Serving My Ex's Engagement Party - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading Serving My Ex's Engagement Party, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of Serving My Ex's Engagement Party.
What started as project follow-ups quickly devolved into being Randell's personal errand runner.
These past few days had mostly consisted of placing takeout orders from five-star restaurants—one for him, one for me. But I'd been saving those gourmet meals, bringing them home to Alistair every night.
Of course, Randell eventually caught on. He laughed at my frugal habits but surprised me by insisting I order an extra meal for Alistair from then on.
That's why I could never resent him. At his core, Randell had always been decent.
Yet this kindness made me nervous—like the fragile peace I'd built might shatter because of him.
"Mr. Deleon, you're not trying to court me, are you?" I asked pointedly. "Isn't Lesly your official girlfriend?"
Randell's lips pressed into a thin line as he studied me. Then, just as quickly, his usual careless smirk returned.
"Who told you Lesly and I are together? We're just friends."
Even though I knew better than to care, relief flooded through me at his words.
"Why do you keep ordering meals for me?"
Randell chuckled at my bluntness, but my serious expression wiped the amusement from his face.
The growing tension between us shattered when Donovan knocked, reminding me about tonight's dinner with Deleon Group executives.
Randell finally answered my question by tracing my collarbone with his fingertips. "If I don't fatten you up, how will you handle all the drinking tonight?"
The dinner was a minefield. Two senior executives arrived with their entourages, none aware of my history with Randell.
Corporate America was already rigged against women. After two years at this company, I'd learned that the hard way—working twice as hard for $3,000 less than my peers. That was the deal I'd struck with my boss.
But Randell changed the rules. When he threatened me—sending someone to pick up Alistair with the unspoken warning that my brother's safety depended on my cooperation—I had no choice. Alistair was my only reason for holding on this long.
At the table, the executives' predatory stares crawled over me while Randell observed silently from the head seat.
"Go pour drinks for the leadership team," Donovan nudged me.
A meaty hand clamped around my wrist. "Such soft hands," one executive leered.
Heat rushed to my face. I wanted to smash the bottle across his skull.
"Mr. Olson," Randell's voice cut like ice. "Are you that desperate?"
Langston Olson released me with an awkward chuckle.
The "business dinner" became a drinking gauntlet. Randell watched coldly as they pressured me to down glass after glass.
After eight ounces of wine, my body rebelled. I barely made it to the restroom before vomiting violently, my throat and stomach burning.
Footsteps approached. Assuming it was Donovan, I waved weakly. "I'm fine... I can keep going."
"Eleanore!"
Randell's hands gripped my arms, hauling me upright. My legs buckled, forcing me to lean against him.
The man who despised messes simply looked at the smeared lipstick on my face and wiped it away gently with a tissue.
I wished he'd stayed cold. This tenderness destroyed me.
Fisting his shirt, I slurred, "You... you're terrible..."
Randell sighed, brushing hair from my forehead. "I know, I'm terrible."
The dam broke. Hot tears soaked through his dress shirt.
"Why are you crying?" His confusion only made me sob harder.
"You made me drink! If you hate me, just say it!" My flailing arms drew attention from the dining room.
Randell's fury ignited. "Who forced her to drink?" The executives froze like prey sensing danger.
Between gasps, I clutched my stomach. "It hurts..."
In one fluid motion, Randell stormed to Langston, yanked his head back by the hair, and forced a liquor bottle down his throat. We all watched as the man choked, his face purpling, until Randell finally released him.
These past few days had mostly consisted of placing takeout orders from five-star restaurants—one for him, one for me. But I'd been saving those gourmet meals, bringing them home to Alistair every night.
Of course, Randell eventually caught on. He laughed at my frugal habits but surprised me by insisting I order an extra meal for Alistair from then on.
That's why I could never resent him. At his core, Randell had always been decent.
Yet this kindness made me nervous—like the fragile peace I'd built might shatter because of him.
"Mr. Deleon, you're not trying to court me, are you?" I asked pointedly. "Isn't Lesly your official girlfriend?"
Randell's lips pressed into a thin line as he studied me. Then, just as quickly, his usual careless smirk returned.
"Who told you Lesly and I are together? We're just friends."
Even though I knew better than to care, relief flooded through me at his words.
"Why do you keep ordering meals for me?"
Randell chuckled at my bluntness, but my serious expression wiped the amusement from his face.
The growing tension between us shattered when Donovan knocked, reminding me about tonight's dinner with Deleon Group executives.
Randell finally answered my question by tracing my collarbone with his fingertips. "If I don't fatten you up, how will you handle all the drinking tonight?"
The dinner was a minefield. Two senior executives arrived with their entourages, none aware of my history with Randell.
Corporate America was already rigged against women. After two years at this company, I'd learned that the hard way—working twice as hard for $3,000 less than my peers. That was the deal I'd struck with my boss.
But Randell changed the rules. When he threatened me—sending someone to pick up Alistair with the unspoken warning that my brother's safety depended on my cooperation—I had no choice. Alistair was my only reason for holding on this long.
At the table, the executives' predatory stares crawled over me while Randell observed silently from the head seat.
"Go pour drinks for the leadership team," Donovan nudged me.
A meaty hand clamped around my wrist. "Such soft hands," one executive leered.
Heat rushed to my face. I wanted to smash the bottle across his skull.
"Mr. Olson," Randell's voice cut like ice. "Are you that desperate?"
Langston Olson released me with an awkward chuckle.
The "business dinner" became a drinking gauntlet. Randell watched coldly as they pressured me to down glass after glass.
After eight ounces of wine, my body rebelled. I barely made it to the restroom before vomiting violently, my throat and stomach burning.
Footsteps approached. Assuming it was Donovan, I waved weakly. "I'm fine... I can keep going."
"Eleanore!"
Randell's hands gripped my arms, hauling me upright. My legs buckled, forcing me to lean against him.
The man who despised messes simply looked at the smeared lipstick on my face and wiped it away gently with a tissue.
I wished he'd stayed cold. This tenderness destroyed me.
Fisting his shirt, I slurred, "You... you're terrible..."
Randell sighed, brushing hair from my forehead. "I know, I'm terrible."
The dam broke. Hot tears soaked through his dress shirt.
"Why are you crying?" His confusion only made me sob harder.
"You made me drink! If you hate me, just say it!" My flailing arms drew attention from the dining room.
Randell's fury ignited. "Who forced her to drink?" The executives froze like prey sensing danger.
Between gasps, I clutched my stomach. "It hurts..."
In one fluid motion, Randell stormed to Langston, yanked his head back by the hair, and forced a liquor bottle down his throat. We all watched as the man choked, his face purpling, until Randell finally released him.
End of Serving My Ex's Engagement Party Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to Serving My Ex's Engagement Party book page.