, rumor queen?" "Quit it," a man snorted. "She's just jealous." "Am I?" Laure asked. "You felt the need to point at my car out in the lot. Interesting form of jealousy." "She stole our spotlight," one of the girls piped. "And she hides it. Classic." "Do you want the truth or the headline?" Laure asked. The tea room fell quieter than the laughter had been. "Both," Dayana said. "But don't try to act like you belong." Laure poured creamer with slow hands. "What's the headline you want?" Dayana leaned forward. "Laure Kelley, CEO's mistress. Intern turned sugar baby. The city will eat that." "That's bold." Laure smiled and looked at each face. "You said 'intern.' I know it's dangerous to take titles lightly