Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 113: Chapter 113

To their surprise, Simon was already there; the dishes had been ordered, and two unopened bottles of white liquor sat on the table.
Julian glanced at his watch and said, "President Whitmore, I'm sorry we're late."
"I had nothing better to do, so I came early. Sit," Simon answered.
Julian took a seat, poured himself a glass, and offered a contrite toast. "President Whitmore, this drink is for you. I didn't oversee the project personally and must have disappointed you. Please accept my apology."
Simon said nothing; he merely picked up his tea and took a slow sip.
"President Bennett, you can certainly hold your liquor. I have to drive later, so I won't be drinking," Simon added, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
Julian wet his lips, refilled his own glass, and said, "President Whitmore, our two families have known each other for years. If anything about the project dissatisfies you, please say so and we'll correct it."
Simon's eyes narrowed to slits. "You tell me. If you know what your sister has done on that project, you should already understand my reasons."
Julian couldn't read his thoughts, but he recalled Annabelle's words and wondered whether Elena really had botched the job.
He frowned. "That was my oversight. My sister lacks experience, and I let her meddle. From now on, I'll handle the project personally. Will that do?"
A faint, elusive smile hovered on Simon's lips, yet the air around him turned so icy it seemed to freeze solid.
Apparently he had no clue that Elena had been deliberately sidelined inside the company; he actually believed his other sister was the one who had made a mess of things.
In his growing panic he even caught himself believing the whole fiasco must have been stirred up by his own kid sister, as though pinning the blame on her slight shoulders might somehow lighten the weight pressing on his chest.
Julian lifted his glass again and forced a smile. "President Whitmore, another toast. I guarantee the project will run smoothly from today on."
Simon twirled the cup between his fingers, amusement never quite reaching his eyes.
"Then show me some sincerity," he said, gesturing toward the bottle.
The motion made it crystal clear—Julian was to empty the entire bottle.
Julian's face tightened. "President Whitmore—"
Grace rose at once, trying to shield him. "President Whitmore, perhaps I could drink instead. President Bennett—"
"Director Grace, I appreciate your sincerity as well. That's why the other bottle is prepared especially for you," Simon cut in.
Grace's complexion blanched to ghostly white; they had clearly run head-first into a wall this time.
From the frosty silence that followed, he suddenly understood he had slammed head-first into a wall of solid iron; this time he had tangled with someone far tougher than he could ever hope to budge.
Julian stared at the bottle for a long moment, then clenched his jaw, unsealed it, and raised it to his lips.
Two swallows seared down his throat like fire, but he forced himself to keep going and drained the entire bottle in one breath.
Even so, he steeled his nerves, lifted the glass, and forced the scorching liquor down in one brutal swallow, determined not to let the tremor in his fingers betray the dread curling through him.
Seeing his desperate resolve, Grace dared not refuse; she screwed open the second bottle and gulped until halfway through her stomach revolted. She slammed the bottle down, dashed to the restroom, and vomited uncontrollably.
She, on the other hand, was still a girl; halfway through the bottle her body quit on her. She set it down, bolted for the restroom, and doubled over the sink, retching until it felt as if her stomach might turn inside out.
Julian, having finished, fought back his own nausea and fixed his eyes on Simon.
"President Whitmore, is that enough now?" he asked hoarsely.
Simon Whitmore curved his lips, though his gaze remained frigid as black ice, and said, "President Bennett, you've truly broadened my horizons. I shouldn't be surprised—a man capable of pummeling his own sister in the street can do anything."
So this is Whitmore settling the score for Elena? Since when did those two become that close?' Julian Bennett wondered, belated understanding flickering across his face.
When had Elena Bennett started walking so closely beside him—close enough to share in both the danger and the fallout? The question blindsided him, leaving a bitter aftertaste that no amount of alcohol could wash away.
Simon rose without the slightest expression. "I've seen your so-called sincerity, President Bennett, but I have no desire to work with you. If you want the project to stay alive, put Elena Bennett in sole charge."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode away; behind him, Julian Bennett toppled to the floor with a resounding thud.