CHAPTER 4
1060 Words
Vale Enterprises’ top floor had never been this alive.
The grand conference hall buzzed with tension, coffee, and ego. It was presentation day — Damian Vale’s team vs. Ariella Monteverde, solo act and resident chaos bringer.
Ariella strutted in wearing a navy blazer and heels sharp enough to stab a man’s pride. The kind that screamed: I’m not here to play. I’m here to win.
Her USB drive was her weapon. Her smile was armor.
And her enemy-s***h-potential-crush was already waiting at the head of the table.
“Miss Monteverde,” Damian said, that smooth voice curling around her name. “Feeling confident?”
“Always,” she said. “But if you want to back out now, I’d understand. Losing to a woman can be traumatic for some men.”
The room gasped. Damian’s lips twitched into a dangerous smirk.
“Cute,” he murmured. “Let’s see if your ideas are as sharp as your tongue.”
---
Round One: Damian’s Team
His team went first — a polished, perfect presentation titled “Luxury Defined.”
Videos. Models. Gold. Expensive fonts that probably cost more than rent.
When it ended, polite applause filled the room.
“Impressive,” Ariella said, leaning back. “Very safe. Very predictable.”
Damian raised a brow. “You have five minutes to impress me, Monteverde. Don’t choke.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, plugging in her USB. “I don’t choke easily.”
Someone coughed to hide a laugh. Damian almost did too.
---
Round Two: Ariella’s Turn
The lights dimmed. Her presentation began.
Soft music. Flashy imagery. Bold words flashed across the screen:
“The Art of Wanting”
Her voice was steady, confident. “Luxury isn’t just about wealth. It’s about desire. The thrill of almost having something — and the satisfaction of finally getting it.”
Images of people smiling, reaching, wanting — not rich, but real — filled the screen.
“The V-Luxe Collection isn’t selling diamonds,” she continued. “It’s selling the feeling of being unforgettable.”
The room was silent.
Even Damian.
When the lights came back on, everyone was watching him, waiting for his verdict.
He didn’t speak right away. Just stared at her — like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or fire her.
Finally, he said, “Interesting pitch, Miss Monteverde.”
“Interesting good or interesting you-want-to-sue-me?” she asked.
“Both,” he said with a faint smirk. “You took a risk. I like that. But next time—”
Suddenly, the screen behind them flickered — and before anyone could stop it, a random personal video popped up.
Ariella’s eyes went wide.
It was her t****k draft — a behind-the-scenes clip she filmed at home the night before, in pajamas, dancing to a K-pop song with a glass of wine in hand.
“OH MY GOD!” she shrieked. “Turn it off! Turn it off!”
The room erupted in laughter.
Damian just leaned back, watching her flail for the remote. “Nice choreography,” he said.
“Shut up!” she hissed, face red.
He grinned. “Is this part of the campaign? Because if it is, it’s… surprisingly effective.”
She groaned, hiding her face. “I am never showing my face here again.”
---
After the Meeting
When the crowd dispersed — still laughing — Damian called out,
“Monteverde. Stay.”
She froze. “If this is about my dance video—”
“Oh, it is,” he said, amused. “You just gave my executives something to laugh about for a week.”
“Glad to serve as company entertainment,” she muttered.
He walked closer. Too close.
“That was… bold.”
“It was an accident.”
He smirked. “Maybe. But it worked. You broke the tension. Everyone’s still talking about your campaign. That’s good marketing.”
She blinked. “Wait—you’re not mad?”
“Mad?” His lips curved. “You embarrassed yourself and made my team remember your presentation better than mine. That’s genius in disguise.”
She rolled her eyes. “You have a strange definition of genius.”
“Maybe I just have a strange taste,” he murmured.
Their eyes locked again.
It was happening — that same pull, the same electricity that made breathing feel dangerous.
And just as she thought he might actually say something reckless—
COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOO!
The door flew open. Apollo stormed in again, feathers flying, chasing Damian’s assistant, who looked like she’d survived a war.
“I tried to keep him outside!” the poor woman wailed.
Damian sighed. “Of course. Of course, he comes in now.”
Ariella was already laughing so hard she was crying.
“Stop laughing,” Damian said, trying not to smile.
“You own a rooster named Apollo,” she gasped. “You deserve this.”
“I’m firing both of you,” he said — but he was laughing, too.
---
Later That Night
Ariella sat by the kitchen counter, laptop open, replaying the embarrassing clip that had ruined — and somehow saved — her presentation.
She groaned. “Ugh, he’s never gonna let me live this down.”
Behind her, Damian appeared, loose shirt, hair slightly messy. “You should upload it,” he said casually.
“What—no! That video is a disaster.”
“It’s honest,” he said, pouring himself a drink. “Real. It’s what people like about you.”
She turned to look at him. “Are you… complimenting me?”
He smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”
She leaned closer, teasing. “So… who won the presentation game?”
He smiled, slow and secretive. “Let’s just say… I’m reconsidering your job title.”
“Oh?”
“‘Executive of Chaos’ seems fitting.”
She laughed. “I’ll take it.”
As he turned to leave, she called after him,
“Hey, Damian?”
He paused. “Yeah?”
“Thanks. For not making me feel like a total i***t today.”
He looked back, softer than usual. “You could never be an i***t, Ariella. You’re too damn… unexpected.”
And before she could reply, he was gone.
She smiled to herself, heart fluttering, and whispered,
“Game on, Mr. Vale.”
- Writer
