Chapter 351
Lyman Etheridge’s phone went off, breaking the silence. He turned on his heel
and strode to his desk. When he saw the message was from Effie Bagnold, a faint smile tugged at his lips.
Effie: [Lunch together?]
Lyman started to type a reply, but then paused, as if a new idea had struck him. Instead, he snapped a photo of one of the sketches lying on his desk and set it as his profile picture. Only then did he answer her.
Lyman: [Sure.]
Effie noticed the change almost instantly. Lyman had updated his profile picture— and not just to any picture, but to one of the sketches she’d done yesterday when she was bored. Her cheeks flushed. She’d been in such a rush to leave last night that she’d completely forgotten to get rid of the evidence.
She’d assumed Lyman was too busy to go through those books, yet somehow he’d found her sketch anyway!
Across the office, Randell Hoffman glanced up at Lyman and snickered. “Look at him grinning like that,” he said. “He’s smiling so wide, I’m surprised his face hasn’t split in half.”
“So what?” Vinson Elliott replied, unimpressed. “What exactly are you trying to prove?”
Randell gave him an exasperated look. “Did you forget to take your meds again?” he shot back. “Because, honestly, that’s the only explanation for your cluelessness.”
Vinson didn’t take offense-he was used to Randell’s jabs. Among close friends, the teasing was merciless. The more familiar you were, the less you held back. Only acquaintances bothered with politeness.
Still, Vinson knew there were lines you didn’t cross. Take Randell, for example- there was one subject that was strictly off-limits: the woman who had vanished from his life. Even a mention would be asking for trouble.
“Relax, I remembered,” Vinson said, pulling a bottle of pills from his pocket. “Want one? I’ll share.”
Randell rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You actually carry those around with you?”
“How else am I supposed to cure you?” Vinson deadpanned.
“Get lost.”
As Lyman reached for the door, he paused, turning back to fix Randell and Vinson with a look. “If you two have this much time on your hands, maybe try coming up with ways to improve our revenue,” he said.
“Oh, come on, Lyman,” Vinson protested, “Elliott’s Cozy Room is already doing so well that my servers are running themselves ragged. Any more, and they’ll be serving with smoke trailing from their trays.”
Randell kept quiet; his own resort’s business was barely limping along. He couldn’t help but feel that what he needed was a stroke of luck.
“If you’ve got time to stand around chatting, you’re not working hard enough,”
Lyman said, his tone final. “I want to see your business proposals on my desk by seven a.m. tomorrow. And you know how much I hate half-hearted work.”
“Oh, great.”
“Should’ve stayed home today…”
Randell and Vinson groaned in unison.
From across the room, Luther watched the two of them, offering a silent, momentary tribute. *Mr. Hoffman, Mr. Elliott, may you rest in peace.*
After Lyman left, Vinson declared, “Looks like it’s time to break out my secret weapon!”
Randell raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that supposed to be?”
Vinson smirked. “Not telling.”
“I’ll pay you a million,” Randell offered.
“Please. You think I’m that shallow? Money can’t sway me,” Vinson replied, feigning indignation.
“Two million.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“Eight million.”
Vinson hesitated, then grinned. “Well, who am I to turn down money?” He stuck out his hand. “Cash up front, and I’ll spill.”
Randell shook his head but actually transferred the money to Vinson on his phone.
Vinson checked the payment and nodded approvingly. “Randell, you have to forgive a businessman’s bad habits. It’s just business, after all.”