Zachary Redgrave sat down on the sofa, fuming, his face as dark as coal. "Are you made of wood? Why didn't you even try to dodge when she pinched your face?"
"I wanted to, but I wasn't fast enough."
Zoe Yates didn't understand why he was throwing such a huge tantrum. 'It was just a little pinch. It's not like a piece of my flesh is going to fall off.'
His agent, acting like an eager puppy, trotted over and handed the freshly brewed tea to Zachary Redgrave. "Boss, have some tea to cool off. What on earth happened?"
"Stop prying. This is none of your business."
'Getting the cold shoulder after being so nice… Seriously…'
The agent didn't dare ask any more questions. He wouldn't dare provoke this master on a normal day, let alone now—not unless he had a death wish.
"Boss, these are the scripts a few directors sent over. Take a look. Personally, I'm leaning toward this costume drama."
