Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 86: Chapter 86
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 86: Chapter 86. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
Just as she turned, the security guard stopped her. "Ms. Grace! President Whitmore said to wait right here. He'll explain everything. If you go to your car and miss him, that would be terrible."
Grace clenched her jaw hard.
Now she understood—Simon Whitmore was doing this on purpose, although she had no idea how she had offended him.
The bone-deep cold made her body shake uncontrollably; part of her wanted to quit and leave.
Yet she thought of the years she had fought within Bennett Corporation to reach this post. If she walked away now, the company would surely fire her and all her effort would be wasted.
Remembering that, she bit down and endured.
Without noticing, the street lamps flicked on, and people began drifting out of the building.
Grace stared unblinkingly at the doorway, but Simon Whitmore never appeared.
Just then, a flamboyant Rolls-Royce Phantom emerged from the underground garage.
One glance told Grace it had to be Simon's. She dashed forward and blocked its path.
The car was forced to stop.
Shivering, Grace tapped on the window. "President Whitmore! Please, roll it down...."
The glass lowered. Simon's lips curved faintly, yet his expression was colder than the snow.
He asked, "Director Grace, what do you need?"
Her teeth chattered. "President Whitmore, you told me to wait here. You halted the project—did we do something to displease you?"
Simon arched a brow, as though only now recalling the matter.
"I'm busy. If you have questions, talk to Calvin Zane in Project Management."
The moment he finished, the car sped away.
Grace stomped the ground in frustration.
She hurried back to her own car, cranked up the heat, then called around until she obtained Calvin Zane's number and phoned him.
On the line, Zane's tone was oily; after some small talk he suggested they discuss it over dinner at the clubhouse that evening.
They moved in the same circles; Grace knew exactly what kind of man Calvin was.
Rumor said he was a lecher—if she went alone, he would surely take advantage.
She pondered, and a face suddenly popped into her mind.
How could she have forgotten Elena Bennett? With that siren's beauty, this was precisely the sort of occasion where she should shine.
If this deal succeeded, Annabelle Bennett would owe her plenty—killing two birds with one stone.
Grace immediately phoned Elena.
At that moment Elena was in a taxi heading home when Grace's call came through.
"Director Grace, what can I do for you?"
"Come to Westhaven Clubhouse at once. We have a social dinner tonight."
Elena had no choice but to tell the driver to change course.
Grace waited for her downstairs.
"Listen," Grace warned, "the man we're meeting is Calvin Zane, who runs Whitmore Group's project. Keep your wits at the table. One mistake and you'll answer to me."
Elena lowered her gaze. "Understood."
Grace led her upstairs. After they waited a while in the private suite, Calvin arrived.
He was a greasy middle-aged man—fat-cheeked and balding, thick-lipped behind rimless glasses.
Grace clenched her jaw hard.
Now she understood—Simon Whitmore was doing this on purpose, although she had no idea how she had offended him.
The bone-deep cold made her body shake uncontrollably; part of her wanted to quit and leave.
Yet she thought of the years she had fought within Bennett Corporation to reach this post. If she walked away now, the company would surely fire her and all her effort would be wasted.
Remembering that, she bit down and endured.
Without noticing, the street lamps flicked on, and people began drifting out of the building.
Grace stared unblinkingly at the doorway, but Simon Whitmore never appeared.
Just then, a flamboyant Rolls-Royce Phantom emerged from the underground garage.
One glance told Grace it had to be Simon's. She dashed forward and blocked its path.
The car was forced to stop.
Shivering, Grace tapped on the window. "President Whitmore! Please, roll it down...."
The glass lowered. Simon's lips curved faintly, yet his expression was colder than the snow.
He asked, "Director Grace, what do you need?"
Her teeth chattered. "President Whitmore, you told me to wait here. You halted the project—did we do something to displease you?"
Simon arched a brow, as though only now recalling the matter.
"I'm busy. If you have questions, talk to Calvin Zane in Project Management."
The moment he finished, the car sped away.
Grace stomped the ground in frustration.
She hurried back to her own car, cranked up the heat, then called around until she obtained Calvin Zane's number and phoned him.
On the line, Zane's tone was oily; after some small talk he suggested they discuss it over dinner at the clubhouse that evening.
They moved in the same circles; Grace knew exactly what kind of man Calvin was.
Rumor said he was a lecher—if she went alone, he would surely take advantage.
She pondered, and a face suddenly popped into her mind.
How could she have forgotten Elena Bennett? With that siren's beauty, this was precisely the sort of occasion where she should shine.
If this deal succeeded, Annabelle Bennett would owe her plenty—killing two birds with one stone.
Grace immediately phoned Elena.
At that moment Elena was in a taxi heading home when Grace's call came through.
"Director Grace, what can I do for you?"
"Come to Westhaven Clubhouse at once. We have a social dinner tonight."
Elena had no choice but to tell the driver to change course.
Grace waited for her downstairs.
"Listen," Grace warned, "the man we're meeting is Calvin Zane, who runs Whitmore Group's project. Keep your wits at the table. One mistake and you'll answer to me."
Elena lowered her gaze. "Understood."
Grace led her upstairs. After they waited a while in the private suite, Calvin arrived.
He was a greasy middle-aged man—fat-cheeked and balding, thick-lipped behind rimless glasses.
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 86. Continue reading Chapter 87 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.