Chapter 187
Mark said with a smile that there was no rush, and I could take my time.
But I didn't dare take my time at all. After all, who could keep such an important business partner waiting?
I grabbed the bag of Flora's belongings and practically sprinted into the hospital building.
I rushed upstairs, handed Flora over to my aunt, gave a few quick instructions, then hurriedly said goodbye and headed back downstairs.
Back at the car, I pulled open the door slightly out of breath, and got in. "Sorry Mr. Harris, thanks for waiting."
Mark glanced at my slightly flushed cheeks and rapid breathing, but said nothing. He just restarted the car.
The next stop was the hospital where my mom was staying.
Same routine.
The car stopped, and I grabbed the bag again, saying apologetically to Mark, "Mr. Harris, I need to run up again. I'll be quick."
This time, Mom clearly wanted to chat more than Flora had.
"Grace, it's so late, and you're troubling your colleague to bring things over. I feel terrible about it. You should ask them to come up, sit for a bit, have some water." Mom leaned against the headboard, her eyes full of curiosity and concern.
"Mom, no need. He has things to do, he's just dropping me off on his way," I explained quickly while putting things away. "Echo has to leave for a bit tonight, so I'll stay with you. I just need to go down and let him know..."
Mom interrupted me with a slightly teasing smile, "You could chat with your colleague a bit longer. That car that brought you here looked pretty nice, didn't it?"
I fell silent.
Mom, your imagination is really running wild.
I felt helpless but couldn't explain Mark's real identity in detail, so I could only brush it off vaguely, "Mom, don't read into it. He's just a regular colleague, a business partner. He really does have things to do. I can't keep him waiting. Let me go down and tell him."
Under Mom's knowing gaze, I practically fled.
"Mr. Harris, I'm really sorry for taking up so much of your time." I thanked him sincerely and apologized. "I'll be staying here with my mom tonight. Thank you for bringing me here. Drive safely on your way back."
Mark had been listening quietly the whole time. Only after I finished did he say flatly, "No need to thank me."
He paused, his gaze falling on me again, this time lingering longer than before.
Just when I thought he was just saying a polite goodbye, he suddenly moved.
He unbuckled his seatbelt, then pushed open the car door and got out.
I froze, confused.
I saw him walk to the back of the car and open the trunk.
Then he took out a neatly folded, obviously high-quality dark gray men's suit jacket.
As I watched in bewilderment, he handed the jacket to me.
I looked at the jacket in front of me, then up at Mark, completely stunned.
What did this mean?
Seeing my confusion, Mark explained, "It's gotten windy tonight. It's a bit cold."
"Wear this for now so you don't catch cold. Just wash it and return it to me another day."
I looked at the jacket he was offering, feeling a bit dazed.
This kind of natural concern, this thoughtful gesture—I had never experienced anything like it with George.
George would never notice my shoulders trembling slightly from the cold, much less take off his jacket and give it to me.
In his eyes, I probably didn't even deserve to have him notice my discomfort.
William, on the other hand—once when we attended an industry dinner together, the air conditioning was blasting and I was wearing a thin dress. I couldn't help hugging my arms.
William noticed right away. Without saying much, he naturally took off his suit jacket and gently draped it over my shoulders.
At the time, I had thought to myself that the difference between people really was like night and day.
Now, a similar scene was playing out again.
Except this time, the person offering the jacket was Mark—someone with even higher status and position, someone I barely knew.
This made me once again mentally drag George out for a silent but thorough comparison and condemnation.
Seeing me just staring at the jacket without reaching for it, Mark raised an eyebrow slightly, his tone carrying a hint of puzzlement, "You don't want it?"
That question snapped me out of my daze.
"No!" I quickly shook my head, my cheeks warming. "Mr. Harris, you've got it wrong. I don't dislike it, I'm just really not cold."
I paused, my eyes falling on the obviously expensive jacket, and voiced my real concern, "Plus this jacket looks really valuable. I'm afraid if I send it to the dry cleaners and something goes wrong, I won't be able to afford to replace it."
I was telling the truth.
Given Mark's status, his everyday clothing was definitely not ordinary mall merchandise.
Though I didn't know the specific brands, the fine tailoring and premium quality silently proclaimed its value.
Such clothing surely required extremely professional and particular care and cleaning.
My meager salary probably couldn't even cover a fraction of this jacket's cost.
If something really went wrong, what would I use to pay for it?
Mark seemed to pause after hearing my words, then a look of understanding crossed his eyes, followed by a faint smile.
He didn't lower the hand holding the jacket, just looked at me with a relaxed tone, "If it gets ruined, just throw it away. It's just a piece of clothing. How hard can it be?"
He said it so casually, as if it really was just an ordinary piece of clothing that could be discarded at any time.
But it was precisely this casualness that made my heart skip a beat.
Not because of his wealth, but because of the detachment from material things and the easygoing nature in his words.
To him, clothes were for warmth and looking presentable, not shackles to bind people.
If ruined, they'd lost their purpose and should be discarded—not worth worrying about.
This mindset was completely different from George's way of constantly using material things and status to show off and measure others.
But I still didn't reach for it.
The main reason wasn't just the jacket's value.
It was that Mark and I had only really met today. All told, it was just a chance encounter in an elevator, a presentation in an office, plus one dinner and two brief rides.
Our relationship was far from close enough for me to casually accept such a personal item from him, with all the implications of having to return it later.
Besides, this kind of top-tier custom clothing often carried strong personal and social significance.
Accepting it rashly and then returning it—I had to consider the delicate implications and possible subtle effects.
What's more, I'd seen George's walk-in closet, which also had similar high-end custom suits.
He'd casually mentioned once that one of them was a limited edition by some master designer, priced high enough to buy a small apartment in an ordinary city.
Even if Mark's jacket wasn't one of those astronomically priced unique pieces, it still wasn't something an ordinary person like me could casually borrow.
I couldn't afford to pay for it, nor could I accept this kindness that came with such weight and warmth.
My silence and hesitation seemed to make Mark understand something.
The smile in his eyes faded, but there was no displeasure—instead, there was more understanding.
He slowly lowered the hand offering the jacket.
"I apologize." He spoke, his voice lower than before, carrying a kind of seriousness that came from careful consideration. "I didn't think it through. I didn't realize it would make you uncomfortable."
"Never mind then." He casually draped the jacket over his arm, his tone returning to its previous calm, "I hope Ms. Brown takes good care of yourself and your family. I'll be going now."
With that, he nodded slightly to me and actually turned to leave.
Watching his upright but somehow slightly lonely retreating figure, a strong sense of guilt and unease suddenly welled up in me.
He'd been so kind—driving me to the hospital, showing concern for my comfort—and I'd hesitated and refused repeatedly, and finally made him apologize...
I was so ungrateful.
"Mr. Harris!" I instinctively took two steps forward and called out to him.