Chapter 8: A Fine Sense of Discretion
1242words
We arrived at the underground parking garage, and Jackson insisted on driving me home, but I refused.
"No need to drive me. I have a business trip tomorrow, and I have another appointment later. Remember! I like things clean, so don't dirty my car!"
Those three words—"don't dirty it"—I said with particular emphasis, though they also pierced my own heart.
I restrained myself from saying anything harsher.
I had indeed drunk a bit too much, but not enough to lose my rationality. I was very clear about my purpose tonight.
Jackson obediently took my car keys and got in.
"Alia! I love you!" Jackson called out from the window, his voice sincere.
I believed he had some genuine feelings. I gave a slight smile but didn't respond.
Love is cheap, easy to say, and everyone can claim it.
During the past few years, I had to admit we were once in love, but that was limited to the past.
Watching him drive away in my car, my eyes grew misty, and the tears I had been holding back finally flowed.
I sobbed quietly, tears streaming down endlessly like a spring.
"Bitch! Trash!" I gritted my teeth, cursing under my breath.
The pain in my heart felt like someone slowly cutting it with a knife, blood seeping out drop by drop, corroding my entire body.
I leaned against the wall, tears streaming down my face.
I don't know how long I stood there, but eventually, it seemed my tears had dried up.
I composed myself, smoothed back my hair with my hand, and turned around only to find Ethan standing at the elevator entrance, watching me.
I quickly looked away, frantically wiping my tears, not wanting him to see.
"...you." Ethan staggered toward me, his eyes unfocused, giving the impression he might collapse at any moment.
"Miss Levinsky?" He squinted as if drunk, looking noble and cold behind his frameless glasses.
I turned my face away, not wanting him to see my tears, but he lowered his head to look directly into my eyes.
"It is you..." He nearly stumbled.
I quickly reached out to steady him.
"Mr. Westwood..." I called his name, my voice choked.
I sighed, wondering how I had ended up in such unfortunate circumstances. Betrayed by my boyfriend, replaced by my best friend, and slept with my boss. Who could handle all that?
"You've been crying?" Ethan was clearly unsteady, half his weight leaning on me.
"No, just got something in my eye," I quickly denied.
"Mr. Westwood, where's your car? Give me your keys." I helped him lean against the wall and began searching his pockets.
But his pockets were empty, and I didn't dare check his pants pockets, afraid of touching somewhere inappropriate.
"Didn't drive," he said, tilting his head to look at my tear-reddened eyes and nose.
I didn't know what to do with him. Frowning, I muttered under my breath: "How can you get drunk on restaurant wine? With such poor alcohol tolerance, did you sleep your way into those contracts too?"
Complaining, I called Noah.
"Noah, where are you? Your boss is drunk."
"Miss Levinsky, do you know what time it is? I'm off work," Noah replied with a hint of resignation.
"Obviously I know you're off work! I'm off too! But you're his assistant—do you want your boss or not? If not, I'll leave him here."
I had a stomach full of grievances with no one to vent to, and now I had to deal with this mess. I had wanted to stay as far away from him as possible, yet somehow we kept running into each other.
"Where are you?" Noah finally asked.
"Rosetta Restaurant, underground parking."
Silence on the other end for a moment. "Let me speak to him."
I sighed and walked over to Ethan.
"Your assistant wants to talk to you! Hurry up and tell him to come get you!" I grabbed his wrist, making him hold the phone.
Ethan shook his dizzy head, looked at the phone, then put it to his ear and walked aside to take the call.
Meanwhile, I took the opportunity to fix my tear-stained face and messy hair.
"Mm." Ethan responded briefly to the phone.
"Mm."
"Mm."
"Mm."
He ended the conversation with just that one syllable.
"..." Ethan stumbled back toward me, his arm draping over my shoulder.
I startled and tried to move away, but afraid he might fall, I had to support him.
"Hey! Did you call someone?!" I grabbed the phone and tried calling back, only to find Noah had turned his phone off.
Well played!
I had no choice but to help Ethan to the first floor to get a taxi.
We sat in the back seat, with Ethan's head resting on my shoulder. I turned my head slightly and smelled the faint scent of shampoo in his hair—it was pleasant.
"Going out drinking without a bodyguard, don't you know your good looks would fetch a high price in a brothel?" I took the opportunity to pinch his cheek.
His skin was smooth, and I couldn't resist touching it a couple more times, secretly smiling.
The taxi driver glanced at us with an amused smile.
With some effort, I managed to get him back to his apartment building, by now it was eleven o'clock.
As soon as we reached his door, the security guard rushed out to help.
"Get away!" Ethan barked at the guard who was about to assist him, dismissing him bluntly.
"Are you a pig? Do I look like someone who can carry you?" The guard's eyes widened in disbelief.
Sweating profusely, I dumped him on the living room sofa.
Just as I was about to leave, my wrist was grabbed and pulled back. I stumbled and fell into his embrace, held tightly against him.
"Oh!" His chest felt just like that night—firm, warm, and wonderful to touch.
"Don't go..."
"Slap!" I delivered a sharp slap to his face, then quickly scrambled away.
Shocked by my own action and worried I might have hurt him, I reached out to touch his face: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
He recovered slowly, his eyes gazing at me tenderly, then leaned back on the sofa, looking at me.
The maid who was about to come help stood frozen in surprise.
I stood up and straightened my clothes, then said to the maid: "If he doesn't remember tomorrow, don't tell him I slapped him. Just say he fell."
"Alright..." The maid nodded slightly, recognizing me as the woman who had spent the night with Ethan before. She dared not disobey.
I looked at Ethan one more time, then turned and left the apartment.
Less than two minutes later, Ethan straightened his clothes and picked up the sobering soup the maid had prepared.
"Ouch—" He touched his painful cheek, then looked toward the door where I had just left.
The maid pressed her lips together to suppress a smile, not daring to laugh out loud.
Who would have thought that the mighty CEO would play such tricks, and who would have imagined there would be a woman who could reject the CEO's advances? How extraordinary!
Back at my apartment, I eagerly stripped off the clothes that Jackson had touched, threw them directly into the trash, and went to take a shower.
