I ended the call with Emi, a faint smile lingering on my face. She'd talked about the show's contestants with such genuine enthusiasm that I'd nearly forgotten I was supposed to be manipulating her. There was something almost refreshing about her unfiltered joy over stupid reality TV drama.
"Gate to My Heart" continued playing on my tablet, the contestants' over-rehearsed confessions fading into background noise. I stretched my arms overhead, rolling my shoulders to work out the tension that had built up during the call.
"Sounded like you were having fun."
The air in the room shifted instantly. I turned to find Natalia leaning against my doorframe, arms crossed under her breasts. She wore a silk pajama set that belonged in a lingerie catalog—tiny shorts that barely covered her ass and a thin camisole that left nothing to the imagination. Her purple hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her eyes glinted dangerously in the dim light.