Not One, But Two!

Chapter 244

The room still reeked, but it did not stop the reporters from barging in. Everyone wanted this scoop.

"What happened, Mr. Fraser?"

"Did something happen to you, Mr. Fraser? Are you down with something? Or is something wrong with the food?"

Jonathan grasped that straw. "Yes! Something's wrong with their tea! I suspect it's spiked! Someone is sabotaging me, and I demand an explanation!" In the heat of the moment, Jonathan forgot who owned this place. His plan to escape was destined to fail.

Greg sneered. "Ooh, someone demands an explanation, sweetheart."

"You still haven't taken the tea away yet." Abigail was getting worried.

"It's fine." Greg took her to room 302 without a care. "What's this? Do you want an explanation?" Greg came in with Abigail in hand.

Abigail knew the room reeked, but it still hit her like a truck. She covered her nose right away. "Did you soil your pants? At least keep your bowel movements in check, god."

Jonathan wanted to hide somewhere the sun did not shine. He realized the mistake he made the moment Greg came in. Sh*t. I totally forgot he owns this place, but I gotta go through with it. "I know the manager must have spiked my tea, uncle. I just know it."

"Did you get on the manager's bad side?" The smell was getting to Greg as well. He took a few steps back, and the crowd parted ways, but they stayed back to watch.

This was the first time Jonathan was so embarrassed, and Abigail was right here too. It riled him up. "No. And that's why I want him to tell me why he did this."

"Do you have proof that the tea is spiked?" Greg asked calmly, but his face had fallen. Accusing them of serving subpar food would effectively ruin their reputation. It would be disastrous for Jonathan if he had no proof. Jonathan was related to Greg too, and it piqued the crowd's interest more.

Jonathan had no proof, and it frustrated him. "I'll have proof once someone investigates this."

if the tea is really spiked. But you'll have to explain yourself

heart skipped a beat. He turned his gaze to Abigail, annoyed that she didn't even pay him any attention. Fine. I'll go all out. We're already enemies anyway. And

manager went and made some

waited for the authorities. They were whispering among themselves, and Jonathan felt like he was buck naked in front

how he felt. No matter what the truth was, the fact that Jonathan soiled his pants in Food Hall was already worthy of a

the reporters were worried that the people would post the photos faster than they could, so they called their bosses and suggested

to smash their cameras, but he could not even move. "I'll kill you if

felt like laughing. Wow, is he stupid? This is the age of the Internet. Nobody's scared of him. He wants to humiliate Emma? Well, I'll let him have a taste

topped

an aristocrat, and she cared about her reputation more than anything, but her son just destroyed

Greg right away. She hoped he would help them

sneered. He took it and turned

I know you're busy, but

it?" Greg asked

and the whole Internet's sharing the video of him soiling his pants. He's your nephew after all. You don't want him to embarrass your family, right? You have to take those videos down. I know you can do it. And Mom won't like it if

face, and the air around him seemed to

I'm not going to help him. Greg said icily, "Yeah, he did something stupid alright. He crossed me. I'm not going to do anything about the video. He said my restaurant's tea is spoiled. I won't let this slide until we have a

let him win. You still have the Buckleys backing you up. Nobody's going to spread any rumors about you, but it wouldn't be the same for Jonathan. He's the Frasers' only heir. Nobody's going

Greg get along swimmingly. I thought Victoria raised him. Everyone says she lets Greg get his way even if her son has to sacrifice

Mom? I'm right here at Food Hall! Uncle owns this place! It's

up for a moment. The Food Hall? Greg owns a dumb eatery? And why did this boy have to have lunch there? "Are you alright, Jonathan? I'll be right there.

things as calm