Chapter 86 – Ink and Intentions
The office wasn’t quite what Thiago expected.
Puma’s São Paulo headquarters sat in a low-rise building near Avenida Faria Lima, all sleek glass walls and soft white lighting that made everything look expensive but not flashy. The reception area had smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and expensive coffee when they’d walked in, the kind of place where assistants in tailored suits answered phones in three different languages.
But the actual meeting room was smaller than he’d imagined. Just a matte-black table that reflected the overhead lights like still water, two snake plants in the corners that looked like they’d been watered exactly enough to survive but never thrive, and a tray of untouched bottled water sweating in the air conditioning. The chairs were too stiff, the kind that made you sit up straight whether you wanted to or not.
And right in front of him, thick as a textbook and just as intimidating: the contract.
Thiago sat stiffly, trying not to fidget. He could feel the new fabric of his button-down sticking to his back—his mom had made him wear it, said it looked "professional," but the collar kept rubbing against his neck. Across the table, Leo from Puma lounged in his usual black turtleneck, looking completely at ease as he spun a pen between his fingers. Beside him, a woman from legal with perfect manicure flipped through an identical stack of papers, her highlighter squeaking against the pages with each underline.
Marina, his agent, sat next to him, her sharp blazer making him feel even more underdressed. She scanned the document with the focus of a chess player studying the board, occasionally making a small noise in her throat when she found something interesting.
"So," Leo said, nudging the contract toward him with two fingers. "This is it. What we talked about on the rooftop, now in writing." His voice was calm, but there was an energy underneath it, like he was trying not to smile.
Thiago swallowed. His mouth felt dry. "Yeah."
The legal woman smirked without looking up. "Nervous?"
"A little obvious, huh?" he admitted, rubbing his palms against his slacks.
Marina didn’t look up. "Good. Means you’re paying attention."