"If you're not into her, then who? That little star Elizabeth White?!" Oliver Shaw, with his hands bracing the arms of his large desk chair, neck craned, roared at his son, the veins on his forehead bulging with rage.
Suddenly leaning back into his chair with a cold laugh, he said, "Felix, let me tell you today, as long as I live, don't even fantasize about bringing that woman through the door. You're refusing to coax Mia Foster back, is that it?"
"I'm not going." Felix Shaw's answer was firm, his demeanour indifferent, no longer surprised by his father Oliver Shaw's furious state.
"Good," Oliver Shaw nodded, his lips curving into a harsh smile as he looked at his son, "Tomorrow I'll call her agency and get in touch with the reporters. We'll join forces to blacklist her. I want to see if you'll still be so infatuated with her once she's back to being a nobody!"
