It sounded exactly like something out of a cheesy romance novel. Westonâs brows furrowed. âJust like that, and you remember him till today?â
Stella shook her head but nodded after that.
âI suppose your first crush will always be the most memorable.â
Sometimes, one can be touched simply because someone else offered an eraser or a pencil, not to mention offering help at a time of loneliness and need. To Stella, she felt like she was brought out of the darkness by a man with the face of an angel, and it ended up being a significant, unforgettable event in her life. However, the look on Westonâs face told her he had probably forgotten about it. He was the man she was talking about Until today, Stella couldnât figure out what Weston thought when he rescued her from her plight. The man in front of her right now would probably never do something if it held no benefit for him.
The atmosphere around them tensed up. Weston had been smoking during this period, and the frustration mounting inside gave him the sudden urge to smoke.
He shouldnât have been so bothered by such things of the past. Who didnât have a crush in their youth?
This was especially so for Stella, a woman that could be moved by a mere kind gesture. He had no reason to pick on her for something like that.
After all, she was right by his side now. So why should he be so affected upon hearing her unreserved admiration towards another man? He stood up and headed out to the balcony for fresh air and a smoke break after informing Stella Weston hadnât smoked for a long time before this. He wasnât addicted, but he would smoke a cigarette or two whenever he was in a bad mood.
He later realized that each time he succumbed to his habit, it always had something to do with Stella.
This woman was indeed capable of affecting his mood.
At The Doghouse.
The VIP private rooms were a distance away from the open zone. Straight down from the corridor was the smoking area. Weston had just entered the balcony and pulled out his lighter when he heard fighting sounds coming from one of the private rooms.
âLet me go. Scram! Run as far away as you can!â Not wanting to get himself involved, he turned to leave. Suddenly, he saw the door to the private room kicked open, and a familiar figure flew out and collapsed on the floor. The womanâs hair was a disheveled mess, and she was crying desperately.
âPlease! I beg of you! Please let me goâ¦â
That woman was Daisy, his secretary.
Westonâs brows furrowed, not expecting to bump into her here.
Standing right before her, was a furious man who had rushed out of the private room. Having no intention of helping her up, he pointed to her nose and yelled, âDo you think you can boss me around now that you have Ford Corporationâs backing? You think you have a bright future ahead of you, that you earn more than I do; therefore, you can look down on me? Iâm telling you, Daisy, donât think that youâre all that, just because you returned from overseas! Youâll always be an ugly duckling, so quit thinking youâll turn into a beautiful swan one day and fly away. Even if you do, youâll eventually have to return to where you started!â
The men yelled his speech nastily, his face contorted with rage.