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.

back on the table

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

Horace." Effie looked up, giving him

Horace laughed and tossed back

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

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 and dripped down

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

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

stood and quickly excused herself,

her leave, brow furrowing

little witch

Why the sudden clumsiness?

still half full, Suzan forced a smile

launching into a lively

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

them chatted

private dining room, Effie finally let

way to the restroom when she collided with what

brick wall—a broad, solid chest that left her nose

she found herself staring at a face so handsome it

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

Lyman.

What were the odds?