Dior boarded a taxi, giving the driver the address as she leaned back in her seat, her mind already racing ahead. Not long after, she arrived at the destination.
Damian was already seated, waiting for her.
She walked up to him. "Hi."
"Hi. Sit," he replied calmly.
She took her seat across from him. A waiter approached almost immediately.
"Is there anything I can get you?"
Dior glanced through the menu briefly. "Coconut risotto with blackberries."
"Alright, ma," the waiter said before walking away.
Dior folded her hands on the table and exhaled softly. "Okay, let me go straight to the point. I can't be your model. I'm really sorry, but something came up. I'm not sure I'll have time."
Damian studied her. "Is it an emergency?"
"…Something like that. I won't have time for the next three weeks."
"Are you that busy?"
She nodded. "Yes. I'll explain."
Then she went on to tell him everything—the upcoming competition, the training schedule, and how serious it all was.
Damian listened quietly. "So the entertainment industry is selecting new trainees to become idols?"
She nodded just as the waiter returned with their food.
"Enjoy," he said, placing the dishes before them.
After he left, Damian spoke again. "You don't have to worry. I'm not in a rush. We can still work together without affecting your practice. You won't be training every single day—there will be rest days. You can use those for the shoot."
Dior's eyes lit up slightly. "Really?"
He nodded.
"Okay," she said, finally relaxing as she began eating.
After a moment, Damian asked casually, "Are you currently dating?"
"No."
Something in his expression softened at her answer.
"Can I ask for relationship advice?" he continued.
"Sure."
Dior didn't think much of it. Dating had never been a big deal to her—being a cheerleader meant attention was constant, but most relationships were shallow.
"Do you think I'm your type?" Damian asked.
She blinked, caught slightly off guard. "Damian, you're everyone's type. I mean, you're hot and handsome—"
"I want an honest answer," he cut in, his tone more serious.
She paused, then answered truthfully. "Hmm… no. You're not my type."
His expression didn't change, but something dark flickered in his eyes.
She continued casually, not noticing. "Well… not my type. But if we're talking about money, then yes—you'd definitely qualify."
He remained silent.
"May I know your type then?" he asked.
She didn't hesitate. "He has to be handsome and popular. He should know how to play basketball and also be good at cooking. He has to be nice… but also a little bit of a bad boy. Hot and sexy, obviously. Someone who's husband material. Someone who cares about people, doesn't hurt others, and can defend both himself and me."
She smiled lightly. "That's my ideal type."
Damian's gaze darkened slightly. Every word reminded him of someone she once loved.
"And yours?" she asked.
He leaned back slightly, his voice quieter now. "My type… she has to be sweet and cute. Someone who cares deeply about others. Someone from Australia. Flexible… and caring."
In truth, he didn't know much about who she had become now. But the girl he remembered still lived in his mind.
Dior smiled. "The girl you like must be really lucky. She must be blind if she doesn't notice how handsome you are."
"If only she noticed how much I like her…" he murmured.
"Then don't give up," she said encouragingly. "Just show her how much you love her. I'm sure she'll say yes."
Damian let out a quiet breath. "I don't know…"
"If you tell her you like her—"
"I've tried everything," he interrupted softly. "But she always dismisses it."
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If you like The Mafia Lord Wants Me, check out my other stories: LOVE IS JUST A GAME and THE DEMON SEX SLAVE.
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