"Supervisor Lynch, your lucky day is coming." Noelle Bell’s eyes danced with delight. "Wait for . I’ll co find you, and we can talk in person."
She hung up the phone.
Noelle Bell went to the design departnt.
Wanda Lynch personally brewed her a cup of fine Bluemount coffee, a fake smile plastered on her face. "Secretary Bell, what did you an my lucky day is coming?"
Noelle Bell took the coffee from Wanda Lynch.
Instead of answering right away, she first complinted Wanda’s outfit. "Supervisor Lynch, is that a Chanel dress you’re wearing today? It’s gorgeous. It makes you look just like... like... a wealthy socialite."
"Oh, Secretary Bell, don’t tease . Hurry up and tell , what’s the good news?"
Wanda Lynch was getting impatient. News from Noelle Bell was usually about Theodore Grant.
Only then did Noelle Bell put down her coffee, lean close to Wanda Lynch’s ear, and whisper, "Mr. Grant is divorcing Natalie Morgan. So, wouldn’t you say your lucky day is coming?"
Her throat tightened. The surprise was overwhelming.
She had been waiting for this day for years.
’Finally, he’s getting a divorce.’
"Really?"
"Yes, Supervisor Lynch. Mr. Grant has always wanted to make it official with you. That Natalie Morgan, she’s really not fit to be Mrs. Grant. Not like you, Supervisor Lynch. You’re young, beautiful, and kind, and we get along so well."
Hearing this, Wanda Lynch suddenly felt as if she were already Mrs. Grant.
Even her chin lifted a little higher.
"Secretary Bell, you’re too kind." She turned, pulled open a drawer, and took out a necklace she had recently picked out at a store. "This doesn’t really suit , but I think it would look great on you. Please, don’t refuse."
The necklace was a designer piece.
It was worth several thousand dollars.
Noelle Bell quite liked their designs, so she didn’t refuse and reached out to take it. "Mrs. Grant, in that case, it would be rude of to decline."
"We’re not there yet." But Wanda Lynch’s heart lted at being called "Mrs. Grant."
Noelle Bell, ever the shrewd sycophant, said it again, "Mrs. Grant, it’s only a matter of ti."
"Secretary Bell, co, have so coffee."
"Thank you, Mrs. Grant."
The two of them burst out laughing.
「...」
「In the hospital.」
Byron Quincy was frantic when he heard Natalie Morgan had been in an accident.
He had thought Natalie would be handling the land contract with him from start to finish. He never expected sothing would happen to her.
"Grant Group already sent soone to sign the contract, so your work is done. Just focus on getting better and don’t overthink things."
Natalie Morgan looked at Byron Quincy apologetically. If it weren’t for that one million, and if it weren’t for the Quincy family’s affection for her...
...that plot of land could have sold for at least a few hundred million more.
"Byron, once I’m better, I’ll go visit Mr. Quincy and Mrs. Quincy."
"There’s no hurry." Byron Quincy took a jar from the gift bag he’d brought. "My mom was so worried when she heard you were injured and in the hospital. She had bring these canned yellow peaches. She said you love them."
A warm feeling washed over Natalie Morgan. ’Mrs. Quincy still rembers that I love canned yellow peaches.’
"Of course. She rembers everything you like and dislike."
Byron Quincy twisted open the lid of the peach jar and picked up a spoon.
"I can do it myself, Byron."
"You’re this injured, how can you do it yourself? Let feed you." Byron Quincy scooped up a slice of peach, dripping with syrup, and brought it to Natalie Morgan’s lips. "My mom made these. See if they still taste the sa."
It slled wonderful.
Natalie Morgan had really missed this taste.
She opened her mouth and accepted the peach.
And this very scene was witnessed by a man standing outside the door, his eyes taking it all in through the glass window.
The manila envelope he was clutching crumpled in his grip.
Theodore Grant had co today to tell Natalie Morgan in person that he wanted a divorce.
But the scene before him was a dagger to his eyes.
First, it was Felix Finch feeding her cake, and now Byron Quincy was feeding her canned peaches.
The way she looked at other n was always so tender, her eyes always shining.
’How ridiculous.’
’She’s cuckolded ti and ti again, and I was actually thinking of letting her go.’
The man tore the manila envelope in half, then in half again, and kept tearing until it was nothing but scraps, which he then threw into the trash can.
He turned around.
He pushed the hospital room door open again and walked inside.
The two, who had been laughing and talking, both looked toward the door, their voices falling silent.
"Mr. Quincy, you’re here too?" His voice was surprisingly gentle. He even extended a hand to shake Byron Quincy’s. "Here to see our Manager Morgan?"
"I heard she was injured, so I ca to see how she was doing." Byron Quincy was still holding the jar of peaches. "My mom happened to have made so, so I brought them for Natalie to satisfy her craving."
Byron Quincy’s expression was calm and natural.
Theodore Grant raised an eyebrow slightly and looked at the woman in the bed. "Oh? Our Manager Morgan likes canned yellow peaches, does she? I’ll have my secretary buy so later."
His tone was even, his gaze concerned; he was playing the part of a good boss to perfection.
But only Natalie Morgan could hear the subtext in his words.
She couldn’t help but look nervously at Byron Quincy. "Byron, I’m fine, really. You should head back."
"Alright then." He placed the jar of peaches on the bedside table. "Rember to eat these later, or they’ll spoil."
"Okay, I will."
Byron Quincy turned to Theodore Grant. "Mr. Grant, I’ll be going now."
"Take care, Mr. Quincy."
The door to the hospital room closed once more.
Theodore Grant pulled up a chair and sat by the hospital bed.
"You sure have a lot of ’brothers’," he said, picking up the jar of peaches. He casually lifted his gaze to Natalie Morgan. "What am I to you?"
"Mr. Grant, is there any point in asking that?"
’Hah.’
’I’ll probably always be ’Mr. Grant’ to her.’
’Fuck it.’
’Who cares anyway.’
"I expect Mrs. Grant to rember her place as a married woman." He used the spoon to scoop a piece of peach into his own mouth and chewed. "Things from an old fla really do taste sweeter."
"If you have nothing else, Mr. Grant, please leave. I need to rest."
She was in no mood, nor did she have the energy, to listen to his passive-aggressive bullshit.
"Is Mrs. Grant so eager to get rid of because Byron Quincy is planning to co back, or is Dr. Finch on his way?" He scooped another piece of peach into his mouth. "Or maybe... you have yet another man."
"Don’t you know whether I have other n or not?" Natalie Morgan stared at him, her disgust beyond words. "And stop calling ’Mrs. Grant.’ If you really thought of as your wife, you’d leave right now and let get so rest."
"Alright then."
He put down the jar, pulled out a wet wipe to clean his fingertips, and slowly, deliberately, unbuttoned his jacket.
Natalie Morgan’s brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"
"Didn’t you say you wanted to rest? As your husband, I have an obligation to help my wife rest well." He raised his hands to unfasten his cufflinks.
The woman was so frightened she shot upright. "Theodore Grant, I’m a patient. Are you sure you want to do this?"
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