Executively Devoted | CEO h.s.

4 | Rise Up

"I did, and I really am sorry about that. I swear that's not how I am. I just really needed to speak with him."

"You almost cost me my job." Her eyes were narrow at me, hiding the pale icy blue hue her irises held.

"He wouldn't fire you." The words came out of my mouth, before I could properly think them through. I didn't know that.

"You don't know him — or me for that manner," she huffed with her brows furrowed. "Yes, he would have. Mr Styles is lenient on certain things, but when it comes to personal interference, nothing else matters."

"I don't know how many times I can apologise. I'm saying sorry once more. Please, accept it."

"Alright, I accept it, and please leave now. I'd appreciate it if Mr Styles doesn't see you again. It won't be good for both of us," she spoke, hurriedly.

"I know this is a lot, but this is my last chance for me to get an investment. Just let me see him once more. If he kicks me out again, I'll beg him not to fire you or any of his other employees. It'll be on me, not anyone else. Heck, he can even send me to jail. I just — please," I pleaded, my hands clasped together in desperation.

Blue eyes stared deeply into my own, reading me entirely as her gaze flickered between my own, and all over my face. Her bottom lip was taken in-between her teeth, pondering deeply at something; and it added a small amount of hope when I noticed she didn't reject me straight away.

My heart beat was heard loudly in my ears as it pounded against my chest. There was too much silence. Without another word, she stood up from her chair, grabbed a large pile of multi-coloured folders.

"I need to take these to accounting. Don't make me regret this." Her last five words were said in a whisper, before she walked away towards the elevators.

"Thank you."

Waiting until she was out of sight, I cautiously made my way towards the pressurizing door again. Knocking gently, I heard the same two words that were spoken the last time — so I acted upon them.

Something inside me told me that today things might be different — but at the same time, they weren't. A familiar cold aura filled the tense space. Mr Styles' head was down as he was seated behind his desk, going through papers — with multiple stacks nearby. He seemed frustrated with whatever it was that he was reading. Several cruel words and insults were thrown at whoever put them together. He huffed in this uncomfortable silence we both breathed in.

Stiff shoulders and a strained neck were quite visible. As a dancer, it was necessary to have perfect posture — and surprisingly, it also helped with mood and how to handle stress. For Mr Styles, however, his stance wasn't straight as it should be. It only showed how much pressure he carried on them.

Carefully, my feet took a couple of steps, then unfortunately walked into a cabinet on my left, almost knocking myself over. I grabbed hold of the top, saving myself from more embarrassment.

So much for being a graceful ballerina.

Clearly startled, he looked up quickly in reflex, his expression darkening by the second. "What the fuck? Honestly? Again?"

"Um, yeah." I let out a soft, short laugh. Scratching the back of my neck, I kept hold of my file close to my chest. It only reminded me of how much of a klutz Serena Tsukino was — it seemed that I'd channeled her inner self. "Sorry."

"Save your apologies. I thought you got the hint that I wanted you out of my office — hell, out of my building — when I got security to escort you out. Are you a ghost or something that's haunting me? How the fuck did you get in here?"