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.

Effie set the cup back on the table and pretended to

to have some?" Mr. Horace asked, his eyes

you, Mr. Horace." Effie looked up, giving him a

back his tea in one easy

with satisfaction as she took a small sip from

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

back of her hand, the pain sharp and

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

and quickly excused

brow furrowing

that little

Why the sudden clumsiness?

Suzan forced a

launching into

Horace, for his part, found himself pleasantly surprised by Suzan's warmth and curvy figure. Not quite on Designer Bagnold's level, perhaps, but certainly enthusiastic

of them chatted merrily, laughter

outside the private dining room,

her way to the restroom when she collided with what

broad, solid chest that

staring at a face so handsome it seemed

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

Lyman.

What were the odds?