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He laughed nervously, as if that would lessen the impact of what he had just said. “Ms. Olivia is the main showstopper for an event since she’s being featured in the next business magazine issue. She was invited to walk the ramp for a designer with one of our actors.”
Sawyer halted in his tracks.
Slowly, he turned to Henry, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Henry.” His voice was dangerously low. “Should I fire you, or would you rather be shipped off to a war zone to fight a few battles before coming back with a working brain?”
Henry nearly cried.
But before he could plead for his life, Sawyer was already storming toward room twenty-eight, his coat hanging on his arm.
Henry chased after him, his voice rising in desperation. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark! I only found out about Ms. Ellie’s arrival five minutes ago! I wasn’t sure if it was something important to inform you about, or if you already knew since she’s your girlfriend… but also, Ms. Olivia is your—”
One sharp look from Sawyer had Henry snapping his mouth shut instantly.
He retreated to the farthest corner of the elevator, suddenly feeling like the spacious lift had shrunk into a coffin. He turned his gaze to the ceiling and silently prayed to disappear.
But the gods weren’t on his side today—he remained very visible and very doomed.
As soon as the elevator doors opened, Sawyer strode toward the rehearsal hall. Just as he reached the door, he suddenly stopped. His hands instinctively went to his coat, smoothing out invisible wrinkles.
Then, he hesitated.
It was the first time Ellie had come to his office since they met. The first time she would see him in his professional world.
For some reason, that unsettled him. His breath came a little uneven.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaled slowly, and turned to Henry with a raised brow. “How do I look?”
Henry blinked. “Mr. Stark?”
Sawyer’s lips twitched impatiently.
"Do I look fine?" Sawyer asked, his voice sharper this time.
“Uh… good, Mr. Stark. Very good.” Henry straightened and nodded rapidly, as if his life depended on it. Which, in a way, it did.
Sawyer cleared his throat, composed himself, and pushed open the door.
The hall was dimly lit, with only the center stage illuminated. But instead of graceful movements or coordinated choreography, there was chaos.
Onstage, ten backup dancers stood in black, while Olivia, dressed in a tight white outfit, was right in Ellie’s face, her voice sharp and condescending.
“I’m the main character in this show. Do you not get that?” Olivia snapped, arms crossed, lips curled in irritation. “It’s bad enough that you somehow ended up as my choreographer. Now, I told you—I want to swing off the stage with one hand and land at the main spot.”
Sawyer’s gaze instinctively drifted over Ellie.
Ellie exhaled slowly, her patience hanging by a thread. Ellie, wearing a short skirt with attached shorts and a fitted top, faced her, visibly tense. Hair pulled into a loose bun, face slightly flushed, she looked both exasperated and breathtakingly beautiful.
The way her tied-up hair revealed the curve of her neck. Even in the middle of an argument, she looked—
He clenched his jaw. Now was not the time for that thought.
Oblivious to his thoughts, Ellie kept her tone measured. “Ms. Whitlock, that’s impossible. You’re in a fitted outfit. How exactly do you plan to swing with a thin white cloth—in a dress?”
“I don’t care.” Olivia flipped her hair. “You’re the choreographer. Figure it out. In fact,youdo it first and show me. If you pull it off, then I’ll decide if I want to do it."
Ellie stared at the ceiling, frustrated. The stunt wasn’t just risky—it was a death wish. One mistake and she’d be paralyzed for life.
But she needed this job. The pay was too good to walk away from, and the senior in charge had already warned her—Olivia was an important client. She couldn’t afford to offend her.