Maxwell’s lips were drawing into a tight line. “Rosemary, you’ve got some gall heading there!”


    Rosemary let out a light chuckle. “What’s there to fear? It’s just sharing a table.”


    It seemed to her that Maxwell was practically inviting scorn upon himself; she couldn’t be bothered


    to exin.


    During their exchange, the upants at Martin’s table noticed them. They were all familiar faces,


    and upon ncing over, Martin could tell Maxwell was discussing business, so he chose not to


    intrude.


    Maxwell stared at Rosemary emotionlessly, hismand resonating with a steely undertone, “Hold


    my arm.”


    Rosemary, slightly annoyed, suppressed her voice, “It’s just a simple meal, not a banquet.  Is such


    formal arm-holding really necessary?”


    This constant disy felt like an orchestrated farce, overly theatrical for her taste.


    Maxwell returned her retort with an indifferent stare. “You’re paid to deal with trouble for me.


    Decisions on what should or shouldn’t be done fall to me, your employer. Do you believe you have


    the right to refuse?”


    Alright, money dictated action; who hasn’t encountered a harsh employer!


    With a silent acquiescence, Rosemaryplied, taking his arm. A waiter approached and led them


    to a secluded private room reserved for the dining.


    After they were seated, Mrs. Ferber, intending to be closer with Rosemary, stared at her face


    andplimented, “Mrs. Templeton’s skin is really something—so fair and tender. Even from this


    close, your pores are invisible.”


    While her words were ttering, they weren’t lies. Rosemary’s skin was indeed good, fair with that


    healthy glow, and a fine texture, something many women could only dream of.


    Rosemary’s hope of being a mere ornament falling through, and she had to tuck away her phone.


    Summoning her spirit, she responded with a gracious smile, “Mrs. Ferber, you’re too kind with your


    words. It’s really not as extraordinary as you make it seem.”


    Seeing Rosemary’s easy-going disposition andck of arrogance—which she could well afford as


    Mrs. Templeton, Mrs. Ferber grew even fonder of her.


    “Do you mind sharing how you take care of your skin?”


    Rosemary’s routine involved basic skincare in the morning and at night, with maybe a beauty clinic


    visit twice a month. It must be natural, after all, her mother had great skin too.


    But saying that could probably make her sound narcissist, so she shared Ynda’s skincare routine


    with Mrs. Ferber instead.


    As they were having an engaging conversation, a soft “thud” abruptly interrupted the moment as an


    empty cup was set before her. She looked up, catching a glimpse of the man’s retreating slender


    fingers.


    Rosemary turned to the culprit, Maxwell. After a brief survey of the table, she grasped his intent and


    leaned in to whisper, “If you want tea, it’s best to request it from the waiter.”


    The waiter was standing just outside, where a simple knock on the table would have readily called


    them over.


    Maxwell’s voice was deep, “Then why did I spend ten million to bring you here? I could have easily


    spent three thousand to employ a waiter with a keener eye than yours.”


    Leaning closer to Maxwell, she spoke through clenched teeth, “My role in this deal is to be an


    ornamental vase, sitting here to elevate your image.”


    Têxt ? N?velDrama.Org.


    It wasn’t that she couldn’t pour the tea, but she needed to make a stand, lest Maxwell, empowered


    by the ten million, push her boundaries.


    Maxwell said nothing, his eyes intensely scrutinizing the woman, “A vase? You’re selling yourself


    short.”


    Not a vase? Was that an indirectpliment to her abilities?


    Even though Maxwell often couldn’t say anything nice, considering hispliment earlier,


    Rosemary thought it wouldn’t hurt to pour water for him.


    Before she could trante her thoughts into action, the man beside her remarked with a tone of


    indifference, “Ready for dinner or bed? skilled at foot massages?”


    Rosemary froze. She wasn’t considering which criteria she met; her mind was consumed with the


    singr desire to make Maxwell’s head explode!


    “Making such a fuss over pouring water, if you wanna be ornamental, you might need a few more


    years of training. Want to get paid? The just do your job well. Even a six-year-old gets that; do you


    really need to be taught?”


    Despite seething with anger, Rosemary bit her tongue, acutely aware of the business partners


    watching and the potential fallout from a public altercation going viral. For the sake of her


    reputation, she maintained herposure.


    “Maxwell, if you ever go bankrupt, you’d better find a remote forest for your grave, or else your


    ashes will sooner orter be scattered by someone.”


    “My ashes are none of your concern. Now, pour the water.”


    With visible irritation, Rosemary aggressively tilted the teapot, pouring his water.


    Mr. Ferber took in the scene, particrly Rosemary’s impatience with Maxwell. His eyes flickered


    with thought.


    Rosemary ignored Maxwell for the rest of the meal.  Yet, undeterred and ever unabashed, he


    demanded, “Pass the food.”


    She inhaled deeply, silently chanting “three hundred million” three times in her mind, as ten million


    no longer enough to calm her.


    She deliberately chose a few dishes Maxwell disliked and served them to him. Catching his eye,


    she offered a feigned, sharine smile in response.


    Meanwhile, Mrs. Ferber watched them enviously. “Rosemary, you and Mr. Templeton seem so


    close.”


    Rosemary thought, are you kidding me, Mrs. Ferber?


    Stockholm syndrome is a no-go—it could literally be the death of someone.


    On the other hand, Maxwell and Mr. Ferber were deep in conversation, discussing business,


    policies, and future developments. Rosemary wasn’t paying close attention, but she had to admit,


    despite Mr. Ferber’s unappealing appearance and diforting presence, he was quite


    knowledgeable.


    After sitting idly by for a while, she decided to excuse herself to the restroom.


    Upon returning, she found Mr. Ferber waiting by the door.


    His beer belly seemed to be slightly more rotund post-meal. Having knocked back a few, he was


    stumbling around, and Rosemary thought he was about to keel over at any second.


    Mr. Ferber’s eyes were practically glued to Rosemary. “Mrs. Templeton, what a fortuitous


    encounter.”


    Offering a lukewarm smile, Rosemary replied, “Mr. Ferber, you seem preupied, I’ll leave you to


    it.”


    However, as she attempted to bypass him, Mr. Ferber blocked her way and, seizing her hand, he


    murmured, “Mrs. Templeton, you have a lovely scent.”