4. Meeting Him Again

Shirley POV：

Should've known asking was a waste of breath.

Last night, I endured the most agonizing dinner of my life.

The dishes laid out before me were works of art, the kind of exquisite delicacies you only see in high-end culinary glossies.

But sitting across from Connor’s cold, impenetrable mask, I couldn’t look up. I kept my eyes fixed on my plate. 

And every mouthful tasted like dry earth.

When I woke up in the hotel’s cloud-like bed the next morning, the ache in my hip from the accident had finally dulled.

I was in front of the mirror, misting on another layer of analgesic, when my phone shrilled.

It was Josh. He sounded like he was sprinting through a terminal.

"Shirley, don't be late for the Virex Group pitch. I just touched down at the airport—if I get hung up, you’re on. Hold the line until I get there."

"Don't worry," I said, already scrambling for my gear. "I'm on it."

I raced home to transform. I curled my hair into loose, polished waves and stepped into a lime-green power suit. I did my makeup with surgical precision.

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I practiced my "corporate ice queen" look and gave myself a silent pep talk:

“Shirley, get it together. Nail this project.”

Minutes later, I was in a cab heading for Virex.

Stepping into the lobby in towering stilettos, I felt the weight of appreciative stares.

I’m not blind; I know I’m beautiful.

But since crawling back from hell, I’ve used bland clothes as a shield. And I didn't smile anymore—not for anyone but Josh.

The Virex Group headquarters sat on the city’s most expensive real estate.

Every time I’d passed it before, watching the army of tailored suits rushing through those glass doors, I’d felt a pang of envy.

I used to fantasize about what a life like that felt like.

The paycheck alone would be enough to get me out of that moldy shoebox I called an apartment.

Even if I didn't work for them, being the partner who held their own in that room would be enough.

So... I needed this. I needed this win more than my next breath.

I was still lost in thought when the elevator doors began to slide shut.

"Wait! Hold the door!" I called out, breaking into a quick jog.

I squeezed inside at the very last second.

"Thank you," I gasped.

The words had barely left my lips when a familiar, crushing weight filled the small space.

The air changed. It was the scent—a sophisticated blend of sandalwood and something darker, something intimate that made my heart skip a beat.

I looked up. A man stood like a monolith in the center of the car.

His steel-blue eyes—cold, detached, and utterly unreadable—sent a shiver straight down my spine.

Connor Rogers.

Again.

I instinctively turned to bolt, but the doors had already sealed shut.

Trapped, I had no choice but to retreat into the corner, making myself as small as possible.

As the elevator climbed, the silence became deafening.

It was just the two of us, the air so thick I could practically hear him breathing.

I kept my gaze low, hyper-focused on the sapphire cufflinks peeking from his crisp sleeves and the mirror-sheen of his bespoke leather shoes.

Three years. In three years, everything about him had become high-end, untouchable.

He radiated an aura of absolute power that made the world instinctively step aside.

"Do you work here?"

Connor’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

My throat felt frozen.

"Thirtieth floor... the pitch meeting..."

He didn't respond. He didn't even turn his head. Maybe that single question wasn't even curiosity—just a cold, mechanical habit of politeness.

The ride felt like a goddamn century.

We stayed submerged in that suffocating silence until, finally, the elevator chimed.

30th Floor.

"I’m out..."

I managed to squeeze out, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

Connor gave a curt nod. Total silence.

I practically bolted, the frantic clack of my stilettos against the marble floor echoing my desperate need to escape.

I was a safe distance away before my breathing finally leveled out.

My heart was still hammering against my ribs when the phone in my bag vibrated. I snatched it up.

"Shirley, I’m dying over here ," Josh said, his voice ragged with anxiety. "The flight is delayed and the gate agent is giving me nothing. You’re my only play. The pitch... it’s all on you now."

"Breathe, Josh." I told him, forcing a confidence I didn't feel. "I've got this. Just watch me."

I hung up, my bravado vanishing instantly. My pulse kicked into overdrive.

At the Virex Group pitch, we were the underdog.

For a boutique firm like ours, there was a high risk of being weeded out in the first round based on credentials alone.

Josh is a visionary—his concepts are fresh and daring—and I knew I had to seize every possible opening. Since he couldn’t make it, I had to hold the line for him.

I checked in at the marketing department and took a seat in the lounge.

Reps began to trickle in. The air was thick with the casual arrogance of the big players.

Landing projects had always been Josh’s solo act. I’d been with him for less than two years; in this room, I was still the rookie.

I surreptitiously wiped my damp palms on my skirt and flipped open my notes, mentally rehearsing the key points of his presentation.

A few minutes later, a sudden hush rippled through the hallway.

I looked up—and locked eyes with Connor’s icy stare.

He lingered just outside the waiting area, exchanging a few brief words with the Marketing Director, Mr. Gish.

His presence was absolute; it saturated the room like a physical weight, silencing the chatter as every head turned toward him.

Mr. Gish walked in, practically beaming.

"Everyone, We’re privileged to have our Group CEO, Mr. Rogers, personally overseeing today’s session."

The room erupted in polite applause. Every eye was on him.

Connor?

The CEO of Virex?

My heart didn't just beat; it thrashed.

Would he... simply knit his dark brows and kick our proposal to the curb before I even opened my mouth?