Classic Novel
Chapter 563
Mandy winced as the corner of the report sliced across her cheek, the sting sharp, but she dared not utter a sound. She merely bore it in silence.
The door to the private dining room stood ajar, and the waiter, tray in hand, hesitated on the threshold, witnessing the scene unfold. He was caught in a quandary–unsure whether to enter with the entrees or to retreat with discretion. It was awkward, to say the least.
Pride was Mandy’s Achilles‘ heel, and being seen in such a vulnerable state by the club’s staff felt akin to being stripped bare for all to
see.
When Mandy was humiliated by her husband, she managed to swallow her anger, but her temper flared uncontrollably when it came to outsiders, “Who said you could come in? Don’t you know how to knock?” she snapped, conveniently forgetting that just minutes ago, she had pressed the service bell for the meal to be served.
Trained to perfection, the waiter had seen his share of temperamental patrons. Without a word, he gracefully backed out of the room.
After leaving Colton’s suite, Johnny made a quick detour to the restroom before returning to the room where Nikolai had organized the gathering.
Having spent less than ten minutes with Colton, Johnny’s reentry to the room went almost unnoticed. But his pallor caught Owen’s attention as he settled beside him, prompting a soft inquiry, “Everything okay?”
Johnny, still reeling from the distasteful encounter with Mirabella’s adoptive parents, attempted to mask his agitation but couldn’t quite manage. “Just met with Ms. Mirabella’s foster parents,” he confided in a hushed tone meant only for Owen.
Owen’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, not having expected such news, and he prodded, “Any issues?”
With a heavy sigh, Johnny remarked, “It’s a whole mess. Ms.
Mirabella doesn’t seem anything like them.”
Merely from her demeanor, it was clear she did not belong to the Gilberts‘ world. Had there been a mistake in the information? Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.
Pondering this, Johnny risked another glance at Mirabella across the room, but recalling her previous warning, he quelled his curiosity.
Reading Johnny’s expression, Owen knew that if his secretary deemed the situation a mess, the people in question must be a piece of work. Clearing his throat, he simply said, “Let’s eat now. We can talk later.”
Johnny nodded, refocusing on the meal before him.
Mirabella caught Johnny’s fleeting gaze and quickly lowered her eyes back to her plate, resuming her meal.
As dinner wound down, the waitstaff presented an artfully arranged selection of exotic fruits, a luxurious indulgence. Clearing the central turntable of dishes, they placed the fruit platter before Mirabella, then discreetly left the room, casting meaningful glances her
way.
Mirabella lifted her gaze to follow their exit but only caught the backs of the retreating figures.
The familiarity of the service throughout the meal nagged at her, but she couldn’t quite place where she had experienced it before. Beside her, James noticed her pensive mood. As he reached for some fruit for her, he casually asked, “What’s on your mind?”
Shaking her head, Mirabella replied, “Nothing.”
Seeing her dismiss the matter, James didn’t pry further and poured himself a cup of coffee.
At that moment, Owen stood and made his way over. James eyed him, his face a cool mask of indifference, pondering whether to engage or ignore.