His One True Love

Chapter 7---Mr. Fields into That Stuff?

At ten o'clock the next morning, as Wendy Moore entered Fields Group, she noticed the first-floor lobby was packed with people holding resumes and lining up for interviews. Strangely, nearly ninety-nine percent of them were young, attractive women.

Wendy frowned slightly. What was special about today? Why were there so many applicants?

"Excuse me, are you all here for the interview?"

A girl in a pink short skirt, looking so fresh she might drip water, eyed Wendy up and down. "You're here for the interview too? Dressed like a nun or a sorceress, do you really think Mr. Fields would even glance your way?"

"..."

Wendy instinctively looked down at her outfit. She was dressed in the most standard interview attire—a white blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, paired with simple three-centimeter heels. It looked professional and sharp. How could that possibly resemble a nun?

Just then, a supervisor arrived to organize them, his eyes behind thick black-rimmed glasses brimming with disdain. "Quiet down. Mr. Fields hates noisy women. Line up properly and follow me in groups to the sixty-sixth floor for the interview."

Before Wendy could make sense of the situation, a girl behind her shoved her toward the elevator. "Hey! Are you coming or not? If not, don't block the way!"

The supervisor glared at both Wendy and the girl. "What's the rush? Think pushing your way to the sixty-sixth floor guarantees you'll pass?"

The atmosphere in the elevator was eerie and strange. Standing among a crowd of heavily made-up, dazzlingly dressed beauties, Wendy couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

Was it really necessary to dress up like you were going on a date just to interview for a graphic designer position?

Inside the elevator, the various beauties pulled out their powder compacts to touch up makeup that hadn't even smudged.

With a soft *ding*, the elevator doors finally opened on the sixty-sixth floor.

Wendy was shoved out along with the crowd, following the group toward the interview room.

Through a small transparent pane of glass, Wendy saw the interview panel: three main examiners, with two secretaries at their sides. The setup alone was intimidating.

Was Fields Group really this strict about hiring a minor graphic designer? Then what would the process be like for managerial or director-level positions—like leveling up in a video game with endless checkpoints?

Several girls behind her were sweating nervously, whispering, "I heard Mr. Fields is an Ivy League graduate, but I only went to an ordinary undergrad school. Do you think he'll look down on me?"

"What does education matter? Men care most about a woman's looks, figure, and... bedroom performance."

The last four words were whispered so low, yet Wendy still heard them clearly. She merely curved her lips in a faint, amused smile.

Looks like they weren't here to apply for a designer role—they were auditioning to be Mr. Fields' girlfriend.

Suddenly, the office door opened, and a girl in a Givenchy little black dress stepped out. She seemed pleased with her interview performance, her beautiful face glowing with confidence. She crossed her arms and looked down haughtily at the other girls waiting outside. "Do you really think being pretty and having a good figure is enough? Mr. Fields has seen countless beauties. You're just background scenery. The kind of woman he'd actually consider is someone like me—good family background, top education, intelligent. I suggest you all have a little self-awareness!"

No sooner had she finished speaking than a female secretary stepped out of the office and announced in a flat, mechanical tone: "Next."

Wendy froze. It was her turn. She took a deep breath, clutched her resume, and calmly walked into the office in her heels.

The three examiners sat in a row. The man in the center, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and possessing a refined, handsome face, glanced at her resume and spoke first: "Wendy Moore? Introduce yourself—your measurements, weight, height, physical condition, and family background."

Wendy's brow tightened, a flash of anger crossing her delicate face. "Is Fields Group secretly running some kind of shady operation when hiring female staff? I thought Mr. Fields was a serious, fair, and upright businessman. But now it seems he's just pretending to sell mutton while actually peddling dog meat. Sorry, I'm not interested in this interview anymore."

The three examiners exchanged glances, staring at Wendy's flushed, indignant face, then burst into amused laughter. "Miss Moore, you're applying for the future Mrs. Fields position. Of course our Mr. Fields has the right to know your basic qualifications. Otherwise, should he marry every woman who walks through that door?"

What? Applying for the role of "Mrs. Fields"?

"I think I might have come to the wrong..."

Her explanation was cut short as the office door swung open, interrupting the interview. In walked Kevin Hart, Chase Fields' personal assistant.

Kevin approached the central examiner, leaned in, and whispered just loud enough for the two of them to hear: "Mr. Lu, this Wendy Moore—Boss wants to interview her personally."

Clay Luke adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze suddenly sly and teasing. "I thought he wasn't interested in women. So he *is* into this kind of thing?"

Clay gave Wendy a meaningful look, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips.

Kevin then walked respectfully to Wendy and said, "Miss Moore, please come with me."

...

Chase Fields sat in a large black executive chair, his cold, detached gaze fixed on the paused image on his laptop screen—the footage of Wendy's interview in the adjacent room moments ago.

His long fingers picked up the file and photos Kevin had delivered early that morning, his sharp, penetrating eyes landing on a blurred photo of a woman giving birth on a delivery bed.

If that surrogate mother from three years ago was truly this Wendy Moore...

The office door clicked open.

Kevin led Wendy in. "Boss, Miss Moore is here."

"You may leave."

"Yes, sir."

Still dazed, Wendy stood there. Once Kevin left, she frowned and said, "Mr. Fields, I came here to apply for the illustrator position. I don't understand what you mean by all this."

Chase closed his laptop with a flick of his hand, his gaze cold and mocking as it settled on her. "Miss Moore, you just called me a hypocrite in the next room. But what about last night, when you openly flirted with me at the banquet? Who's the real hypocrite here?"

Her face flushed with embarrassment, her lips pressed tightly together. "I only wanted you to show mercy and cancel the demolition plan for Indigo Street. If I caused any misunderstanding, I apologize for my rudeness."

Chase rose to his feet, his long legs carrying him slowly to the massive aquarium in the office. With deliberate calm, he scattered fish food into the tank—casual, aloof, and cold. "Canceling the demolition plan for Indigo Street is out of the question. But the Moore family villa... that might be negotiable."

Her heart leapt with hope. She quickly asked, "Mr. Fields, are you saying you'll spare the Moore family villa?"

The man tossed the last of the fish food aside, slipped one hand into his pocket, and stepped toward her. As his crisp, intoxicating male scent drew near, she instinctively took a step back—only for a strong, well-defined hand to suddenly clamp firmly around her slender waist.