Jerome turned and said, "Come on in."
Lizetta watched his retreating back, pursed her lips, and reluctantly followed him inside.
"Have a seat," Jerome gestured towards the sofa in the sitting area.
Lizetta walked over and sat down, noticing Jerome moving to his desk to pick up the phone.
He instructed his secretary, "Bring in a glass of warm milk, please."
Lizetta was startled and quickly waved her hands, saying, "No need, I'm just here to say a few words."
She feared that once she spoke up, the milk might end up being thrown in her face.
"Didn't you just finish rehearsal? Have some to replenish your energy. I wouldn't want anyone accusing me of mistreating a pregnant woman."
Indeed, Lizetta had just finished rehearsal and hadn't even had a chance to drink water.
Given Jerome's words, she didn't protest further; instead, she thanked him, and waited for the secretary to bring in the milk.
Lizetta took the milk and practically downed it in one gulp.
Setting down the glass, she looked at Jerome, who was sitting opposite her with his legs crossed.
"Mr. Madden."
Meeting his gaze, Lizetta felt an added pressure and stumbled over her words.
"First time I've seen someone use milk to summon courage. Here, you've got some on your lip."
Jerome leaned forward, handing Lizetta a napkin and pointing to the corner of her mouth.
Feeling a bit embarrassed, Lizetta quickly took the napkin and wiped her mouth, before she crumpled it in her palm.
Then she heard Jerome ask, "Is it what you want to discuss that's stressing you out, or is it me?"
Lizetta let out a sigh and hurriedly said, "You've been a great help; you're a very approachable and kind boss. I'm truly sorry, but after this performance, I might not be able to stay with the dance company anymore. The company needs to find someone to replace me quickly. I'm really sorry for causing such trouble!"
Lizetta stood up, bowing deeply to Jerome to express her profound apology.
She braced herself for Jerome's anger, given that the dance company had hired top dancers for this performance and had invested heavily in script, stage, promotion, and costumes, aiming for a blockbuster
success.
It was Jerome who had given her this opportunity when she joined, and now she was talking about leaving just like that.
With her face burning, Lizetta expected Jerome to be furious, but he remained calm, even lacking any sign of condemnation in his eyes.
"Is it because the wedding didn't go well?"
Lizetta offered an awkward smile, "Sorry, I'm thinking of getting a divorce, but... Anyway, I'll be leaving in a couple of weeks. I have a rather bold request: could you keep my departure a secret until I leave? And, if possible, not replace me in the promotional materials for the dance drama."
Making such a request, Lizetta felt utterly shameless.
Jerome stared at her, tapping his fingers on the back of the sofa chair, and said, "Seems like you're planning to leave quietly? Sit down, let's talk this through. If I'm to help you, I might be taking some risks. I feel I deserve a full understanding of the situation to decide whether to assist you or not."
Ten minutes later, Lizetta left Jerome's office, feeling much lighter.
She changed in the locker room and was leaving the dance company when she saw a familiar Bentley parked at the entrance. Remington, in a dark gray coat, stood in front of the car. Seeing her come out, he quickly walked towards her.
These past few days, he had insisted on picking her up and dropping her off daily. Lizetta hadn't refused, and even got used to it. But today was different.
With plans and arrangements in mind, Lizetta felt her palms sweat and her steps halt as she saw him approaching.
Caught in a daze, Remington was already in front of her, taking her hands in his.
"What's wrong? Your hands are ice cold, and you're sweating."
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