Ex Cried as I Wed a Tycoon

Chapter 37

Suzan asked the waiter to bring over some tea, intercepting the tray at the door before anyone else could see.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, she rummaged through her purse, pulled out a small packet, and discreetly emptied its contents into one of the cups.

Finally, her little insurance plan was about to pay off. Perfect.

Carefully, she set the tray down on the table herself, making a point to hand out the cups personally.

First, she offered a cup to Mr. Horace, then handed one to Effie.

As she did, Suzan shot Effie a pointed look, the corners of her mouth curling up ever so slightly.

Effie instantly picked up on the meaning in Suzan's gaze, every alarm in her head going off.

Wherever Suzan was involved, letting her guard down was simply not an option.

Suzan had just been trending for all the wrong reasons-a pariah overnight, with everyone gunning for her.

Yet here she was, instead of lying low at home, boldly joining the dinner as if nothing had happened.

What was she really after?

Effie accepted the cup, feeling the gentle warmth through the porcelain as she mulled it over.

She stared down at the amber liquid, watching wisps of steam curl up, carrying with them a faint, unfamiliar scent.

cup back on the table and pretended to

Mr. Horace asked, his

Effie looked up, giving him a

Horace laughed and tossed back

as she took

as she was about to drink, her hand suddenly trembled. A splash of hot tea

up across the back of her hand, the pain sharp and

hurriedly apologized, "I'm so sorry-I'll

stood and quickly excused herself, heading for the

watched her leave, brow

little witch

Why the sudden clumsiness?

Suzan forced a smile

Mr. Horace, launching

Horace, for his part, found himself pleasantly surprised by Suzan's warmth and curvy figure. Not quite

of them chatted merrily,

the private dining room, Effie finally let

her way to the restroom when she collided with what

brick wall—a broad, solid chest that

up, she found herself staring at a face

soft golden lights, every striking angle of

Lyman.

What were the odds?