Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 118: Chapter 118
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 118: Chapter 118. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
After an awkward standoff that seemed to last forever, a familiar baritone sounded from the entrance. "Elena Bennett?"
It was Victor Whitmore.
"What brings you here?" he asked.
Elena gave him a brief rundown, and Victor personally escorted her into the building.
Inside the elevator.
Victor regarded her with a half-smile and spoke in a languid, mocking tone. "Chasing the Whitmore Group already, Elena? I must say, your methods are getting more and more sophisticated."
Elena frowned. "Chasing what, exactly?"
He snorted, as if he had seen straight through her. "Nothing. Just do your job."
Elena rolled her eyes in bewilderment.
It was only once they reached the office floor that Elena discovered Victor was effectively her immediate superior on the client side—every proposal had to pass through him first.
That morning a meeting had been scheduled, and Elena was expected to present her design concept.
Carrying her laptop, she entered the meeting room and delivered the PowerPoint with utter professionalism.
When she finished, Victor frowned and flipped to the slide showing the exterior rendering.
"This is an art museum, yet your facade is far too plain—utterly unremarkable," Victor declared, dismissing her scheme in a single sentence.
"I don't see it that way." The words came in a deep, mellow voice from the doorway.
Everyone turned toward the speaker.
Elena stared, startled, as Simon Whitmore stepped inside.
Simon walked into the room, eyes on the screen. "Eastern architecture is about hiding the blade," he said. "We speak with restraint, act with just enough force, unlike the Western appetite for overt display.
"A space that truly serves as a spiritual bastion is often wrapped in unadorned simplicity—that humility lies in our cultural marrow. For that reason, Miss Bennett's proposal meets my expectations."
With those words, Simon looked at Elena, and a slow applause rose from his palms.
Elena stared at him, then let a faint smile lift the corner of her mouth.
Victor's eyes narrowed. He glanced at Simon, then at Elena, a nameless flame licking at his chest.
Since Simon had endorsed the design, Victor no longer dared voice opposition.
After the meeting Simon arranged for Elena to have a private office of her own.
"At noon you don't need to go to the cafeteria," Simon told her. "Someone will bring lunch to you."
Elena nodded. "Thank you for speaking up for me in there."
"I suspect you could have convinced them without my help," he said.
Simon tilted his head, studying her face. "Don't move."
Elena stood perfectly still as he leaned closer; the cool scent of cedar on his skin filled her breath.
Her heartbeat skipped wildly, and warmth crawled across her cheeks.
She felt his hand land gently beside her ear, cupping her cheek.
"Si—" she began.
Just when she thought he might kiss her, he stepped back and said lightly, "Skip the sandwich for breakfast next time. It's hard to digest."
Elena blinked at him. "How did you know I had a sandwich this morning?"
Simon opened his palm; a few crumbs of toast rested on his fingertips.
Heat surged over Elena's face.
So he had only been picking crumbs from her hair, while she—mortifyingly—had imagined something else entirely.
Embarrassment burned so fiercely she wished the floor would open and swallow her whole.
Simon Whitmore said, "Quit thanking me every five seconds. Brew a coffee and bring it to my office."
It was Victor Whitmore.
"What brings you here?" he asked.
Elena gave him a brief rundown, and Victor personally escorted her into the building.
Inside the elevator.
Victor regarded her with a half-smile and spoke in a languid, mocking tone. "Chasing the Whitmore Group already, Elena? I must say, your methods are getting more and more sophisticated."
Elena frowned. "Chasing what, exactly?"
He snorted, as if he had seen straight through her. "Nothing. Just do your job."
Elena rolled her eyes in bewilderment.
It was only once they reached the office floor that Elena discovered Victor was effectively her immediate superior on the client side—every proposal had to pass through him first.
That morning a meeting had been scheduled, and Elena was expected to present her design concept.
Carrying her laptop, she entered the meeting room and delivered the PowerPoint with utter professionalism.
When she finished, Victor frowned and flipped to the slide showing the exterior rendering.
"This is an art museum, yet your facade is far too plain—utterly unremarkable," Victor declared, dismissing her scheme in a single sentence.
"I don't see it that way." The words came in a deep, mellow voice from the doorway.
Everyone turned toward the speaker.
Elena stared, startled, as Simon Whitmore stepped inside.
Simon walked into the room, eyes on the screen. "Eastern architecture is about hiding the blade," he said. "We speak with restraint, act with just enough force, unlike the Western appetite for overt display.
"A space that truly serves as a spiritual bastion is often wrapped in unadorned simplicity—that humility lies in our cultural marrow. For that reason, Miss Bennett's proposal meets my expectations."
With those words, Simon looked at Elena, and a slow applause rose from his palms.
Elena stared at him, then let a faint smile lift the corner of her mouth.
Victor's eyes narrowed. He glanced at Simon, then at Elena, a nameless flame licking at his chest.
Since Simon had endorsed the design, Victor no longer dared voice opposition.
After the meeting Simon arranged for Elena to have a private office of her own.
"At noon you don't need to go to the cafeteria," Simon told her. "Someone will bring lunch to you."
Elena nodded. "Thank you for speaking up for me in there."
"I suspect you could have convinced them without my help," he said.
Simon tilted his head, studying her face. "Don't move."
Elena stood perfectly still as he leaned closer; the cool scent of cedar on his skin filled her breath.
Her heartbeat skipped wildly, and warmth crawled across her cheeks.
She felt his hand land gently beside her ear, cupping her cheek.
"Si—" she began.
Just when she thought he might kiss her, he stepped back and said lightly, "Skip the sandwich for breakfast next time. It's hard to digest."
Elena blinked at him. "How did you know I had a sandwich this morning?"
Simon opened his palm; a few crumbs of toast rested on his fingertips.
Heat surged over Elena's face.
So he had only been picking crumbs from her hair, while she—mortifyingly—had imagined something else entirely.
Embarrassment burned so fiercely she wished the floor would open and swallow her whole.
Simon Whitmore said, "Quit thanking me every five seconds. Brew a coffee and bring it to my office."
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 118. Continue reading Chapter 119 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.