Not One, But Two!

Chapter 197

"Try figuring it out yourself," Cody whispered when he saw that Greg had returned, bringing the conversation to an end.

Abigail didn't press any further, but she was starting to have several thoughts on the matter.

Meanwhile, Greg came back with the ointment, and he began to massage Abigail's swollen ankle while Cody watched in exasperation. When he was done, he asked, "Is that all? Does she really not need antibiotics or something?"

"I'm actually pretty tired," she suddenly muttered to cut him off before he could badger Cody any longer.

When Greg heard this, he quickly scooped her into his arms and murmured, "You're sleeping over at my place, and don't say no."

Cody sputtered at this, and Abigail flushed slightly in embarrassment. Sleeping over at his place? That sounds like an innuendo waiting to happen.

However, Greg couldn't care less about innuendos as he strode out of the office with the same brusque air he had when he first came in. He didn't even bother thanking Cody or sparing him a second glance.

After she was settled into the backseat, Abigail began to feel a hot, tingling sensation around her ankle. The ointment must have seeped through her skin and was working to ease out the sprain.

Then, she kept her eyes on the back of Greg's head as he drove home. There were several times when she wanted to ask him what had happened that day when he went day-drinking with Cody, but the question merely rolled to the tip of her tongue before she swallowed it back down.

While the both of them hadn't spent much time together before this, she still knew him well enough to understand that once his lips were sealed on a matter, nothing was going to pry them open.

Just then, she suddenly thought of something before she asked in a low voice, "Greg, why did you replace the ever-so-capable Troy with the somewhat-haphazard Benjamin?"

She had wanted to ask him about this since the replacement happened, but Greg didn't seem like he was in a good mood then, and she didn't think she had a right to inquire about the Buckley's Group internal affairs. However, after hearing what Cody had said earlier, she began to think that Troy must have found out something about her.

If Greg wouldn't tell her, then the only other person she could ask was Troy—he might actually know something. Of course, that pivoted on whether she could get Greg to tell her of the man's whereabouts.

Greg's eyes darkened when he heard this, and he replied curtly, "He's needed for a job, and I figured it would be good training for him." That was such an official and formal answer that it could only mean he had no intention of telling her more about this.

As such, she decided to change the subject. "I want ravioli for lunch. Can you make them for me?"

Greg froze upon hearing this, and he was so taken aback by her request that his hands nearly slipped on the steering wheel. "You want me to make ravioli for you? I don't know how, though."

"Will you make me the ravioli or not?" Abigail was not going to take no for an answer.

Upon hearing the somewhat girlish tone of her voice, Greg realized that he couldn't bring himself to say no to her. Dare I say no to her?

"Yes, I will!" he promised her swiftly and solemnly, but he was actually chiding himself for being such a pushover.

confident at all that the ravioli he made would hold up the stuffing, but even as he doubted himself, he

hearing the answer she wanted. Exhaustion washed over her as she

you up

he could carry her home immediately, and Hugh

she didn't want to dash his hopes, she kept quiet and

BMW that was parked outside Abigail's place. He had never seen the car plate number before, and he couldn't help his

into the neighborhood; throw it out

they saw the car, they explained, "Mr. Buckley, the owner of this car is Violet Langley. She's here to see

a woman's name,

not dawdle in answering Greg. "Yes, sir. She's a surgeon at

He realized there had been a reason why Abigail wasn't in a rush to return home; as it turned

He felt like he had just been tricked by Abigail, and this frustrated him very much. Then again, at the thought of how considerate she was of his feelings by not tending

how much their feelings were being cared for, and Abigail's way of going about this matter had shown Greg much respect. With that in mind, he decided that he wouldn't be unreasonable with Abigail,

tucked the covers over her, he fished out his phone and went downstairs. Then, he went out to the balcony and closed the door behind him, thereafter making a phone call. He kept his voice down as

on the other line and hung

he was going to make the dough. When he settled on a

Abigail was the one who requested this, he shrugged off his jacket, rolled

following the tutorial on how to fold his ravioli. The first ravioli was over-stuffed and tore through the dough, whereas the stuffing spilled over before it ended up on Greg's shirt in

to stuff it. He pinched the sides of the dough after he had put in the stuffing, and while it was an odd shape, he thought it wouldn't

produced one failed ravioli after another with his less-than-skillful fingers, and it was clear to see that he was growing impatient. Cooking is easier than this, he thought sourly as he moved on. When he saw his failure in the form of ravioli littered over the

had showed up behind him, but she smirked when she saw all the failed non-ravioli that

me do

met, he frowned and demanded, "What are you doing down here? You can't stand for too long, or you'll add more strain to your ankle! Go into the living room and sit

time. Anyway, bring the dough out and put it on the coffee table in the living room. I'll sit on the couch and guide you on the art of

patience to cook, but now

as he was told and carried the dough to the living room after he considered that Abigail's suggestion did not include hurting her ankle

carried her onto the couch as

do you like it so much? It's such a waste of time and energy, not to mention it's a challenge

she teased with a smile. After washing her hands, she pinched a piece of dough and flattened it out by tugging

he had found difficult was child's play to her. It wasn't long before pieces of perfectly-wrapped ravioli were produced under her nimble fingers, and she worked

long have you been doing this for?" Greg asked

dough as she replied thoughtfully, "I don't know. I guess I've been doing it for as long as I can remember, but I haven't done this in

of the ravioli sheet. It looked like a lot of stuffing, so Greg pointed out worriedly, "That's too much stuffing; the ravioli will