Yuhan immediately stood up and bowed deeply, nervous.
Zixuan chuckled, clearly enjoying the sight, and Yuhan rushed out of the office, cheeks burning red.
"Get yourself together," he muttered, slapping both cheeks lightly as he sat down. "He's supposed to be the one falling for me."
But within minutes, reality crashed down on him.
His phone wouldn't stop ringing—more than twenty calls already from departments, clients, managers, stylists—everyone asking for Zixuan's schedule, approvals, and updates.
He had read all the documents, but his voice still wavered whenever he answered.
Questions about production cycles, shipment dates, model fittings, fabric availability, sponsorship contracts—Yuhan answered what he could and promised callbacks for the rest. He dragged his exhausted body back to his desk after going to deliver something just as the telephone rang again.
"Mr. Liang on the phone, how can I help you?" he said quickly, breathless.
"Come in. Now."
