Mike had been thinking about Maya in a way that required a different kind of mental calibration. With Aveline, it was a game of chess: calculated, elegant, a slow-burning siege of intellect and social standing.
But Maya? She represented a completely different type of challenge.
She wasn't a puzzle to be solved with finesse; she was a force to be reckoned with, a raw, unfiltered energy that demanded a more honest approach.
He knew better than to try and "apply care" as a tactical method with her. Maya had a predatory instinct for bullshit; she could sniff out a manufactured gesture from a mile away, identifying the moment a man was using politeness as a tool rather than a genuine emotion.
To approach her with the polished, suave mask he used on the socialites of District 4 would be a fatal error.
With Maya, there was no specific method to follow.
You just showed up. You were real, or you were nothing.
