Herman Hawthorne’s expression held a hint of surprise, but then he couldn’t help but chuckle. "You’re the first person I’ve t who dares to talk about him like that."
"Soone’s got to be the first."
Herman Hawthorne slowly leaned closer to her and whispered, "So, was Quentin your first?"
The question was loaded, but Nora Ainsworth’s mind imdiately went to the gutter.
In fact, his insinuation was perfectly clear, and it was exactly what she’d been thinking.
’But saying no would just seem coy, and it wasn’t like he really wanted to know the actual truth anyway.’
"You’ll have to ask your buddy about that. I have to get back to training. I’ll be going now, Boss." Setting down her coffee cup, she turned to leave.
"Your training these past three days has been good. Keep up the montum."
Receiving his approval for the first ti, Nora Ainsworth saw a glimr of hope. "I will."
As her petite figure left the office, Herman Hawthorne leaned his arm on the windowsill. He stared out at the vast abyss in the distance, a knowing smirk lingering on his lips.
**
"Nora, what did the boss want to talk to you about?" Chloe Marshall asked with concern.
"It was nothing. We just had a cup of coffee." Her nonchalant answer annoyed Jasmine Walsh. "Nora Ainsworth, do you really think our boss is that idle?"
Nora Ainsworth couldn’t be bothered to respond to her. "Chloe, let’s go."
"Okay," Chloe Marshall agreed.
The two left the dorm together and headed to the training grounds.
It was an entirely closed-off training program, but Nora Ainsworth was the exception.
For so reason, Quentin Grant’s initial arrangent for her to return ho every three days had silently and drastically changed. For more than a week, he didn’t call for her to co back. That stretched into a full month with no contact at all.
Nora Ainsworth’s special privileges were slowly disappearing.
She had, in effect, beco just another trainee in the closed program. What she didn’t know was that Quentin Grant watched the surveillance footage of her training every single night.
Her perseverance revealed a different side of her to him. The quiet, forbearing woman he knew also had an explosive side.
When they finally saw each other again a month and a half later, spring had arrived.
The days of heavy winter snow were gone.
Nora Ainsworth was given a day off, a special arrangent from Herman Hawthorne. No one else received such a benefit.
As luck would have it, when she drove up to the gate of Quentin Grant’s villa, she saw a luxury car parked out front—one she didn’t recognize.
’Should I go in, or should I call him first?’
Just as she stepped out of her car to make the call, the main gate swung open. Mrs. Grant, Jean Grant, and Quentin Grant erged one after the other.
Nora Ainsworth felt as if she were standing on broken glass, rooted to the spot.
She wanted to retreat to her car, but it was too late.
Mrs. Grant had visited the Ainsworth family before and recognized Nora. As for Jean Grant, she knew her all too well.
"Is that Nora?" Mrs. Grant asked as she walked over.
An awkward smile spread across Nora Ainsworth’s face. "Yes, it’s , Mrs. Grant."
Mrs. Grant took her by the hand. "I heard about your mother. You poor child. Are you doing well now?"
"I’m doing very well, thank you."
Jean Grant walked up. "Mom, she’s Herman’s girlfriend now, you know."
Nora Ainsworth felt exceptionally awkward. She glanced at Quentin Grant, but his expression was unchanged. He looked perfectly normal.
"Is that true? That’s wonderful!" Mrs. Grant seed overjoyed. "I’ve always been very fond of Nora. I feel a strange sense of familiarity with her. And Herman is a good boy. I was a bit worried for you when I heard you broke off your engagent with the Lynch Family, but it looks like you’re doing very well now."
Nora Ainsworth looked at her, thinking that the Grant matriarch wasn’t cold and aloof like other wealthy ladies. She had a very warm, approachable air about her.
What she didn’t know was that Mrs. Grant reserved this kindness for the few she felt a connection with. To most people, she was still quite formidable and out of reach.
"So, what brings you here today?"
Nora Ainsworth explained, "Herman asked to co pick up a docunt from President Grant."
Jean Grant shot back, "He has so many subordinates and assistants. Would he really make his girlfriend run an errand like this?"
Nora Ainsworth chuckled. "It’s an important docunt."
At this, Quentin Grant finally spoke, his tone casual. "Jean, Marlon Marshall—"
Jean Grant’s expression soured. She shot her brother a look of displeasure. "Brother, Mom and I will get going."
’She couldn’t understand it. She had only asked a simple question. Did her own brother really need to threaten her so blatantly?’
After the Grant mother and daughter had left, Nora Ainsworth looked at Quentin Grant. "See? I knew I should have called you first. What would we have done if they found out?"
Quentin Grant turned and started walking away. "Miss Ainsworth, let’s go. Co with to get that ’important docunt.’"
Nora Ainsworth followed him, playing along. "Yes, President Grant."
The two of them entered the courtyard, maintaining their serious facade.
The second the gate closed behind them, he pulled her into a tight embrace, refusing to let go.
"You—"
She was held so tightly she could hardly breathe. Her eyes darted to the n in Black stationed around the courtyard. "They can all see us."
"It’s just a hug. What’s there to be afraid of? It’s not like we’re doing anything more in front of them."
Nora Ainsworth rolled her eyes. "You’re certainly not shy, President Grant."
"I’m always so restrained. Can’t I be a little bold for once?"
He walked over to the swing set and sat down. "So, how have you been enjoying yourself these past few days?"
Nora Ainsworth sat on the other swing. "It’s been very relaxing," she replied.
Such inhumane torture, and yet she called it relaxing.
"Good. Then train hard, and relax well."
She leaned her head back against the swing’s chain and closed her eyes. "It’s been so long since I could just sit in the sun."
He turned to look at her. "Then you should make the most of it."
She fell silent, looking as if she had drifted off to sleep.
’Watching her now, the woman who had haunted his dreams for so long suddenly surfaced in his mind.’
’That woman was his deepest sorrow, a mory he couldn’t bear to touch.’
’The image of her he rembered most vividly was of her walking Warner, their Tibetan Mastiff, through the neighborhood, terrifying the passing residents.’
’After all, a Tibetan Mastiff was a massive, fearso breed. If it ever went berserk and bit soone, it could be fatal.’
Quentin Grant had never liked dogs, but because she did, he’d agreed to let her get one. She had loved the dog so much, yet when she left, she hadn’t taken Warner with her.
Quentin Grant rose and walked to the backyard. The roses that had once filled the garden had all been uprooted, replaced now with lilies.
Warner trotted over, wagging his tail, and nudged against his leg, seeking attention.
He crouched, stroking the dog’s thick coat. "Sit," he commanded.
Warner obediently sat, his front paws still twitching as he looked up at him with pleading eyes.
Quentin Grant stood to leave, but Warner clamped down on his pant leg, pulling him toward the doghouse.
Lying inside was a photograph. Quentin Grant recognized it instantly. He had drunkenly thrown it in there a long ti ago.
He reached out and picked up the photograph. The woman in it was stunningly beautiful. Her every smile and frown was etched into his mory.
A cold pang of pain shot through his heart. He folded the photo in half and abruptly ripped it to pieces, letting the fragnts scatter on the ground.
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