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

to have some?" Mr. Horace asked, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "It's a wonderful

Effie looked up, giving him a perfectly poised

back his tea in one

Suzan's eyes flashed with satisfaction as she took a small

drink, her hand suddenly

flared up across the back

gasped, then hurriedly apologized, "I'm so sorry-I'll just go clean

excused herself,

her leave, brow furrowing

little

Why the sudden clumsiness?

Suzan forced a smile and turned her

launching

by Suzan's warmth and curvy figure. Not quite on Designer Bagnold's level, perhaps, but certainly enthusiastic enough

of them chatted

outside the private dining room, Effie

her way to the restroom when she collided with what

broad, solid chest that

at a face so handsome it

golden lights, every striking angle

Lyman.

What were the odds?