Chapter 141 This Is the Bottom Line, Not Your Limit
The call from the photography studio came early, confirming the makeup for the wedding day.
When she walked out of the room, Leopold was preparing breakfast. She walked over to his side, leaned over to take a look, and asked, "Corn porridge?"
Leopold stood at the stove, his back to her. She sidled up beside him, peering over his shoulder at the pot. "Corn chowder for breakfast?"
"It's almost ready." Leopold put the chopped corn into the pot, and the person beside him asked again, "Is there no oatmeal?"
Leopold shook his head. "We're out of oats."
Caroline acted coquettishly and said, "Then I won't eat."
A low, exasperated laugh rumbled in his chest. "Can't you just eat what's available?"
"That's okay then."
Leopold slowly stirred the porridge in the pot, "What I said makes sense, doesn't it?"
Caroline patted his shoulders with both hands, "So you're going to reason with me at home?"
A smile touched his lips, and he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "What are you about to say now? Give me a moment to prepare myself."
Caroline let out a theatrical sigh, "I wanted oatmeal, but you're giving me corn chowder. My life is just so hard."
"Come on, stop putting on an act. I'm about to laugh." Leopold put the lid on the pot.
Caroline walked around to his other side, and together with Leopold, she washed the vegetables, saying, "You're still laughing? You should reflect on yourself right now."
"The way you put it," Leopold mused, a thoughtful expression on his face, "it almost sounds like this is my fault again."
"Show some accountability. Don't try to shift the blame."
He followed her lead, his voice laced with amusement. "A simple pot of chowder, and you've managed to escalate it into a major incident."
"A little more attentiveness means a few fewer problems," she recited, as if from a textbook. "A little more care."
Leopold arched an eyebrow. "That's a rather blindingly noble sentiment. The light from this sudden enlightenment is so bright I can hardly see. Is this still my wife standing next to me? Or has Ms. Tudor from HR decided to pay a house call?"
"All those self-help notes I've been taking can't go to waste," she said sagely. "You need to raise your awareness."
"Rest assured," he replied with mock solemnity, "I will do everything in my power to complete tomorrow's oatmeal mission and not betray the profound trust you've placed in me. However, today's oatmeal mission is a failure. You'll have to lower your standards."
"That's the baseline, not your ceiling."
"Can the baseline be adjusted?" He countered. "I feel like maybe we could draw it a little lower."
"No, Mr. Wipere. Don't be so easy on yourself. That's how you regress. How can I possibly entrust you with the monumental task of my daily sustenance?"
He was momentarily speechless. "You've completely blocked all my escape routes. Is that really a kind thing to do?"
"I have faith in you," she said, her voice softening.
A genuine smile finally spread across his face. "Alright. Thank you for your trust and support."
Caroline took the rinsed vegetables from him. "Let me cook. You go get ready, or you'll be late for work."
Leopold, however, leaned against the counter, his posture casual. "I don't feel like going in today. I think I'll stay home."
His words caught her off guard. In her experience, very little could ever interfere with Leopold's work.
Her mind immediately flashed back to his strained expression during dinner the previous night. "Did something else happen at the company?"
He didn't try to hide it. "They informed me after the meeting yesterday. A change in my position. I'm being moved from Regional Manager to General Manager of the Group."
Though she wasn't an expert on the hotel industry's corporate structure, she knew that "Group" was a much larger entity than Regional. "Isn't that a promotion?"
Leopold's smile was thin, and a flicker of bitterness crossed his eyes. "Yes. A promotion."
She stared at him, searching his face. "Then why aren't you happy?"
"Some titles sound impressive, but they're just empty shells," he said, his voice flat. "No real authority, no control over the actual business operations."
"You mean it's a title without any real power?" She asked, trying to grasp the implication.
He didn't deny it.
The injustice of it began to simmer inside her. "What is Mr. Preston Wipere thinking? You're so talented, your performance is outstanding. Even if he wasn't going to promote you, he can't just suppress you like this. You're his son, for God's sake. What does he think you're going to do to him? I just don't get it."
He watched her fume on his behalf, his own expression calm, almost detached. "When your success outshines the master, it threatens the position of certain people. Of course, they're going to try to knock me down a peg."
Caroline's face paled with a fury she couldn't vent. It wasn't as if she could march into his office and cause a scene.
She stood there, simmering in her frustration, and the sight made him chuckle. He reached out and gently tickled her cheek with his finger. "What? Are you mad?"
"A little," she admitted.
He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. "It's fine. Life has its ups and downs. This moment doesn't define the future. Right now, he wants to clip my wings a bit. Once his temper cools, he'll naturally promote me again."
"I'm still mad just hearing about it," she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. "Why does everyone always pick on you?"
"Let me reason with you," he began, trying to soothe her.
"I know all the reasons," she cut him off, her voice muffled against his chest. "I can think it all through clearly. But I don't want to be reasonable right now."
The sight of her pouting lips sent a wave of warmth through him. He pulled her closer, holding her soft, indignant form in his arms. "Unreasonable and still utterly lovable."
She pushed away slightly. "So you're really not going to work today?"
"That's the plan," he confirmed. "According to the new job's jurisdiction, I'll have to hand over the hotels I'm currently managing. But if I go to the office now, it will only speed up that process. I worked too hard to build those hotels up to just hand them over to someone else so easily."
"But hiding isn't a solution," she argued. "Even if you avoid them, they can just call you. That would put you in an even more passive position. I think you need to go on the offensive, create your own opportunities. It would give you a better chance of winning."
A troubled look crossed his face. "But I haven't figured out a way to do that yet."
Silence fell between them.
He broke it with a soft laugh. "Let's eat first. Don't overthink it. They're my problems; I'll figure them out."
After breakfast, Caroline got dressed and came to stand behind him. "I'm leaving for work." She rose onto her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Give me the trash bag, I'll take it down."
Leopold gently steered her toward the door. "Don't worry about it. You go on. I'll take it down later and grab a pack of cigarettes while I'm out."
"Smoke less," she chided, then turned and left.
Once the apartment was tidy, Leopold, still in his lounge clothes, carried the trash bag out the door. Not far from the building's entrance was the designated disposal area. He had just tossed the bag into the bin when he turned and saw Victor's secretary, Tatum Jenkins, standing a short distance away.
She smiled and bowed slightly upon seeing him. "Good morning, Mr. Wipere."
"What a coincidence, Ms. Jenkins." Leopold had intended to head straight back inside, but her presence made him change course. He started walking toward the community gate instead.
Tatum fell into step beside him, her voice a soft, pleasant murmur. "Mr. Wipere, this is no coincidence. I came specifically to invite you."
He shoved his hands in his pockets, his pace deliberately slow. "Invite me? Where?"
"Mr. Diaz would like to invite you for coffee," she replied.
Leopold raised an eyebrow. "Coffee again?"
Tatum paused for a fraction of a second before her smile returned, smooth and practiced. "I imagine Mr. Diaz felt your last conversation was cut short. It's not often one finds a kindred spirit. He's likely eager to continue the discussion."
They reached the gate. "Wait here," Leopold said. "I'm going to buy a pack of cigarettes."
Her sentence was cut off, and she was left standing awkwardly by the roadside as he walked into the small convenience store. Through the glass, Leopold watched her waiting. He paid, took the carton of cigarettes, and stepped back outside, but only to stand on the curb.
Seeing that he had no intention of moving, Tatum tried to nudge him along. "Mr. Wipere, Mr. Diaz is waiting for you."
Leopold toyed with the cigarette box in his hand. "My wife doesn't let me smoke."
Tatum looked surprised, her eyes flicking to the carton in his hand. "Your wife is quite strict. But I'm sure it's for your own good. You can smoke at Mr. Diaz's place. Shall we head over now?"
He slipped the carton into his pants pocket. "I haven't finished cleaning the apartment yet. I have to go back and finish up, so I won't be able to join Mr. Diaz for coffee and cigarettes."
Tatum was completely blindsided by his refusal. As Leopold started to walk away, she quickly stepped forward to block his path. "Mr. Wipere, please wait."
He didn't make it difficult for her. "Ms. Jenkins, I won't put you in a tough spot. Just take a message to Mr. Diaz for me."
She listened attentively. "Of course."
Leopold's voice was calm and clear. "Trust is earned, not given."
Tatum watched him walk back into the residential complex before returning to her car and immediately calling Victor.
"Well?" Victor's voice came through the receiver.
"Mr. Diaz, I couldn't get him to come. He asked me to give you a message," Tatum reported. "He said, Trust is earned, not given."
The line was silent for a long moment before Victor hung up.
As Leopold walked, a thought solidified in his mind. The news of his demotion had already spread.