Chapter 4
"......"
Trace immediately shook her head.
"Impossible. I have plenty of gay friends. I can tell when someone has that kind of vibe. Adrian Mercer definitely isn't gay."
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"Then I guess that can only mean one thing. Adrian is focused on his career, doesn't mess around with women, and is actually a man worth marrying."
Her fiancé was being praised.
Trace's mood improved a little.
"Obviously! But something was definitely off about the way he treated me tonight. He was completely different from before!"
There was another brief pause.
Then the person on the other end spoke carefully.
"Well... we did find something."
"There's a serious professional admirer around Mr. Mercer. His secretary."
"Apparently, he used to be fairly normal around women. At least on the surface."
"But the longer that woman has been throwing herself at him, the worse his attitude toward women has become."
"Maybe she disgusted him so much that he developed a fear of women."
Trace suddenly understood.
So that was the problem!
She actually knew a girl who had become completely fed up with men after being relentlessly pursued by one.
"I knew it!"
She hung up.
Trace let out a cold laugh.
"The problem is that little sycophant!"
All she had to do was get rid of that woman.
Then make Adrian realize how special she was.
The marriage would be hers.
A lowly secretary actually thought she could marry into the Mercer family?
And she was using the most pathetic trick imaginable—throwing herself at him.
What a joke.
It was just like that replacement Lawrence had brought to the party tonight.
People like that really had no dignity or boundaries.
Nothing but shameless opportunists.
With that thought, Trace pulled out her phone and messaged Isabelle.
Isabelle replied almost immediately.
That little secretary?
I'll just have her fired when the time comes.
About ten minutes later, Emma finally came out of the restroom.
She cautiously peeked into the ballroom.
No blue hair.
Thank God.
Only after confirming that Adrian was gone did she finally straighten up.
Then her stomach growled.
Loudly.
Emma suddenly remembered that she'd only eaten three tiny pastries since that afternoon.
She needed food.
This was actually her first time attending a high-end event like this as a guest.
Who knew if Lawrence would ever bring her to another one?
If she left without eating anything, the whole evening would feel like a waste.
No.
That would be irresponsible.
But she was technically still working.
So she couldn't just wander over to the buffet.
Instead, she found Lawrence talking to a portly businessman.
"Mr. Vance, are you hungry? Would you like me to get you something to eat?"
It's not that I want to eat.
My boss wants to eat.
The party had a full buffet.
And every steak, shrimp, and slice of mousse cake seemed to be calling Emma's name.
Emma Carter.
Come home.
We have food.
Lawrence held his wineglass between his long fingers and glanced at her.
Mr. Vance again?
His eyebrow twitched.
He was about to say no.
Then he noticed the barely concealed anticipation in her eyes.
The words died on his lips.
"Go get something."
Emma smiled sweetly.
"Of course."
The moment she turned around, she silently celebrated.
Any time! Any place! Hungry girl on duty!
The portly businessman watched her walk away.
"That your girlfriend?"
"No—"
Lawrence stopped.
His brows drew together.
The man's eyes were still following Emma's retreating figure.
Emma was undeniably beautiful.
The kind of beautiful people remembered.
Lawrence knew exactly how men thought.
If he said she wasn't his girlfriend, this man would probably try to make a move on her within seconds.
Emma certainly wouldn't appreciate that.
And Lawrence had no intention of watching another man harass her while she was being paid to accompany him.
"Not your girlfriend?" the businessman asked, snapping out of his thoughts.
A suggestive smile spread across his face.
Lawrence's expression turned cold.
"If she weren't my girlfriend, why would I bring her here?"
The man's smile disappeared immediately.
If she was Lawrence's girlfriend, then that was the end of that.
It wasn't that he was particularly afraid of Lawrence.
Lawrence was still young.
Still a newcomer compared with the old-money families.
But he did have a powerful uncle.
A man with enough influence that most people in the industry knew better than to cross him.
Rumor had it that the man was especially fond of Lawrence.
When Lawrence had started his own company, his uncle had quietly helped him.
That was also why so many people in the industry knew better than to cross Lawrence.
Lawrence found the businessman inexplicably irritating.
He turned and walked away.
Meanwhile, Emma had launched a full-scale assault on the buffet.
Ten minutes later, she returned with one hand resting over her slightly rounded stomach.
She sighed deeply.
Her original goal in life had been to become a well-read woman.
Somehow, she'd ended up becoming a well-fed woman instead.
She found Lawrence sitting alone on a sofa.
His long legs were crossed casually.
His posture was straight but relaxed.
His white shirt was buttoned all the way to the top, giving him an almost painfully restrained, untouchable look.
If Emma didn't know that this particular man was a short-tempered lunatic who liked grabbing people by the throat, she might actually think he was pretty attractive.
But whether the boss was handsome wasn't important.
Making money was.
The moment Lawrence saw her return, his voice carried a hint of impatience.
"Why did you take so long?"
Emma quickly explained.
"I know you have a sensitive stomach, so I wanted to find something suitable for you, like some clam chowder. They didn't have any, so I asked someone to make some for you. Sorry it took a little longer."
Lawrence's expression softened before he could stop himself.
"Bring it here."
I should warn her again.
She shouldn't get emotionally attached to me.
The more she gives, the more she's only going to hurt herself.
Emma handed him a small bowl of clam chowder.
Lawrence took a spoonful.
His brows immediately furrowed.
"Why is it cold?"
Emma froze.
Oh no.
That wasn't freshly made clam chowder.
She had simply scooped it out of a large container at the buffet.
She hadn't even checked whether it was hot.
This is what happens when you get greedy during work hours.
Look what you did.
You almost killed yourself over a buffet.
I've learned my lesson.
Please let me go.
Emma desperately tried to think of an explanation.
Before she could say anything, Lawrence took another spoonful.
His voice was cold.
"Remember. You're only a replacement. Don't develop feelings for me."
Clearly, she had deliberately blown on the soup to cool it down.
It was summer.
Who drinks piping-hot clam chowder in the summer?
She obviously didn't want him to know about her little trick, which was why she looked so nervous.
It was painfully obvious.
He didn't even want to embarrass her by pointing it out.
Emma:
"......"
What is this man even talking about?
Since he wasn't going to question the cold soup anymore, Emma couldn't be bothered to figure out what strange theory he was running with.
Whatever a client said, a professional admirer never let a client's words fall flat.
Emma lowered her eyes sadly.
"Mr. Vance, I know."
Mr. Vance again?
Had she already figured out that he didn't like being called baby?
Good.
That was fine.
He really didn't like that nickname anyway.
At least she knew her place.
Lawrence noticed the hurt in her eyes.
He said nothing.
He simply finished the bowl of clam chowder.
It tasted a little strange.
But he didn't mention it.
In a quiet corner of the ballroom, two servers were chatting.
"Hey, you know that clam chowder from yesterday that we put out to fill the buffet?"
"Yeah?"
"You don't think anyone actually ate it, right?"
"Of course not. These people are rich. Who comes to a party like this to eat clam chowder?"
"We made it yesterday and nobody touched it."
"Relax. There's no way anyone actually ate that stuff."