Upon hearing Ann Vaughn’s firm decision, Dean Hale was at a loss for words, hesitating for a mont before saying to her, "If you agree to join The National Research Institute, I can make an exception and set up a private lab for you to conduct research."
A private lab?
Ann Vaughn thought of the lab on the top floor of building 8—spacious and well-equipped, almost as if it were tailor-made for her.
Many pieces of equipnt that are impossible to buy for personal use are all available there.
"Well, actually, Dean Hale..."
"I’ll also assign you a group of high-quality interns to assist you. How about that?" Dean Hale promised earnestly, "And I assure you, if you decide to join The National Research Institute, the benefits won’t be any less than those you received in K Country."
Ann Vaughn couldn’t help but laugh and cry, "Dean Hale, I appreciate your kindness, but I really don’t want to join The National Research Institute. Plus, I think there’s soone else who needs this valuable opportunity more than I do."
Dean Hale, of course, knew that at Ann Vaughn’s level, joining The National Research Institute wasn’t that crucial anymore.
If she wanted, even those famous research institutes abroad were there for her to choose from.
But she wasn’t willing, and there was nothing to be done about it.
Dean Hale let out a long sigh, "If you change your mind in the future, you can co to anyti. The doors of The National Research Institute are always open for you."
"Thank you."
After hanging up the phone, Ann Vaughn walked back to the President’s office with a light step.
As the glass door opened, a low, cold reprimand ca from inside, startling Ann Vaughn so much that her hands shook.
Following the voice, she saw a thin woman in black-and-white business attire standing with her head lowered in front of the desk, blocking the view of Cyrus Hawthorne behind, making it impossible for Ann Vaughn to see his current expression.
Yet she could imagine it.
Because the chill spreading from behind the desk was almost freezing her solid.
"President Hawthorne, I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. I just placed the newspaper on the desk, and maybe it accidentally got slipped in while tidying up the docunts. It’s all my fault for not checking carefully. Please give another chance!"
Joyce Chancellor bowed deeply, her teary voice full of grievance and choked with sobs, making her look even more pitiable.
The man behind the desk was expressionless, his sharp features showing no emotion, and his thin lips pressed into a cold line.
"Three strikes, and you’re out. You have no more chances. Leave."
"President Hawthorne..." Joyce Chancellor’s eyes widened, tears filling them with disbelief. She was extrely unwilling to accept it, "It was just a careless mistake, it didn’t cause major trouble. Why can’t you give one more chance?"
Cyrus Hawthorne’s thin lips curled coldly, the chill around him even more pronounced, "Am I to be dictated to by you in my affairs?"
Seeing Joyce Chancellor still wanting to argue, Mark Joyce frowned and said, "One mistake doesn’t an much, but this is already your third one this month, Joyce."
The first was spilling coffee on the President while delivering docunts.
The second was leaving the phone on during a critical mont in a eting, causing an interruption.
And this ti...
She touched upon President Hawthorne’s taboo.
Reluctant to leave, Joyce Chancellor didn’t even notice Ann Vaughn standing by the door as she stord past her.
The sight of Joyce’s tear-streaked face forced right in front of her startled Ann Vaughn into swallowing hard.
During their private interactions, Cyrus Hawthorne rarely refuted Ann Vaughn, and most of the ti, she would get annoyed by his cold deanor, retorting in various ways.
She used to smugly think it was because he was tongue-tied and couldn’t outtalk her.
But now Ann Vaughn realized he was simply too lazy to bother arguing with her...
In her daze, Mark Joyce ca out of the office and suddenly looked at her with pity.
A chill crept up Ann Vaughn’s neck for no reason, "Special Assistant Joyce... why are you looking at like that?"
"Oh, it’s just that I haven’t seen you for a while, and it seems Miss Vaughn has beco even more beautiful," Mark Joyce smiled faintly, "You’d better go in. President Hawthorne isn’t in the best of moods, so be careful."
"Why is he in a bad mood?"
"That’s sothing I think Miss Vaughn should be asking yourself."
"..." She just went to the bathroom; what did she do?
Feeling uneasy from what Mark Joyce had said, Ann Vaughn hesitated at the door for a while before mustering the courage to push it open.
Peering inside, Cyrus Hawthorne had already paused his work, holding a coffee cup while seated on the sofa, his dark hair brushing over his refined brow, expression cool and unreadable.
Ann Vaughn tiptoed to his side and imdiately saw the newspaper lying on the table.
It featured a picture of her and Warren Vance.
Warren Vance had insisted on taking her to the airport before she left Marinia yesterday, and she had no choice but to agree.
But she never expected that the damn guy would insist on hugging her in the bustling airport.
Without a second thought, Ann Vaughn had lifted her foot and almost stomped through his shoe.
The jerk had no sense of wrongdoing and even quipped, "Getting a hug for a stomp from you is worth it."
It had nearly infuriated Ann Vaughn to death.
What angered her even more was the newspaper’s headline: "Crown Prince Gothasen and Vaughn Clinic’s Owner Embrace at Airport, Stirring Sweet Romantic Tears."
Sweet your ass!!
Which eye saw any romance between her and Warren Vance??
If the editor responsible for writing that article were in front of Ann Vaughn, she might have rushed up and flipped his skull open!
Without thinking, Ann Vaughn balled up the newspaper and threw it into the trash bin, stomping on it for good asure.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes glanced at her coolly, his handso face not showing a trace of anger, yet that icy gaze almost stopped Ann Vaughn’s heart.
Gathering courage, she sat on Cyrus Hawthorne’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Seeing he didn’t push her away, she then dared to explain further.
"Nowadays, the dia can write anything outrageous to catch eyes. Warren Vance and I have always had a profound parental love, never any romance."
Her soft voice carried a hint of flattery and was sweet to the extre.
Yet Cyrus Hawthorne’s expression didn’t change, not uttering a word.
"...All right, I admit I did see Warren Vance yesterday, but I swear nothing’s going on between us. That airport hug was his idea, grabbing without warning," Ann Vaughn added in a small voice, "Poor , a weak girl incapable of fighting a chicken, but unwilling to bow to thieves, striving to defend my innocence—shouldn’t that be praised?"
Cyrus Hawthorne’s thin lips twitched; his cool fingers pinched her puffy cheeks as he spoke in a deep voice, "So I should grant you a reward?"
Ann Vaughn instinctively asked, "Do I get one?"
"..."
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