"Then have my secretary clear my schedule for next week," I instructed firmly, expecting him to drop the argument.
But Dave wasn't ready to let it go. "The dress code is white," he stressed. "White... a color other than black."
"I am Damien Blackheart, and no one tells me what to wear," I declared defiantly. It was a simple truth—I did as I pleased, and consequences only followed when I deemed it necessary.
Dave's expression remained skeptical, his eyes squinting as if trying to gauge my seriousness. "Is Clara attending the event?" he asked suspiciously.
Reaching for the remote, I silenced the muted television before rising to my feet. "I have no idea if she's attending or not, Dave," I replied tersely, already feeling his inquiries becoming burdensome. "And how about you stop hounding
