Editor-in-Chief Sumrs nodded, then left with her cara and laptop.
Delilah Donovan imdiately looked toward the others, but they all averted their gaze as if she were the plague, not daring to et her eyes. Everyone just focused on packing up their own things.
Although Delilah Donovan was considered a senior employee, she had been at the newspaper for less than half a year herself. In a way, she was still relatively new and had been bullied by the older staff when she first arrived.
She couldn’t pick on the other veteran employees, of course, so she could only target the newcor.
Delilah Donovan walked up to Claire Sinclair. "Claire Sinclair, you can help move."
"Okay," Claire Sinclair readily accepted the arrangent.
’When Heaven is about to confer a great responsibility on a person, it first tests their will with hardship and starves their body...’ She gave herself a little pep talk, rolled up her sleeves, and got ready to work hard.
Filled with a sudden burst of fighting spirit, Claire Sinclair picked up a heavy mahogany chair. After just a few trips back and forth, she was already panting with exhaustion, her arms feeling too heavy to lift.
Just then, Delilah Donovan suddenly walked up to her, clutching her stomach. "Ouch... Claire Sinclair, my stomach hurts. I think I just got my period. I’m going to the restroom—I’ll leave this to you!"
With that, Delilah Donovan grabbed her purse and hurried away.
Claire Sinclair was speechless.
’Could her acting be any worse...’
She glanced around, only to realize that there wasn’t a single person left in the office. She was all alone.
’So, was she being bullied by a senior employee again?’
Just as her mind began to wander, the heavy chair in her hands suddenly grew lighter.
She whipped her head around and saw a slender, elegant hand with well-defined knuckles lift the chair with ease.
The man turned to leave, his tall, imposing figure radiating an aura of command that seed to fill the air, like a king surveying his domain.
It took Claire a mont to snap out of her daze before she hurried after him. "Mr. Quincy, please put the chair down! You’ll get your hands dirty!"
’He’s the head of Quincy Manor, for crying out loud! How can he be helping move chairs? Doesn’t he feel like this is beneath him?’
Adrian Quincy turned to look at her, a hint of displeasure in his eyes. "Go downstairs and wait for ."
"But I haven’t finished moving the chairs..." Claire said ekly, reaching out to try and take the chair back from him.
Adrian Quincy’s icy gaze fixed on her slender hand, and he suddenly noticed the red and purple bruises dotting the back of it. His brow furrowed. "Are your hands hurt?"
Claire instinctively pulled her hand back. "They’re not hurt. I just bumped them by accident while moving the chairs. I’m not that delicate."
"So you’re saying I’m the delicate one?"
Claire was once again left speechless.
’To be honest, his hands *were* more delicate than hers... because they were so beautiful.’
’Oh no. When did I beco such a mindless fangirl for nice hands and pretty faces?’
Adrian Quincy raised his free hand and gently tapped her on the head. "Be good. Go downstairs and wait for ."
"Oh..." Like a puppy that had just been placated, Claire obediently turned and walked away.
After taking a few steps, she couldn’t resist looking back at him. She saw him carry the chair into the conference room and felt an unexpected pang of disappointnt.
’This is my job. How can I just let him help ...?’
She stood her ground for a mont, and when he walked back out, Claire imdiately said, "Mr. Quincy, this is my job. I should still help you move them!"
As she spoke, Adrian Quincy walked right up to her, stopping just four inches away.
At such a close distance, his masculine scent completely enveloped her.
Claire’s heart leaped into her throat, and her head grew fuzzy with nervousness. "Um... I just feel like... I can’t slack off—mmph..."
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