Stella wasted no time after receiving the client’s contact information. She immediately made a call, which was answered by a polite, middle-aged man. They quickly set up a meeting.
“Would you like me to meet with your child before the lesson begins?” Stella asked, as she typically arranged for a trial class with new students before developing a curriculum. It was a detailed process, but clients who could afford private lessons usually had ballroom facilities at home, indicating a higher social standing.
“No,” the man replied after a long pause, sounding distracted. “There’s no need for that. I’ll interview you first. If you pass, we’ll discuss the details further.”
“Okay,” Stella replied, maintaining her professionalism. “What time would you like to meet, and is there anything specific I should prepare?”
“My secretary will send you an email,” the man interjected. “Everything you need to know will be there. Just make sure you arrive on time.”
And with that, the call ended.
Soon after, Stella received the expected email. The meeting location was listed as Lowe Garden.
Stella paused for a moment. Why would the client want to meet her at Lowe Garden? It wasn’t a typical venue for business discussions. Still, she didn’t dwell on it for too long. She glanced at the time, packed her things, and called a taxi to the address.
When she arrived, she found that Lowe Garden was not just a hotel, but a highly exclusive club catering to the wealthy. The club had strict security and offered various entertainment activities, but only to members. Regular people like Stella wouldn’t be able to enter unless invited or with a referral.
As she entered, she felt an uneasy sense of discomfort. The lobby was eerily quiet, with only two or three people scattered across the sofas, chatting loudly. When they noticed her, they all turned toward her in unison.
“Is she the one?” one man asked, eyeing her curiously.
“I guess so,” another middle-aged man replied. “She’s wearing the right clothes, and she’s pretty too.”
Stella’s heart raced as the men exchanged looks. One of them turned to his companion and smirked. “So you’ve changed your taste in women, huh? Now you like the prim and proper ones?”
Stella’s face drained of color as the unsettling realization hit her. She quickly turned to the secretary standing behind her.
“I’m here for an interview as a dance teacher!” she blurted out.
The secretary flashed a smile at the two men, then leaned in to whisper to Stella, “That’s enough! You don’t need to pretend anymore. We’re all adults here. Just entertain those two gentlemen, and you can get whatever you want!”
Stella’s shock deepened, her face pale. “No, you’ve made a mistake! I really am here for an interview!”
The middle-aged man waved her off dismissively. “Come here! Let me take a good look at you.”
The other man seemed hesitant. “Mr. Ford will be here soon,” he said. “He never liked having girls around… don’t you think this is a little presumptuous?”
“Doesn’t like girls?” the first man scoffed. “What do you know? He probably just has expensive taste and looks down on most women.”
They both chuckled, but Stella, now tense and uncomfortable, clenched her fists. She wanted to leave before the situation escalated.
She turned to walk away, but before she could reach the door, she bumped into someone.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” one of the men called out.
She hurried her steps, pushing the door open and making her escape. However, as she stepped outside, she collided head-on with someone’s chest.
“Get out of my way,” a sharp voice hissed.
Stella looked up to find Weston glaring down at her. She stumbled slightly, her heart racing as she realized who it was.
He eyed her coldly, assuming she was another one of the women arranged for him by the others. His impatience was evident as he shoved her away. “Get out of my way,” he repeated, clearly irritated.
Stella’s heart pounded in her chest, torn between relief and confusion. What was Weston doing here?
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