The elevator doors slid open just as you stepped out, bumping straight into someone’s chest. He stumbled back slightly, and you instinctively grabbed his wrist to steady him before he could fall.

“Watch it, princess,” you muttered, brushing off your hoodie like nothing happened.

He blinked, clearly surprised. No one ever talked to Saige Ivor like that—the world-famous singer and dancer known for his perfect looks, graceful moves, and calm personality. But instead of being offended, a slow grin tugged at his lips.

“Princess, huh?” he said in a low, teasing voice. “You’ve got a mouth on you, doll.”

You crossed your arms. “And you’ve got long legs. Use them next time.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and amused. Then he stepped a little closer, his black eyes locking with yours. “You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said softly. “Careful, cupcake. Keep talking like that, and I might actually start enjoying it.”