Chapter 5: Design Department Turmoil
1264words
"I heard from HR that the CEO is looking for a secretary, and specifically requested a woman," Linda said quietly to me after glancing at an HR staff member who had just passed by. Linda was a colleague in the design department; we occasionally chatted and went shopping together. She was known throughout the company as a gossip enthusiast.
"Is Mr. Westwood, that eternal ice block, finally about to melt?" she asked with a suggestive wink.
Hmph—melt?
A boss who charges twenty dollars for breakfast probably wouldn't melt even if approached with a welding torch.
I neither contradicted nor argued with her.
After parting with Linda, I went to the underground parking garage and called Jackson from my car.
I hadn't shown up for our date last night, making the excuse that my car had broken down, and asking him to help take it in for maintenance.
What was more interesting was that Olivia and Jackson had run into each other last night. Afraid I might see them together, they had pretended to be nothing more than casual friends.
Jackson had waited at the movie theater entrance all evening, only to be met with Olivia's mockery rather than me.
Jackson's acting skills were impressive, and it was clear he genuinely cared for me, which is why he immediately agreed to help with my car.
I knew he would agree—when someone has done something they feel guilty about, they'll rush down a slope faster than a thief!
Sitting in my car, I adjusted the pinhole camera and touched up my makeup.
Then I began to recall the expressions I'd scanned across everyone's faces this morning. Most of those who had criticized me didn't seem unusual, but I particularly remembered Catherine's slightly curled lip and spectator-like expression in the crowd.
I didn't want to jump to conclusions, but my intuition told me she was connected to this incident.
I decided to wait a bit longer to see if I could find more clues. Time passed minute by minute, and the office gradually emptied until only I and a few colleagues working overtime remained.
Catherine was the last to leave. She packed up slowly, as if waiting for something. I pretended to focus on my computer screen while actually observing her every move.
Finally, she left the office. I waited a few minutes, then gathered my things and quietly followed.
I hid in a dark spot near the elevators, watching the departing vehicles. I took out my phone, ready to snap photos, afraid of missing anything.
Then Catherine walked out, her high heels clicking rhythmically, and got into a BMW, driving away slowly.
I became more certain it was her. That car was exactly the one I had seen with Ethan last night!
I pondered for several minutes before emerging from my corner by the elevator.
Perhaps walking too hastily, I collided with a dark figure just exiting the elevator.
My size 37 white canvas shoes caught on a size 42 leather shoe, my phone slipped from my hand, and my whole body lurched forward.
At that moment, a strong, powerful arm encircled my waist, pulling me up and into an embrace.
I crashed against his firm chest, and the hair tie binding my blonde hair snapped inopportunely, releasing a cascade of silky strands.
I instinctively grabbed his shirt, tearing off two buttons that bounced against my forehead.
"Ah!" I pressed my head against his chest in pain, immediately enveloped by that faint cedar and mint scent.
I carefully steadied myself, rubbing my forehead before looking up at the person who had saved me.
"Mr. Westwood..." My cherry lips parted slightly, my cheeks instantly flushing.
Our eyes met, gazes intertwining.
I could feel my small hand against his chest, sensing the vibration of his breathing.
Noah turned away beside us, pretending not to see anything.
In the dim light, Ethan looked at my loose golden hair, then fixed his gaze on his torn shirt.
Through the open shirt, I could glimpse his perfect collarbone and muscular chest.
"This is the second shirt you've torn," he said expressionlessly, as if answering a casual question.
Yes, this was the second one.
The first was torn in the car.
He slowly released his hand from my waist.
I bit my lip and carefully helped him close his shirt and straighten his tie.
Ethan stood frozen before me, not daring to move, feeling my small hands occasionally brush against his skin.
His body was heating up, his entire form radiating warmth, his gaze unfocused, avoiding looking at me.
After fixing his clothes, I stepped back two paces and bowed 90 degrees to him:
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Westwood!"
Ethan said nothing, just swallowed and handed me my phone.
I accepted it with both hands, quickly thanked him, and turned toward my car.
Sitting in my car, I covered my face with my hands and buried my head against the steering wheel.
This is terrible! Am I under some kind of curse lately? Always getting tangled up with the boss.
And why does my uncooperative face keep turning red?
After composing myself for quite some time and confirming Ethan had left, I hurriedly got out of my car again and took the elevator.
I made two cups of coffee in the break room, broke a sleeping pill in half, and put one piece in each cup.
The elevator descended to the second floor, and I went to the security room, placing the coffee at the door before knocking three times.
The door opened, and the security guard looked around, seeing no one but two steaming cups of coffee with a note attached: "Thanks for your hard work."
He smiled, picked up the coffee, and closed the door.
About ten minutes later, I knocked on the door again. There was no response from inside.
I carefully looked around, and seeing no one, slipped inside.
The surveillance system wasn't broken—it had been edited. I found the deleted video in the "Recycle Bin" on the desktop, made a backup copy, and quietly left.
Back home, I watched the backup video while eating instant noodles. It was indeed Catherine, at around 1 AM, which explained why we had seen her hurriedly driving away in the underground parking garage.
"Oh no, I wonder if she saw me with Ethan..."
Just thinking about him made me inexplicably blush.
Catherine's father had business dealings with Ethan—Westwood Fashion Empire's logistics were handled by Catherine's family company. If this matter became public, would it affect him?
I thought about it and decided I shouldn't act rashly.
I picked up my instant noodles, sighed, turned on a movie, and leaned back on the sofa to eat leisurely.
That's when I noticed Ethan's suit jacket on the sofa...
I picked up the jacket, gently stroking the high-quality fabric, recalling tonight's scene in the parking garage. His chest had been so firm, his arms so strong, and yet I had torn his shirt again.
I couldn't help but smile—this cold man seemed to always be at a disadvantage around me.
Perhaps I should have a new shirt custom-made for him as compensation.
With this thought, I gradually drifted to sleep, dreaming of that tall figure and those deep gray-blue eyes.
