Stella quickly realized that leaving wasn’t an option. She would have to make the best of this situation, even if she wasn’t sure how. Weston had been one of the last to enter the private lounge, not out of courtesy, but because no one dared to make him wait. The others had rushed inside before him, not wanting to risk his displeasure.
The man who had been so bold and aggressive toward her earlier was now a different person entirely in front of Weston. He wore an obsequious smile, offering a cigar with exaggerated politeness.
“Would you like one, Mr. Ford?” he asked, practically bowing.
Weston glanced briefly at the man, taking the cigar from him without a word. He settled in the middle of the sofa, his long arms casually resting on the backrest. The man, eager to please, smiled as Weston accepted the cigar.
“Allow me to light it,” he said, pulling out a lighter and kneeling in front of Weston. However, before he could light it, Weston gave him a cold, piercing look.
“You?” Weston’s voice was icy.
The man, confused, nodded uncertainly, but Weston’s smirk turned into a snarl. “You’re spoiling my mood,” he muttered, his body language shifting into something far more menacing.
Weston then stretched languidly, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Stella. The man, immediately understanding the shift in Weston’s demeanor, quickly stood and addressed her.
“I understand, Mr. Ford!” he said, his voice now filled with urgency. He turned towards Stella, his previous friendly demeanor vanishing. “What are you waiting for?” he snapped, his tone severe. “Get over here and light Mr. Ford’s cigar!”
Stella’s face drained of color as the command hit her. She took a slow, steadying breath and made her way to Weston. Standing before him, she remained silent, too overwhelmed to speak.
“I don’t have a lighter,” she said quietly.
Weston remained silent, giving a subtle nod towards the man. The man immediately understood, handing Stella his lighter. “Here,” he said, his voice patronizing. “You know how to use it, don’t you?”
Stella took the lighter with a steady hand, her emotions masked behind a calm exterior. She pushed the metal buckle down with her thumb, a small blue flame flickering to life. She reached toward the cigar, but just as her hand was about to make contact, Weston pulled it away, keeping it just out of reach.
Stella’s eyes shot up to meet his. The fury in her gaze was unmistakable.
Weston smirked, clearly entertained by her reaction. He leaned in slightly, his voice low enough that only the two of them could hear. “So you’re not willing to see me,” he murmured, “but you’re willing to sell your body?”
The words cut through Stella like a hot knife. Her fists clenched, and her nails dug into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. She took a deep breath, struggling to control the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.
“I’m only here for an interview,” she said as calmly as she could, her voice even. “I have no idea how things turned out this way.”
Weston raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Interview?” he repeated. “I didn’t know you needed an interview for this type of job.”
He leaned forward, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke in a whisper, “All you have to do is strip and lie on the bed, right?”
Stella recoiled, her face flushing with anger. Her eyes flared with rage, but Weston only smirked in response. He leaned back against the sofa, his eyes roaming over her with a predatory glint. Stretching one arm toward her, he casually ordered, “Light the cigar.”
The air in the room seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. Stella’s heart raced, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and fury. What had she walked into, and how much further would she have to endure this humiliation?
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