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“I don’t like you wasting my time, Maryse.”
Said woman looks up with him with a lethal and disgusted glare. Magnus merely smirks and leans back casually on the Lightwood’s couch, arm draping over the side like a lazy cat. He knows he can destroy this place, this business, the Lightwood reputation with a snap of his fingers.
He isn’t going to, at least not now. But it’s the thought that counts.
“I don’t know what you mean, Magnus.” Maryse says stiffly, her shoulders hunched upwards like a little mannequin.
Magnus raises an unamused eyebrow, “Magnus? That’s awfully informal of you, Maryse. Since when have we become friends?”
Maryse’s fists clench in her lap, and the sight makes Magnus lips curl up. He likes this little game they’re playing. See, the thing is, he’s Magnus Bane. He owns the entirety of New York, both the mundane areas and the criminal underworld.
And the Lightwoods are his pets. Little pesky things, really, but they amuse him with their self proclaimed bullshit of power. So he lets them run free, without realising he has them on a tight leash.
Like he said, with a snap of his fingers.
“I’m growing tired of this game.” Magnus drawls, rubbing his fingers together. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”
Maryse grits her teeth. It makes her look old.
They’re similar ages. Magnus is in his early forties, and as far as he’s concerned, Maryse is in her later forties. But when she was in her twenties, she was shaking it up with a Lightwood and getting pregnant, whereas Magnus was establishing power. Tomato, Tomahto.
Priorities, he thinks.
“What is this rumour I’ve heard about you making deal with the Morgensterns?”
Maryse’s eyes widened for a tiny second, before she’s wearing her impassive mask again.
Bingo.
He’s not a fan of the Morgensterns, or the Circle as they like to officially be called. He doesn’t like how power hungry they are, nor does he like the little slime ball Valentine or his son Johnathan.
Magnus wishes to crush them under his designer boot like the bugs they are. And he needs to rid connections they have before he can do so.
Connections that shouldn’t even exist if everyone he owns just listens to what he says. It’s really not that hard to follow the rules he’s enforced. The Lightwoods are apparently incapable of even a slither of respect.
Nasty parasites.
Magnus frowns and tuts at her, “It’s not true, right?”
Maryse turns her head away as if that’s an answer enough.
“Answer me, Maryse.” Magnus says, and he rolls his head around his neck. Gosh, this woman gives him a headache. All those measly Lightwoods do.
“We’re not making any deals with the Morgensterns.” Maryse says adamantly.
Magnus mock pouts at her, “Don’t lie. I hate liars.”
“I’m not lying.” Maryse answers.
Magnus sighs through his teeth. Stubborn bitch. He thinks she’s accountable for the grey straggling hairs on his temple. She’s way too big for her boots by now.
He needs to remind her who’s boss.
Standing up in a smooth action, Magnus steps toward Maryse till he towers over her. He takes in the tight, boring blue pantsuit, the ironed white shirt and black heels. Her hair is tied in her usual ponytail, makeup perfect.
But there’s little cracks in her mask. Magnus can see the wrinkles of her makeup, the slight smear of her red lipstick. Her blazer is rumbled with a crease. And her fists create little crescent moons into her skin.
“Tell me, Maryse.” Magnus says quietly but dangerous, his eyes narrowed. “Who owns New York?”
Maryse flares her nose and stays stubbornly silent.
“Tell me.”
There’s a few more seconds of silence before she answers, “You, Mr Bane.”
Magnus lets a wicked smile grow, “Good, good.”
He leans down, taking in her musky perfume. Gucci, he believes. What a snob.
“Now, tell me that you’re going to refuse the Morgensterns when they come to contact you again, hmm?”
“I’ll refuse them.” Maryse hisses and she looks furious.
Magnus preens and runs a finger under her chin, lifting her conceited head till they met, eye to eye. He remembers her as a young woman, all fiery, uncontainable passion. She’s a disappointment, he thinks. So much potential, wasted. Wasted in the misery of Robert Lightwood, and his grubby, greedy hands.
A pity.
“That’s right. Because I could destroy you without blinking, my dear.” Magnus muses. “You’re treading on thin ice, and I’d be wary to disobey my rules again or maybe I’ll go after your children. How old is the youngest? Twelve, right?”
Maryse bucks back in horror and her breath goes unsteady.
A mother’s children is always her weak spot. Magnus would know. Better than most, even.
He opens his mouth to tell this woman that much, but a single, abrupt knock sounds out in the office.
Maryse’s gaze flickers to the door, and Magnus lets go of her chin and straightens up. He feels the displeasure of being interrupted flare up, and he stares down at Maryse with a pinched lip.
“Well?” He says. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
Maryse pauses for a second. He can tell she’s weighing up the pros and cons. He wonders who has the gall to interrupt the Magnus Bane, or even Maryse Lightwood. Someone with balls, that’s for certain.
He raises his eyebrow with impatience.
Maryse takes that as an indication.
“Come in.” She calls calmly, her fists curled tightly together.
Magnus stands next to her, arms crossed. He knows what the picture creates. He’s the one in power in this room. He dominates the boss. He is the true boss. Anyone who thinks otherwise is just in denial, or stupid.
The door opens and Magnus inhales sharply as an angel enters the office.
He’s never met someone so perfect before. Tall, dark, handsome, young. Messy, ‘I’ve just had sex hair’, beautiful hazel eyes and a defined body hidden in a well fitted, all black suit. There’s a hint of stubble on that sharp jaw, and Magnus thinks he sees a tattoo on the angel’s neck.
Oh, who is this?
Magnus smirks, fingers itching to claim that pale skin.
He wants to know who this is. He’s going to find out who this is.
The angel pauses when he sees Magnus, and then slowly, his eyes drag down Magnus’ velvet dressed form and back up again, eyes darkening. A sinister, small part of Magnus positively awakens at the mutual attraction.
The man bits his lip without thinking and rubs his neck, eyes darting away.
Perfection, truly.
“What is it, Alexander?” Maryse asks with a hint of annoyance.
Magnus scowls at that. How dare she speak to this angel that way?
Alexander.
A perfect name suited for an angel such as himself. Magnus can picture purring that name in ecstasy.
Alexander flinches and his arms go behind his back in a military like pose. Magnus imagines him doing it in his bed, on silk sheets, waiting impatiently as Magnus trails his fingers down his chest, leaving possessive red marks behind. He almost moans at the thought.
“Your three o’clock is here.” Alexander says, and his voice is husky, low, and arousing.
“I’ll be down there after this meeting. Tell them to wait for me.” Maryse replies, and Magnus can hear the dismissal.
He doesn’t like that.
Alexander nods and turns to leave, but not without looking back at Magnus one last time, golden green eyes meeting hazel.
Magnus knows that he’s going to own that angel. No, he’s going to possess him until Alexander’s mind is filled with Magnus, and Magnus only.
“What is your full name?” Magnus says, and Alexander freezes.
Alexander looks back and there’s a hint of a grin on his delicious lips. His gaze turns to Maryse but drifts back to Magnus like he’s a man addicted. That’s just magnificent, Magnus thinks.
“Alec. Alec Lightwood.”
Oh.
Maybe Magnus won’t hate all the Lightwoods after all.
Magnus grins darkly and runs his painted, fingernail over his lip, noticing how Alexander’s eyes follow it, “Good to know. I’ll see you soon, Alexander.”
Alexander’s lips purse open in a tiny gasp and Magnus can’t help but imagine him on his knees, mouth open. Naked.
Alexander leaves after that, with a blush staining his cheeks and Magnus turns back to Maryse, triumph. The woman glares at him, her fingers twitching. Her face is flush with fury.
He doesn’t care.
He has plans after all. Plans for his angel.
So he hums and tilts his head, “What a lovely son you have, Maryse. Truly breathtaking.”
Maryse narrows her eyes, and Magnus laughs proud and smiles with more teeth than lip.
He trails his finger across the arm of her chair.
“Tell me about him. Tell me everything.”