Chapter Text
Wanda frowned, running her fingers through her hair. The auburn locks mocked her, laying over her shoulders as she ran her eyes over them. There was something wrong, whether it was the curls or the style, Wanda couldn’t tell. Whatever, fuck her hair, and fuck her roommate for getting sick.
A groan sounded out from the other room, and Wanda let her frustration slip away. It wasn’t Kate’s fault for getting sick, but it just so happened to be at the most unfortunate time. Really, Wanda should be studying for her finals, her textbooks laying open on the kitchen counter. But instead, she was here running her fingers through stubborn hair and mentally cursing out her roommate as she searched for a hair tie.
The only thing that would save her appearance now was a ponytail, high on her head. Anything to give the illusion of confidence. At least her slight curls would give her hair some dimension.
Sighing, Wanda let herself look away from the mirror, catching a glimpse of dark circles under her normally vibrant green eyes. Were her cheeks more hollow than usual? She couldn’t tell, but judging by the way her stomach rumbled, she knew she had forgotten about eating in favor of studying for the past few weeks.
Swiping some concealer under her eyes, Wanda dabbed the product into her skin as she walked towards the living room. Kate was a good roommate, always cleaning up after herself and offering Wanda ice cream after every failed date she went on. But truly, she’d chosen the worst time to get sick. Wanda had volunteered, of course, but interviewing some rich multi-millionaire was not high on her fun list.
“You’re a lifesaver, truly,” Kate mumbled, her flushed cheeks appearing over the arm of the couch. She’d been running herself ragged, trying to write papers and organize some questions for this interview. It was at Romanoff’s Global Enterprise, a special section for the school newspaper. Goddamn Kate and all her extracurriculars. Now, instead of losing herself in textbooks and notetaking, Wanda was driving 165 miles into Seattle in her shitty old Honda.
Evidently, the CEO she was meeting today was an enigmatic and charming woman, one of the youngest millionaires in the country. Natasha Romanoff. God, even her name sounded rich.
“I’m so sorry Wanda,” Kate’s voice was raspy, and Wanda filled a glass of water for her. “This interview took me months to get, and by the time I would be able to reschedule, we’d both be graduated. You know I’m the editor for the newspaper, I can’t give up this opportunity. I’m not even kidding, it's the chance of a lifetime.” Her eyes were wide and red-rimmed. Even though she looks like she’s on death's door, Kate still manages to have flawless skin and long, flowing hair. Wanda feels a pang of sympathy, bringing the glass of water over and swiping a bottle of NyQuil from the counter.
“It’s okay, Kate. I promise. Take this and go the fuck to bed, you look like you’re seconds away from passing out.”
“Fine, but here are the supplies you’ll need,” Kate reaches for her bag, pulling out a recording device and a printed stack of questions. “Just hit record and ask all these questions, I’ll transcribe everything later when this fever goes away and I can finally think straight.”
Wanda suppresses the wave of panic that rises in her, taking the questions and recording device with slightly trembling fingers and tucking them safely in her messenger bag. She wouldn’t do this for anyone else, only Kate.
“Go to bed, I’ll be fine,” Wanda says, her voice not sounding as confident as she’d like.
Giving her a knowing look, Kate shuffles off towards the bedroom, a blanket wrapped around her. “You’ll be fine, just ask the questions and that’ll be enough information to get you through the interview. And Wanda,” Kate pauses at the door, her tired gray eyes finding green. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“I’d better get going,” Wanda smiles, her hands shooing her roommate through the door. “It’s a long drive, and I don’t want to be late.”
“Good luck, you’re my favorite roommate.”
“Kate, I’m your only roommate.”
—
The drive is easy, not many people are up this early. The trees whizz past, Wanda’s foot never leaving the gas pedal as she makes her way towards the city. She doesn’t have to be at the interview until two this afternoon, but there’s something intoxicating about driving 15 miles over the speed limit on a bare highway.
Pictures of a tall, curved glass building float through Wanda’s mind. She was certain that the pictures of Romanoff’s Global Enterprise on Google didn’t compare to the actual building itself, and she brushed off the waves of anxiety building inside her chest.
It’s a quarter to two when Wanda pulls her car in front of the building. The reflective glass stares down at her, the top of the building too high to see without craning her neck. Large lettering spells out Romanoff above the entryway, and Wanda feels her fingers trembling as she hands her keys to the valet driver. Honestly, a valet driver? How much more over the top could this day get?
Walking into the lobby, Wanda hears the muted click of her low heels as she tugs her dress shirt down. A tall blonde woman walks towards her, a smile plastered on her face as her eyes rake up and down Wanda’s body, no doubt judging her outfit. The woman looks pristine, with a slicked-back ponytail and a subtle hint of mascara. Her blazer is sharp and tailored, and Wanda fights the urge to tug her dress shirt again.
“I’m here to see Ms. Romanoff, my name is Wanda Maximoff,” The statement comes out as more of a question, and Wanda blushes under the scrutinizing look the blonde gives her.
“One moment, Ms. Maximoff,” the woman says, her perfect brow arching slightly as she appraises Wanda one last time before turning her attention to the large iPad in her hands. She swipes a few times, a small smile gracing her features as she finds what she’s looking for.
“Ah, Ms. Bishop was expected, but I see that was changed last minute. Right this way, Ms. Maximoff,” the woman turns, walking confidently towards the elevators. “If you could sign this, please.”
The blonde hands Wanda the iPad, and she quickly signs her name. It looks illegible, and Wanda hopes her signature isn’t going anywhere except to the security office for verification. She fights the urge to fix her ponytail, her eyes landing on the blonde woman’s slicked-back hair tied high on her head. Maybe a quick tightening of her hair tie wouldn’t hurt.
“Press the button for floor twenty.” The woman turns, catching Wanda’s hands as they shoot down from adjusting her ponytail. A graceful smile spreads across her face, “Have a good interview.”
Wanda thanks her, accepting the badge the blonde hands her. It has the words VISITOR stamped across the surface. Awkwardly adjusting the badge until it’s pinned to her jacket, Wanda scoffs internally. As if anyone in this building didn’t already know she was only a visitor. She might as well write the word on her forehead to go along with her outdated shoes and slightly too-large jacket.
The elevator ride is quick, shooting up towards the twentieth floor smoothly. Wanda is greeted by the sight of yet another pristine, clean lobby. Another blonde woman sits behind a desk, quickly rising as Wanda steps out.
Running a hand over her hair, Wanda reaches into her bag. She’s never felt self-conscious about her hair before, but after seeing no less than five impeccably dressed blonde women, she can’t help but think she sticks out like a sore thumb.
Pulling out the recording device and the slightly crumpled stack of questions, Wanda curses herself for not researching Ms. Romanoff. The woman could be ninety years old for all she knew. She hadn’t searched up her name at all, and fights the urge to smooth down her shirt as she glances towards the receptionist.
The upcoming one-on-one interview looms in the front of her mind, nerves causing her fingers to systematically rub the pages in front of her. Wanda hated attention being focused on her, much preferring the anonymity of a group discussion or a crowded room. Sitting on hard white leather chairs and staring at the city skyline from a large floor-to-ceiling window was not something Wanda would consider as a happy place.
Wanda wonders if Ms. Romanoff insists on all her employees being blonde as yet another smartly dressed woman appears from around the corner. The blonde’s eyes glance towards her, doing a subtle double-take before smoothly stepping towards her.
“Ms. Maximoff?”
“Yes,” Wanda hopes her voice isn’t trembling too badly.
“Ms. Romanoff will see you shortly, can I offer you a refreshment? Coffee, tea, water?”
“Water is fine, thanks.” Her throat is suddenly parched, and she takes the cup from the blonde woman gratefully.
“She will see you shortly.” The woman says, a small smile plastered on her face as she turns and walks towards the desk. She sits next to the other blonde woman, her attention focused on the computer before her. Wanda wonders if she should call them Thing One and Thing Two as the clacking of a keyboard fills the empty, sterile feeling space.
A door opens, a tall man stepping through as he chuckles at something. He bids a brief farewell, barely glancing at the blonde woman, who Wanda notices has jumped to their feet in his presence. They seem nervous, one woman ushering the man towards the elevator while the other hurriedly gestures for Wanda to stand.
“Ms. Romanoff will see you now,” she says and pushes Wanda towards the open door.
Wanda walks through the door, one hand gripping the recording device and the other holding the stack of papers close to her chest. She steps through the door, catching a glimpse of a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows, before she promptly trips.
Her palms catch her, the papers flying from her hands as the recording device clatters to the floor. Fuck. This was a terrible first introduction.
The sound of heels steadily approaching reaches Wanda’s ears, and she feels her face burning as she scrambles to pick up the items now strewn across a polished marble floor. Bracing herself, she manages to glance up.
“Ms. Bishop,” A long-fingered hand is extended. “I’m Natasha Romanoff, are you alright?”
Holy shit. Wanda finds herself speechless, her lips parted as her mouth hangs open slightly. She quickly gathers the rest of the papers, gratefully taking the cool hand with her own as she stands.
Ms. Romanoff is absolutely stunning. There are no words to describe her, and Wanda feels herself taking in the woman’s appearance. Long legs and a tight, black pencil skirt, an hourglass figure that means this woman spends countless hours in the gym, and a dark green button-up shirt with just enough buttons undone to show the barest curve of her chest. Blinking, Wanda feels herself flushing further, the sight of Ms. Romanoff’s rolled-up sleeves and bare forearms sending her head spiraling.
“I’m okay,” Wanda manages, feeling her breath catching. She finally manages to drag her eyes toward Ms. Romanoff’s face, finding the barest hint of a smirk and kind, vibrant green eyes. She’s mildly surprised to see dark red hair, and she suddenly doesn’t feel as out of place as she did before.
Looking down, Wanda startles at the sight of a hand still outstretched. She takes it, shaking firmly as a spark of something runs through her fingertips. It travels down her spine, filling her with warmth.
“Um, it’s actually Wanda,” she begins, flushing under the sharp eyes that remain locked with hers. “Um, Maximoff. Wanda Maximoff. Kate, I mean Ms. Bishop is sick so… here I am.” She concludes lamely, the barest hint of amusement in Ms. Romanoff's eyes.
The silence stretches, and Wanda finds herself speaking again. “I study English literature. With Kate, I mean um… Ms. Bishop. At school. Our school, Washington State. I hope you don’t mind that I’m here.”
“I don’t mind.” is all Natasha says, and she gestures towards a leather L-shaped couch. “Would you like to sit?”
This office is far too big for one person, a large desk near the center of the room. Wanda assumes it’s Ms. Romanoff’s. She walks towards the corner of the office, large glass windows extending around the couch and a few comfortable-looking chairs. There’s a dark mahogany desk, with enough chairs to seat a dozen people all around it. She wonders if Ms. Romanoff ever leaves this office, and takes in the minimalistic artwork hanging on the walls.
“The table was handmade by a local artist,” Ms. Romanoff says, her head tilting when Wanda looks back at her. She flushes, knowing that the woman had been watching her look around the room.
“It’s beautiful,” Wanda murmurs. “Seemingly ordinary resources crafted into something exquisite.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Natasha agrees, her voice low and sounding like melted butter. Wanda finds herself blushing at the sound.
Distractedly, Wanda sinks onto the couch as Ms. Romanoff gracefully sits on one of the black leather chairs across from her. Her fingers fumble, dropping the recording device onto the wood roughly. The blush must be semi-permanent at this point, spreading across her cheeks and over the tips of her ears as she turns the recording device on. Finding the first page of questions, Wanda realizes that she never read the questions in advance.
Off to a great start, then.
“I apologize,” Wanda lets a hand run along the side of her head, a ghost action of tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m not really used to this.”
“Used to what?”
“One-on-one interviews, they feel oddly intimate. I’m much more acquainted with blending into the wall in a crowd.”
“Take all the time you need,” Ms. Romanoff says, a small smile on her face. “I’m ready when you are.”
“Do you mind?” Wanda gestures towards the table, “I would like to record your answers for my roommate, I mean… Ms. Bishop.”
Ms. Romanoff smirks widely at that, amusement dancing on her flawless features. “You already started recording, now you’re asking for permission?”
Is she teasing? It sounds like she’s teasing, but Wanda is too flushed with embarrassment to really place the emotion behind Ms. Romanoff’s words. The woman takes pity on her.
“I don’t mind.”
“Did Kate, uh… Ms. Bishop explain what the interview was for?”
“Yes,” Natasha settles into her seat, a faint look of boredom overtaking her face. “This interview will be placed in the school newspaper as a feature article since I will be the featured speaker at this year's graduation ceremony.”
Oh. Kate had forgotten to mention that little detail. Wanda hoped the surprise at the news wasn’t showing on her face.
“Oh, good,” Wanda cleared her throat. “In that case, let’s begin.”
“Yes, let's.”
Is she… teasing? Again? Wanda feels as though she’s been thrust into an alternate dimension. She sits up straighter, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to look more confident than she is. Professional, that’s what Wanda is hoping to achieve.
“You’re very young to have amassed such an impressive empire.” The words feel almost monotone. Scripted. “To what do you owe your success?” Wanda glances up, and Natasha’s smile falls into a vague look of disappointment.
“In short, business is all about people. I excel at knowing what makes a person tick, and I am an excellent judge of character, Ms. Maximoff. I know how to inspire, and most importantly, how to incentivize.” Natasha’s dark green eyes lock with Wanda’s, pinning her to her seat. “I believe that I must know every detail in order to achieve success, knowledge is power after all. I make my decisions based on logic, not feelings. In short, I know people. I know how they tick, and I know how to inspire them.”
“Well,” Wanda flounders, the answer sounding rehearsed to her ears. God, this woman is arrogant. “Maybe you’re just lucky.”
A startled look flashes across Ms. Romanoff’s face, surprise appearing in her eyes momentarily before it’s brushed away. “I don’t believe in luck, Ms. Maximoff. I believe in my own abilities, and I believe in the team that surrounds me. I select only the best to work for this company, and that is the reason for my success.”
“You sound like someone who is obsessed with control,” the words escape Wanda’s mouth before she can restrain them.
“I exercise control in all things, Ms. Maximoff,” Natasha says, not a glimmer of humor in her words. Her steel gaze locks with Wanda’s, impassive as she watches Wanda flush again.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Natasha continues as if she never heard Wanda speak. “Immense power is only acquired by those who are convinced that they have the ability to control the things around them."
Immense power? Yeah, total control freak.
“So you believe that you have immense power?”
“I employ over fifty thousand people, Ms. Maximoff. I am responsible for all of them. This responsibility gives me a certain sense of power. If I decided that a department wasn’t needed one day, such as a social media section of my team, hundreds of people would struggle to find a replacement job. So yes, I have power.”
The complete lack of humility and apparent empathy causes Wanda’s mouth to open, her lips parted slightly in disbelief.
“Is there a board you answer to?”
“I own this company. I don’t answer to anyone.” Ms. Romanoff raises a single eyebrow.
Wanda feels herself flush yet again. If she had done any research, she's certain she would have known the answer to that question beforehand. She changes the topic.
“What are your interests outside of work?”
The sharp curve of Ms. Romanoff’s eyebrow suggests that she knows what Wanda is doing, but the woman answers the question gracefully.
“I have many varied interests outside of work,” Natasha’s tone is bordering on playful, the slight curve of her lips almost teasing.
“Well, what do you do to relax?” Wanda asks, rephrasing her question. For some reason, the previous answer sent a flush down her spine.
“Relax?” Ms. Romanoff sits back in her seat, the heat of her gaze never leaving Wanda’s. “I engage in multiple physical pursuits. I’m a wealthy woman, Ms. Maximoff, I never tire of looking for hobbies.”
Not knowing how to respond, Wanda glances at the next question.
“You invest in engineering, why?”
Ms. Romanoff’s response is quick and practiced. “I enjoy the creation of things. I like knowing how they work, what makes them tick. How to build and create. I enjoy the process of creating something, adjusting to flaws, and perfecting things.”
“That sounds awfully sentimental.”
“Does it?” That damned subtle smirk is back, and Wanda looks down at the page in front of her. “There are many who say I don’t have the heart for sentiments.”
That makes Wanda look up. There’s a curious expression on Ms. Romanoff’s face. It disappears before Wanda can decipher it.
“Would your friends say you don’t have a heart?” Fuck. That wasn’t on the list of questions. Kate is going to kill her.
“Why would you presume they say that?”
“I assume they know you well, and you’re easy to get to know…” Wanda responds, her heart thudding.
“Well,” Natasha leans forward slightly. “I’m a very private person, Ms. Maximoff. I go to great lengths to ensure my privacy is well maintained. There is a reason I don’t often give interviews.”
“Then why did you agree to this one?” The question escapes Wanda’s lips before she can stop it, her curiosity taking over.
Natasha leans back, crossing a leg delicately over the other. “I’m a generous benefactor to your University, and in all honesty, Ms. Bishop was extremely insistent. She was relentless in her communications with my PR and assistants, and I admire her motivation.”
Fully aware of how tenacious Kate could be, Wanda curses her out mentally. Instead of studying for her finals, she was sitting in this cold, expensive office and interviewing a successful, rich woman not much older than her.
Wanda glances at the next question.
“Do you have a philosophy you live by? If so, what is it?”
“It's not so much a philosophy as a guiding principle. As Carnegie said, ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’ I like control of myself and those around me.”
“You sound like the ultimate control freak.”
Ms. Romanoff smiles sharply, a dangerous look appearing in her eye. “I suppose I am.”
Swallowing, Wanda feels as though the woman seated across from her is talking about something else entirely. She can’t quite pinpoint what it is. It frustrates her to no end, but Wanda just shakes her head and continues with the questions written before her.
“You were adopted,” Wanda pauses, this information is a surprise to her. She risks a glance up. Ms. Romanoff’s face is impassive. “How do you think this shaped the person you are today?”
Biting her lip, Wanda hoped she didn’t cross any lines. Ms. Romanoff doesn’t seem to be offended, but her brows furrow slightly.
“I have no way of knowing, Ms. Maximoff. My adoptive family is all I’ve ever known.”
“How old were you when you were adopted?”
Natasha’s lips curl into a wry smile. “That is information available by public record.” Her tone is stern, her words sharp. Wanda immediately flushes, feeling like hitting her own forehead against a solid surface. Repeatedly.
If only she’d done some research ahead of time. Well, no time to dwell on the past. Wanda speaks quickly, suddenly wanting this interview to be over.
“Does your family life encroach on your work?”
“It does not.” Ms. Romanoff’s tone is flat and hard, her response quick.
Wanda feels red-hot embarrassment slink down her spine. She should have looked over these questions ahead of time. Curse her inability to think ahead. She barely glances at the next question before the words are spewing from her lips.
“Are you gay?”
Ms. Romanoff blinks. Wanda feels her eyes go wide, darting down to the paper in front of her. Why the fuck is that question in here? Why didn’t Kate warn her, or… matter of fact, why did Kate think that was an appropriate question to ask?
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t…” Wanda trails off, her flush returning. “I didn’t know that was a question. You don’t have to answer that, I’m sorry. Let's move on.”
“I am.”
Wanda’s head shoots up so fast she strains a muscle. It shoots painfully down her neck, but the only thing she’s focused on is the dark green of Ms. Romanoff’s unwavering gaze.
“You didn’t write these questions.” It’s a statement, and Wanda finds herself nodding.
“Like I said before, my roommate was supposed to interview you today. These are her questions, for our school newspaper.” Wanda feels her fingers clenching the paper. She hopes she isn’t thrown out of the office. She couldn't bear the shame and judgemental looks the blonde assistants would surely send her way.
“Are you also a part of the school newspaper?”
“No, I-” Wanda falters, wincing at the dull tone in Ms. Romanoff’s words. “Kate asked me to come since I’m her roommate. She had no other options.”
“That explains a multitude of things,” Ms. Romanoff’s voice is quiet, her eyes boring into Wanda’s.
A soft knock sounds out, the door swinging open as blonde thing number one steps into the office. Wanda immediately resents her presence, a strange atmosphere encroaching on the space she was occupying.
“Your next meeting is in five minutes, Ms. Romanoff,” The assistant says, not sparing a glance towards Wanda.
“Cancel it, we’re not done here.”
Wanda looks up, her hands already preparing to sweep the recording device into her bag as she makes her escape. The assistant is gaping, her eyes flicking between Wanda and her boss. Natasha raises a single eyebrow, and the assistant bows her head slightly before leaving and gently shutting the door behind her.
“I hope I’m not taking up valuable time,” Wanda says, her hands still hovering over the recording device.
“You aren’t. Besides, I want to know about you.” Ms. Romanoff tilts her head slightly, her lips turning up slightly. “It’s only fair, after all.”
That damned flush makes itself known once again, traveling over Wanda’s cheeks and down her neck. She folds the corner of her paper, the crease sharp beneath her fingers and she bites her lip briefly.
“There’s not much to know, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” Ms. Romanoff’s eyes are sharp, assessing. “What are your plans after graduation?”
Wanda recognizes the escape for what it is and seizes it wholeheartedly. “I don’t have any plans, I’m too focused on exams at the moment.”
“I see,” her voice is low, her posture relaxed, and her eyes piercing. Ms. Romanoff uncrosses her legs slowly, leaning forward slightly. “We offer an excellent internship program here.”
Letting out a soft chuckle, Wanda smiles slightly. “I’m sure you do. Although, I’m not sure I'd fit in here.”
“No?” Her head tilts again, green eyes unwavering. Wanda feels trapped suddenly, the weight of the woman’s gaze pinning her to the couch. She lets out an uncomfortable cough.
“Isn’t it obvious?” The statement is evasive, but Ms. Romanoff answers without hesitation.
“Not to me, it isn’t.” Her gaze is heavy, eyes all-knowing and locked on Wanda. There’s a new sort of tension in the air, all traces of awkwardness gone and replaced with something heady. It’s making Wanda’s head spin, and she breaks eye contact with some effort. Reaching towards the table, she turns the recording device off, placing it gently into her bag.
The tension breaks, Ms. Romanoff standing slowly as Wanda shoves the papers into her bag.
“Would you like a tour?”
Wanda pauses, her hands stilling. Why is she asking that? Isn’t she the CEO of the company?
“I’m sure you have many other important things to attend to, Ms. Romanoff. Besides, I should get on the road before it starts raining too heavily.” Wanda glances out the window, taking in the dark clouds on the distant horizon.
“You’re driving back to campus today?” Ms. Romanoff sounds almost concerned. Wanda tries not to stare at her in shock, blinking quickly. The woman clears her throat, an authoritative tone taking over as she speaks. “Be careful.”
“I will. Thank you for the interview.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” she says, polite and dismissive.
Wanda stands, closing her messenger bag. She takes in the woman in front of her, letting her eyes glance over the impeccable outfit the woman has put on. Truly, she should be taking notes on how to dress in a business formal manner, and she’s got the perfect model in front of her. Blinking that thought away, Wanda takes in the small smile creeping onto Ms. Romanoff’s face.
“Until we meet again, Ms. Maximoff,” she holds out her hand, gripping Wanda’s fingers in a gentle yet firm hold.
Will they meet again? Wanda can almost guarantee that they won’t, but something in Ms. Romanoff’s eyes tell her differently. She shakes it off, labeling it as nerves running rampant through her mind. Of course, they wouldn’t meet again. A classic case of a rich, hot CEO meeting a poor college student, their paths crossing once and never entangling again, akin to a set of perpendicular lines.
“Ms. Romanoff,” Wanda nods slightly, letting the woman walk her to the door.
Opening it wide, the woman holds out a hand. A small smirk graces her features. “I am averse to my guests tripping more than once in my presence, and I’d like to ensure your safe journey from my building, Ms. Maximoff.”
“Well,” Wanda flounders for a moment. “That’s very considerate of you.”
At least someone is amused, Wanda thinks as she steps through the door. She considers shooting a victorious glance back at the woman, but decides that the action would be too childish.
Evidently, Ms. Romanoff doesn’t often escort her guests from her office, judging by the surprised looks the blonde assistants shoot their way. It all seems quite suffocating for a moment, and Wanda takes a deep breath.
A hand on her shoulder halts the escape she is about to make. The warmth from Ms. Romanoff’s firm fingertips sends something intoxicating through Wanda. She hopes the ensuing shiver isn’t too obvious.
“I have to swipe my card for the elevator to work on this floor,” Ms. Romanoff explains, pressing the down button.
Of course. That makes sense. Then why is her hand still resting on Wanda’s shoulder?
Almost as if she’s reading Wanda’s mind - or maybe her body language - Ms. Romanoff releases her hold. Her fingers linger briefly, tracing briefly over her arm as she fixes Wanda with a look.
The elevator doors open, and Wanda gratefully steps through. Turning, she sees Ms. Romanoff leaning casually against the wall. The sight is attractive, and Wanda finds her eyes lingering on the exposed forearms crossed in front of her body.
“Wanda,” the woman says, a goodbye, but without a note of finality.
“Natasha,” she replies.
The doors close.