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Chapter 93 – First Snow, Strategic Dinner, and a Necessary Call
The first snow of the season drifted lazily past my office window as I stared at the quarterly report in front of me. My focus wasn’t on the promising numbers but on the memory of Damien’s voice, tight with concern over my minor injury.
I’d been short with him. Too defensive. The realization gnawed at me.
“He was just being kind,” I muttered to myself, rubbing my temple where a small bruise had formed. “And I practically bit his head off.”
A knock interrupted my self–scolding. Mr. Vance appeared in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the outer office lights.
“Ms. Ashworth, I’ve finalized the production schedules for next month’s collections. Would you like to review them now?”
I nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Please, come in.”
As Mr. Vance took a seat across from me, I noticed how different he was from my previous manager. Where she had been flustered and disorganized, he was calm efficiency personified. His salt–and–pepper hair and measured speech gave him an air of trustworthiness that clients immediately responded to.
“These timelines are incredibly detailed,” I remarked, flipping through his meticulously organized binder.
“I’ve built in contingency days here and here,” he pointed out. “The fabric supplier for the Liu wedding has been inconsistent lately.”
“Smart. Very smart.”
We worked through the schedules for nearly two hours. Outside, the snow fell heavier, blanketing the city in white. The office grew quiet as evening approached, the rest of the staff having long departed.
When we finally finished, I leaned back in my chair with a satisfied sigh. “Mr. Vance, you’re proving to be an excellent addition to our team.”
A rare smile crossed his usually serious face. “Thank you, Ms. Ashworth. That means a
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great deal coming from you.”
As he gathered his papers, he paused, reaching into his briefcase. “I almost forgot. I picked this up for you.”
He placed a small bottle on my desk.
“Tiger Balm?” I read the label, confused.
“For your injury,” he explained, looking slightly embarrassed. “My mother swears by it for bumps and bruises. I thought it might help.”
The unexpected thoughtfulness caught me off guard. “That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s nothing” he dismissed, returning to his professional demeanor. “Will there be anything else before I go?”
My stomach growled audibly, and I realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The thought of returning to my empty apartment didn’t appeal.
“Actually,” I said impulsively, “I haven’t properly welcomed you to the company yet. Would you like to grab dinner? There’s a good hot pot place nearby.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he nodded. “That would be nice, thank
you.”
Only as we were pulling on our coats did I wonder if dining alone with a male employee might appear inappropriate. But it was just a casual meal, I reasoned–a belated welcome gesture.
The restaurant was busy but not crowded, the warmth inside a sharp contrast to the snowy evening. We settled into a corner booth, steam rising from the bubbling pot
between us.
“I hope you like spicy food,” I said, ordering the half–spicy, half–mild broth I preferred.
“Very much so,” he confirmed. “I lived in Sichuan for two years.
This piqued my interest. “Really? What brought you there?”
“Fashion, actually. I was overseeing production for a major label.”
As we talked, I discovered Mr. Vance had an extensive background in fashion. production across Asia. His insights were fascinating, his knowledge of textiles. s were fascinating, his knowledge of textiles
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impressive.
“The new silk supplier you recommended,” I said, dropping a thin slice of beef into the- broth, “their quality is exceptional.”
“Wait until you see their new jacquard weaves coming next season,” he replied, his usual reserve softening. “They’re developing techniques that combine traditional methods with modern efficiency.”
We were deep in conversation about sustainable fabric options when I noticed someone approaching our table. Looking up, I nearly dropped my chopsticks.
Elias Easton–Damien’s close friend and business associate–stood beside our table,
impeccably dressed as always.
“Ms. Ashworth, he greeted with a polite smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”
I quickly gathered my composure. “Mr. Easton. Hello.”
His eyes shifted to Mr. Vance, curiosity evident.
“This is Richard Vance, my company’s general manager,” I introduced. “Mr. Vance, this
is Elias Easton.”
They exchanged polite nods.
“I won’t interrupt your dinner,” Elias said smoothly. “I’m just picking up takeout.” He paused, his expression carefully neutral. “How is Damien? I haven’t spoken with him in a few days.”
The casual question felt deliberate. I knew enough about Damien’s circle to recognize this was no coincidental meeting.
“He’s well, I believe,” I answered carefully. “Though you probably speak with him more
often than I do.”
Elias’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sometimes it’s hard to keep track of our busy friend. Especially lately.”
The implication hung in the air between us.
“Please give him my regards when you next speak with him,” he added, his tone perfectly pleasant.
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After Elias left, Mr. Vance raised an eyebrow. “Friend of yours?”
“More an acquaintance,” I replied vaguely. The encounter had left me uneasy. Elias’s appearance felt too convenient, too calculated.
We finished our meal, the conversation never quite returning to its previous ease. When the check came, the waitress informed us it had already been paid.
“By
y the gentleman who stopped by your table,” she explained.
My stomach dropped. This was definitely a strategic move.
“That wasn’t necessary, I muttered, more to myself than the waitress.
Mr. Vance looked embarrassed. “Your friend is very generous.”
“He’s not exactly my friend,” I said, gathering my things quickly. “And his generosity. always comes with strings attached.”
Outside, the snow had piled up, transforming the sidewalk into a winter wonderland. Under different circumstances, I might have found it magical.
“Thank you for dinner, Ms. Ashworth,” Mr. Vance said as we reached the parking lot. “It was enlightening.”
“Thank you for your excellent work,” I replied, trying to sound normal despite my growing anxiety. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
In my car, I sat gripping the steering wheel, my mind racing. Elias paying for our meal wasn’t a simple gesture of goodwill. It was a message, a way to ensure Damien would hear about my dinner with Mr. Vance.
I could almost see how it would play out. Elias would casually mention running into me, dining intimately with another man. The implication would hang there, unspoken
-but clear.
“Damn it,” I muttered, hitting the steering wheel in frustration.
I had nothing to hide. The dinner was innocent–a boss welcoming a new employee. Yet I felt guilty, as though I’d been caught doing something wrong.
My phone sat heavily in my purse, tempting me. I could call Damien, explain before Elias had a chance to paint the situation in unflattering colors.
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But wouldn’t that make me look defensive? As though I needed to justify my actions?
I started the car, watching snowflakes melt against the windshield as the heater kicked in. The memory of Damien’s face when he’d confessed his feelings flashed through my mind–so vulnerable, so unlike his usual confident self.
And how had I repaid that vulnerability? By running away, physically and emotionally.
“This is ridiculous,” I said aloud. “I’m a grown woman. I can have dinner with whoever I
want.”
Yet the knot in my stomach tightened. The truth was, I cared what Damien thought. I
cared too much.
I pulled out of the parking lot, my headlights cutting through the falling snow. At a red light, I glanced at my phone again.
Damien deserved better than hearing about tonight secondhand, twisted through Elias’s strategic lens. And I deserved better than sitting here anxious about. misunderstandings.
With a deep breath, I pulled over, picked up my phone, and made the call.
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