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.

set the cup back on the table

Bagnold, aren't you going to have some?" Mr. Horace asked, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "It's a wonderful

after you, Mr. Horace." Effie looked up,

Horace laughed and tossed back his

eyes flashed with satisfaction as she took a small sip from her own

for her tea, lifting it to her lips-but just as she was about to drink, her hand suddenly trembled. A splash of hot tea spilled onto her fingers

bright red blotch flared up across the back of her hand,

apologized, "I'm so

and quickly excused herself, heading for the

watched her leave, brow

little

Why the sudden clumsiness?

Effie's cup still half full, Suzan forced a

Horace, launching into a lively

figure. Not quite

of them chatted merrily, laughter bubbling

private dining room, Effie

way to the restroom when she collided with what felt

brick wall—a broad, solid chest that left her

herself staring at a face so

the restaurant's soft golden lights, every striking angle of the

Lyman.

What were the odds?