Chapter 332
“A shower?”
Lyman quickly looked at Effie, eager to please. “Can you smell it? I used the lemongrass body wash you bought me.”
Instead of looking happier, Effie’s frown only deepened when Lyman admitted he’d just showered.
She fixed her gaze on him. “Let me ask you, why did you need a shower?”
Lyman froze, thrown off by her sudden change in mood. Why was she upset now?
He tried to soften her up with a playful tone. “Honey, of course I showered for you. Luther told me you might be stopping by, so I didn’t want you catching a whiff of sweat.”
“Just sweat?” Effie pressed, her eyes narrowing. “Or were you trying to wash off something else? And why was Isabel the one who answered your phone?”
Lyman stared, completely lost. “Wait, what? Isabel? Who’s Isabel? She was here? Why didn’t I know?”
“The AC was acting up this afternoon,” he explained, “and I got caught up with work. By the time I noticed, I’d already broken a sweat. When I realized you were coming, I hopped in the shower so you wouldn’t have to deal with the smell.”
“Really?” Effie’s suspicion seemed to waver, if only slightly.
“I swear!” Lyman said, holding up a hand for emphasis.
“Then explain Isabel. Why was she in your office?”
Lyman shook his head, utterly confused. “I honestly have no idea.”
He paused, remembering that while he was in the shower, he’d heard someone
try the door handle, but he’d locked it from the inside so nobody could get in.
“But you said you tried calling me-why isn’t there any record on my phone?” Lyman pulled out his phone to show her.
Effie checked hers. Her call log showed the call.
That was all Lyman needed to see. The pieces fell into place instantly.
His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing across them. “I know exactly what’s going on now.”
“Luther, come in here.”
Luther entered a moment later, carrying a takeout bag from a five-star hotel.
“From now on,” Lyman instructed, “if anyone sees Isabel, stop her at the door. She’s not to enter The Etheridge Group at all.”
Well, that was that. Isabel wouldn’t just be barred from Lyman’s office-she wouldn’t even make it through the building’s front doors.
Luther, for his part, thought this was a good idea. Isabel really was a troublemaker.
“Understood, Mr. Etheridge. Here’s your lunch.”
“Wait a minute,” Lyman said, turning to Effie. “Didn’t you say you got me some pasta?”
Effie hesitated, glancing in Luther’s direction.
Now everything made sense. No wonder she’d felt like someone was watching her when she was eating earlier-she’d dismissed it as her imagination, but it turned out she’d been right.
Effie looked at Lyman. “I did buy some, but unfortunately there’s none left.”
“What do you mean, ‘none left’? I want that pasta—the one you got for me,” Lyman insisted, thinking she was just teasing him.
Luther, however, broke out in a cold sweat, like a man pulled from a river. He braced himself and confessed, “The pasta was thrown out by the receptionist, sir. Don’t worry I’ve already fired her. Mrs. Etheridge made her eat the pasta out of the trash before she left.”
Lyman gave a cold snort. “That’s too easy on her. Tell the team: blacklist her from the entire industry.”
“Yes, sir…”
Effie looked at Lyman, wanting to say something, but stopped herself.