The next evening, Nevaeh sat in her office, staring at the email that confirmed her nomination for the Best Journalist Awards.
It was a big deal. A huge deal.
The only thing standing between her and that trophy?
Reviews from celebrities.
All she needed was a handful of well-known figures to vouch for her work—her professionalism, her dedication, her impact in the industry.
And who better to ask than Mordred Martin?
So, she did.
She sent a message.
Then another.
Then she showed up in person.
And what did Mordred do?
"No."
Nevaeh blinked. "Excuse me?"
Mordred leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk on his face. "You heard me. No."
Nevaeh scoffed. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, I am," he replied smoothly.
She narrowed her eyes. "Mordred, I literally just helped you with your music video. You owe me."
"I don't owe you anything," he corrected, tilting his head. "Besides, aren't there other celebrities you can ask? Why does it have to be me?"
Nevaeh crossed her arms. "Because I know your review would carry more weight."
"And?"
"And because you know I deserve it."
Mordred stared at her for a moment, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.
Then he smirked. "Still no."
Nevaeh exhaled sharply, placing her hands on his desk. "You're doing this on purpose."
"Obviously."
"Why?"
Mordred simply shrugged. "Because watching you work for it is more entertaining."
Nevaeh's jaw clenched.
He was so going to regret this.
Mordred had been rejecting Nevaeh's request for days, and she wasn't one to take no for an answer.
Every time she brought it up, he would smirk and say, "Still no."
Meanwhile, other journalists tried their luck too, only to be shut down just as quickly. He was rejecting everyone.
But Nevaeh?
She was different.
And if he thought she would just give up, he clearly didn't know her well enough.
So, she took things a step further.
That evening, she went to his penthouse—uninvited.
With the help of his housemaid, she made herself comfortable, waiting for him like she lived there. She even brewed coffee and played soft music, as if this was her own personal lounge.
By the time Mordred arrived, exhausted and expecting peace, the last thing he expected was Nevaeh casually lounging on his expensive couch, flipping through a magazine.
He froze at the entrance, eyes narrowing.
"Who allowed you in?" His voice was sharp, but Nevaeh didn't even flinch.
She took a sip of her coffee, then glanced at him with an innocent smile. "Your maid. She's very sweet, by the way."
Mordred turned to the maid, who immediately busied herself with the dishes, avoiding his glare.
With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair. "Nevaeh, what the hell are you doing in my house?"
She leaned back lazily. "I figured if you won't say yes at work, I'd bring the request to your home."
Mordred scoffed. "You're unbelievable."
"And persistent," she corrected, tilting her head. "Come on, Mordred. Just do the damn review."
He exhaled, shaking his head. "No."
Nevaeh smirked. "Then I guess I'm not leaving."
Mordred's jaw clenched.
This woman was truly insane.