Everyone present was a shrewd veteran; how could they not see what Mr. Grayson intended? No one was willing to stick their neck out. The harsh reality of this shark-infested workplace was that if you didn’t climb high enough and lacked strong backing, you were just meat on the chopping block.
Zoe Lancaster wasn’t oblivious to the hand resting on the back of her chair, itching to make a move. A wave of disgust washed over her, making her scalp tingle as she sat in stiff apprehension.
Mr. Grayson wouldn’t let her off the hook. "Come on, Lancaster. Have a drink with me."
Zoe pursed her lips. "I’m sorry, I don’t really drink."
Mr. Grayson acted as if he didn’t understand human language, aggressively pouring her a glass of liquor. "How can you survive in the workplace if you don’t drink? Especially you women—if you can’t go all out and hold your own at the drinking table, how do you expect to make any waves in your career?"
Zoe frowned. This was so typical.
There was no shortage of capable, driven women in the workforce, yet the environment offered them nothing but maximum resistance and discrimination. No matter how solid their skills were, it paled in comparison to the "personal advantage" of simply being born male. It was absolutely sickening.
"Lancaster, Mr. Grayson is kindly giving you pointers. Aren’t you going to thank him?" Director Carter reminded her with a smile, noticing that Zoe wasn’t taking the glass.
Zoe understood what Director Carter meant. She took the glass of hard liquor and downed it in one gulp. The burn of it flushed her face red.
She wasn’t a complete teetotaler; her tolerance was actually decent, though she wasn’t exactly a good drunk.
Mr. Grayson smiled in satisfaction and leaned closer to Zoe. The old man’s alcohol-laced breath washed over her neck, giving her goosebumps. "How old are you, Lancaster? Look at this skin, so supple and tender. You must take good care of yourself."
Zoe tried to pull away, but Mr. Grayson kept leaning back in. Swallowing her nausea, she replied, "Twenty-four."
Mr. Grayson looked at the girl’s fair, rosy cheeks, his eyes uncontrollably drifting toward her exceedingly proud chest. Eager and impatient, he couldn’t help but gulp. "I have a friend who runs a high-end beauty salon. How about your big brother gets you an annual VIP card as a gift?"
Hearing this old fossil with one foot in the grave shamelessly refer to himself as her "big brother," Zoe nearly threw up yesterday’s dinner.
In the past, she usually declined these dinner parties. If she hadn’t come today to intercept Simon Hawthorne, she wouldn’t have had to endure this workplace sexual harassment.
"No need," Zoe said. "I already have one."
Mr. Grayson narrowed his eyes, understanding Zoe’s resistant attitude. He placed three full glasses of liquor directly in front of her and said with mock magnanimity, "Fine. Drink these three glasses, and I’ll give our collaboration some more thought."
Even so, he placed his hand on Zoe’s shoulder and gave it a suggestive squeeze, never missing a chance to take advantage of her.
Zoe had the urge to shove the giant lobster claw on the table up the old bastard’s nostrils. She glanced over at Director Carter.
Director Carter shot her a look that made one thing perfectly clear: if she couldn’t win over Mr. Grayson, Zoe would be the one to blame.
Zoe took a deep breath, overwhelmed by a profound sense of powerlessness. Although she had married into the Hawthorne Family, it was a secret marriage; she received absolutely no protection from it. Simon Hawthorne wasn’t the type to help her smooth things over, either. She had no one to rely on but herself.
Everyone’s eyes were fixed on Zoe. There was mockery, ridicule, and a jealous schadenfreude at seeing someone so beautiful being harassed and coerced. Human nature always unconsciously revealed its inherent malice.
Zoe didn’t hesitate any longer. She downed the drinks one after another, leaving a fiery burn in her stomach.
Mr. Grayson was in high spirits and leaned in to hug her. Zoe quickly covered her mouth. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom. I feel a little sick."
She quickly stood up and rushed out of the room. The moment the door closed behind her, Zoe dropped the hand covering her mouth. Every trace of drunkenness vanished. She checked the time; it was already nine o’clock.
"Third floor, room 3011," she repeated silently in her mind.
Without a second thought, she turned and headed up to the third floor. Room 3011 was a VIP private room, diagonally across from the restroom. After a moment of thought, Zoe went inside the restroom. Staring at herself in the mirror, she viciously pinched the tender flesh on the inner side of her thigh. The sharp pain instantly sent tears streaming down her face, and her small, delicate face paled from the agony.
She had used too much force. Just then, footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Zoe immediately leaned against the sink, letting her tears fall. Weeping like a delicate blossom in the rain, she looked incredibly pitiful and endearing.
Secretary Linden had just finished arranging the drinks and was preparing to return to the private room. As he passed the restroom, he caught a glimpse of a woman sobbing softly inside out of the corner of his eye. From his angle, the woman’s face was pale, and the rims of her eyes were tinged with a peach-like red. Tears streamed down her cheeks, yet she bit her lip fiercely, stubbornly refusing to cry out loud.
He initially wanted to approach her, but someone urged him to hurry. He had no choice but to quickly return to the private room. Bypassing the crowd of industry titans inside, he headed straight for the man sitting in the seat of honor at the very front.
Although the atmosphere was filled with cheerful conversation, everyone present was consciously or unconsciously observing the heavyweight VIP they absolutely could not afford to offend today—Simon Hawthorne. Even though he was the youngest person there, only twenty-eight this year, he had already held the reins of the Hawthorne Family’s power for four years. His methods were ruthless and decisive, and his deep, unpredictable scheming kept many veteran businessmen who had navigated the corporate world for years on edge.
Secretary Linden bent down and reported in a low voice by Simon’s ear, "Mr. Hawthorne, Mrs. Hawthorne is also here. The PR department is hosting a business dinner."
Rolling a cigar between his fingertips, Simon’s expression remained unchanged, completely unfazed. "Hmm."
Secretary Linden carefully chose his words. "Mrs. Hawthorne was just crying in the restroom nearby. She looked terrible. I believe she was being bullied."
The body of the cigar crinkled slightly as Simon finally looked up. "And?"
Meeting those handsome yet cold, detached eyes, Secretary Linden instantly realized he had overstepped. He hastily lowered his head. "I apologize, Mr. Hawthorne."
Simon glanced at the cigar that had been creased by his grip. Furrowing his brow, he simply tossed it aside. His tone was light, yet cold and heartless. "If you step into a lion’s den without the ability to handle the situation, you can’t blame anyone for the consequences."
Back in her private room, Zoe had originally intended to keep a low profile and find a quiet corner to sit down. But Mr. Grayson spotted her immediately. He stood up, strode over, and grabbed Zoe’s wrist. Drunkenly wrapping an arm around her slender waist, his thoughts ran wild. "What took you so long? You made me wait."
Zoe was extremely disgusted but couldn’t break free from the old fossil’s grip at all.
Mr. Grayson looked over at Director Carter. "How about this? Later, have Lancaster take the proposal and chat with me in private. If we have a good talk, everything will be negotiable, right?"
Even Director Carter couldn’t help but pale slightly. She hadn’t expected Mr. Grayson to be so brazen. How was this any different from announcing to the world that he was determined to sleep with Zoe today? Even though she wanted to use Zoe’s beauty to secure the collaboration, she also had to be wary of whatever background Zoe had. After all, parachuting directly into the PR department of Hawthorne’s branch company carried immense weight.
"Mr. Grayson, Lancaster has had too much to drink. She won’t be able to discuss things clearly. How about we just talk here..."
"Director Carter, you’re a smart woman. You’ve climbed to this position today; don’t tell me you don’t understand the rules of this circle?" Mr. Grayson sneered threateningly, turning his hand back to stroke Zoe’s waist. "Lancaster, you..."
Before he could finish his sentence, a glass of red wine was thrown right into his face. Drenched, Mr. Grayson flew into a furious rage and delivered a heavy slap to Zoe’s face. "You ungrateful bitch! I see you don’t want to survive in this industry anymore!"
Director Carter hadn’t expected Zoe to throw wine at Mr. Grayson either, and her expression darkened.
Zoe had reached her absolute limit. If she tolerated it any longer, this old bastard would strip her pants off right then and there! Her cheek stung fiercely. Seeing Mr. Grayson raise his wine glass to hit her again, she turned and bolted for the door. The moment she flung it open and rushed out, she crashed headlong into a firm, solid chest. A familiar, faint scent of cedar washed over her.
A long, powerful hand came to rest on the small of her back. Zoe’s heartbeat instantly skipped a beat, and she froze in place.
A second later, all the liquor from Mr. Grayson’s glass splashed onto the man’s expensive, perfectly ironed suit.