Chapter 76 I'll Take Care of You
Timothy finally opened his eyes, a touch of resignation in his gaze as Elizabeth's finger pressed lightly against his chest.
His expression was languid, almost lazy, as if the morning sun had yet to reach him.
He shifted slightly, his voice low but firm. "Up you get. We're going to be late for work."
Last night had stretched long into the small hours, their bodies tangled in a rhythm neither had wanted to end. Elizabeth had finally surrendered, inventing a flimsy excuse about an early morning meeting just to make him stop.
Her plan to sleep in was cut short by a call from Yosef, urging her to get to the office early. The Johnson Group was sending representatives today, and she needed to be there.
TechStrong and the Johnson Group—rivals in some arenas, partners in others—were a complicated mix of competition and cooperation.
Timothy was already out of bed, his long fingers fastening each button with deliberate precision. He glanced sideways at her. "If you don't want to work, I'll take care of you."
Elizabeth squinted at him through half-lidded eyes, stifling a yawn. "No need."
She sat up, clutching the blanket around her shoulders.
Timothy slipped on his watch, then crossed to her. His hand brushed the strap of her camisole back into place over her shoulder, the heat from his fingertips lingering against her skin.
Elizabeth flinched at the touch, sliding out of bed.
Her knees buckled, and she nearly collapsed.
Timothy's arm shot out to steady her.
Elizabeth's lips pressed into a thin line.
He didn't bother with modesty. "This just proves my stamina is exceptional."
She answered with a cold, wordless smile.
After a moment, she waved him off.
Timothy caught the look in her eyes—sharp, calculating—and smiled. "I'm heading to work. Make sure you eat breakfast before you go."
He strode out of the bedroom without waiting for a reply.
Elizabeth exhaled slowly. He was impossible.
Imperial Garden.
Tom arrived to pick up Armando and took the opportunity to update Sherry on her request to investigate Yvonne.
"Our people couldn't find any trace of her," he said.
Sherry's brows knit together. "You're certain you can't find out who she is?"
Tom nodded. "That's right."
"Then forget it. Thank you, Mr. Davis."
"Not at all."
Armando descended the stairs, his expression cool and distant. He looked like he hadn't slept, faint red veins threading his eyes. "Let's go."
Once Armando and Tom had left, Sherry sent a message to Della.
If they couldn't uncover Yvonne's identity, there were other ways to force her out.
After appearing on a popular music program, Jessa had released a new album—every song written by Yvonne.
The album had skyrocketed to the top of every chart, eclipsing Sherry's own recent release.
Resentment burned hotter. Sherry was determined to drag Yvonne into the open.
Della's reply was cautious: [Are you sure you want to take this route?]
Sherry's answer was a single word: [Yes.]
At TechStrong, Elizabeth was juggling tasks—photocopying documents for the Johnson Group's visit while phoning restaurants to make reservations.
Armando stepped out of the elevator alongside Yosef. Both men were tall, impeccably dressed, and striking enough to turn heads.
Elizabeth emerged from the copy room with a stack of papers just as they passed.
Armando's gaze flickered to her face, then away.
Yosef reached out, taking the documents from her. "Ms. Penrose, please prepare coffee. Thank you."
They disappeared into the office.
Elizabeth brewed the coffee herself and carried it in, placing one cup to Armando's right.
The aroma drifted upward. Armando turned his head—and caught sight of the faint, unmistakable mark on her neck.
His pupils contracted sharply before he forced his expression back to neutral.
Midway through the meeting, he lifted the cup and took a sip. The taste was familiar. His hand paused, then he drank again before setting it down.
Elizabeth sat with Yosef on the opposite sofa, quietly recording the key points of their discussion.
By the time they finished, it was past noon.
"Mr. Johnson, I hear you're hosting the chairman of Stellar Industries Group tonight," Yosef remarked, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
Yosef and Armando were rivals; everyone knew they couldn't stand each other.
"Your sources are impressive," Armando said coolly. "Makes me wonder if the Johnson Group has someone feeding you information."
Yosef's smirk was sharp. "Keep wondering. Ms. Penrose, I'm starving. Let's get lunch. Care to join us, Mr. Johnson?"
Armando nodded. "Sure."
Yosef's brows lifted—he hadn't expected him to accept.
Elizabeth sent the restaurant address to Tom. Yosef and Armando drove separately, while she rode with Yosef.
She called the restaurant to update the reservation. "Strange. Armando never joins us for meals."
Yosef waited until she hung up. His jaw worked around a piece of gum as he looked at her.
Elizabeth's voice was lazy. "No idea."
His gaze drifted to her neck, and a knowing smile curved his lips. "Looks like you've got quite the nightlife."
Her brow arched. "Isn't that normal?"
Yosef thought briefly of Timothy, then of Emma. He decided to visit her at Greenview Mansion later.
At the restaurant, the hostess led them to a reserved table—no private room.
Elizabeth ordered Yosef's favorites, then added her own choices.
She passed the tablet to Tom. "Mr. Davis, you order for yourselves."
She knew Tom and Armando's preferences but wasn't inclined to choose for them.
Seated across from Armando, she met his gaze briefly before he looked away, tapping his knee with one finger—a telltale sign of restlessness.
"Ms. Penrose, I want shrimp," Yosef announced, piling six large prawns into an empty bowl and sliding it toward her, expecting her to peel them.
Elizabeth tilted her head, smiling without warmth. "Look at my hands."
She held up her slender fingers.
Tom and Armando glanced over.
Once, she had peeled shrimp for Armando.
Yosef studied her hands. "Pretty hands. Still capable of peeling shrimp."
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "See the nail polish? Dark red. Not exactly peeling-friendly."
Yosef sighed and began peeling them himself.
Armando lowered his gaze, setting down his utensils. "Enjoy your meal."
He dabbed his lips with a napkin, rose, and left.
Tom nodded to Elizabeth before following.
In the car, Armando rubbed his brow, a cigarette between his fingers.
After a pause, he began, "Tom, back then…" He trailed off, the words dying in his throat.
Tom didn't press.
Armando closed his eyes. Ever since Elizabeth's car accident, he had sensed something unsettling within himself—something he didn't want to admit.
Elizabeth had just finished eating when her phone buzzed. A message from Calista appeared, along with a bank account number.
It read: [Tomorrow, transfer the money to this account.]
Elizabeth's lips curled into a cold smile. Her crimson nails drummed lightly against the screen before she swept the message away and emptied the trash.
She wouldn't send the money.
They thought a photo and a few vile words could make her submit? Not a chance.
Her thoughts flickered to Timothy. She pressed her lips together, closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again.
"I have something to do this afternoon," she told Yosef. "Drop me at the next intersection."
He waved a hand. "Approved."
He had plans of his own—to visit Emma.