Moxie's POV
I knocked lightly before pushing the door open, stepping inside with a deep breath, my posture straightening automatically as my eyes landed on both the director and the stylist.
“Come in,” the creative director said, gesturing toward the chair across from his desk.
I stepped forward, sitting carefully, my hands settling in my lap as I tried to keep my expression neutral, even though my pulse had picked up again.
The stylist leaned slightly against the edge of the desk, arms loosely crossed, her expression more relaxed than I expected, which threw me off just enough to make me pause. For a second, no one spoke.
Then the director leaned back slightly in his chair, studying me in that same sharp, assessing way that made it feel like he was looking past everything surface le
