When her phone chimed with the burst of texts, Rosario's shoulders stiffened. It was gonna be Archer again. Pushing back against her last non-answer, probably, wanting to nail down a time and a date for their 'interview', and god, it was so fucking perverse of him. The son of an insanely secretive billionaire – a guy who went to paranoiac lengths to hide himself and his entire life and family from the public – just offering to tell he whatever she wanted to know about him. No, not even offering— he was practically cornering her into it, the jerk. Even when he was being helpful, he was annoying!
There was no way it wasn't a trap, or at least an excuse to mess with her some more. That was yet another thing of the long laundry list of skills he was infuriatingly good at. Like this afternoon! All Rosario had asked him was a basic numerical question – how many siblings do you have? – and Archer had found a way to string her along for over two hours, peppering his own questions in amongst pivots and equivocations and confusing slivers of information that raised far more questions than they answered. It was only on reading back over the text chain that Rosario realised he'd managed to glean far more about her than she had about him.
If it was Archer again, Rosario decided, she was gonna tell him to stick his head in a garbage disposal. (She probably wouldn't, since his family had the power to crush hers to powder, but the thought of doing so at least bolstered her a little as she reached for the phone.)
When she glimpsed the message that had popped up on her lock screen, the relief exploded from Rosario in a rush of breath. Oh, thank fuck. Not Archer. It was Lyra. Rosario was pushing her chair away from her desk even as she began tapping out a rapid reply.
God yes
In a matter of minutes, Rosario was climbing the final flight of stairs to the roof, practically bursting with the need to offload this latest piece of Archer fuckery.
"He said he has an evil half-brother," she announced, pausing only momentarily to inspect a plastic chair for water or suspect stains before flopping down into it. "Like, those exact words. Who the hell says that?!"