Chapter 144 Annie's mind was suddenly in a tailspin—was Jacob doing this on purpose?
After breakfast, while the kids were still asleep, she decided to head out early to avoid their clinginess.
But as she reached downstairs, a call from Brady Hall reminded her that he'd offered to give her a lift to work the night before.
"Are you up yet?" came his signature deep and resonant voice from the other end of the line.
Hearing from him, Violet's head buzzed. Could Brady really be coming to pick her up?
But she didn't need it. "Mr. Hall, I'm already on my way to the office. Thanks for the offer," she said quickly, hanging up before he could respond.
She used to be so cautious, worrying about losing her job and always enduring.
But now, she was all in.
There were plenty of design firms out there.
Even if she had to quit, she'd find another job.
For now, unless they forced her to resign or something drastic happened, she planned to stick with JK for at least six months to gain experience before quitting on her terms.
So with this newfound resolve, she wouldn't be obsequious to Brady Hall anymore.
Brady Hall was unexpectedly energized by such a bold hang-up. He'd never actually met a woman he couldn't woo.
Narrowing his dark eyes, Brady swiped his phone and texted Violet Devereux: "Ms. Devereux, head to my office first when you get to the company. If I don't see you there, I'll pay a personal visit to your design team at JK."
Once the message was sent, Brady didn't wait for a reply. With a gesture to his driver, he signaled to head back to the company. The driver nodded, steering the car straight to the Hall family's towering headquarters.
Shortly after arriving at the Hall family HQ, Violet walked into the building too, her mind a tangled mess after reading the text on her phone. Should she go, or not?
As Violet wavered, her colleague Lilian Devereux arrived, her jealousy flaring upon spotting Violet by the elevator doors. Striding over in her high heels, Lilian spoke coldly: "I heard about Ms. Chen's turnaround. Got quite a knack for persuasion, don’t you? Won some over, I hear. What tricks did you pull off?"
"That's none of your business," Violet dismissed her without interest.
Lilian's barbs still stung, though. There were scores yet to be settled between their families. "I'll say it again," Lilian pressed, "I advise you to resign early. It's only a matter of time before your indiscretions come to light within the Hall circle."
Lilian's words hit a nerve, and Violet snapped back, "Yes, when my secrets come out, yours will too. Don't forget, it wasn’t me who played him; it was you!"
After her retort, Violet jabbed the elevator button for the president's top floor suite and stormed inside.
Fuming and unwilling to share an elevator with Violet, Lilian stayed put. She'd been threatened.
'Fine,' she thought bitterly, 'she'll end up just like her mother—vanished from this world!'
Violet, still simmering with anger, reached the president's floor, only then realizing her mistake. She was meant to stop at JK's level. Her mind clouded, but recalling Brady's text, she knew she'd inevitably have to come up here.
Resigned, she headed toward Brady Hall's office.
Brady Hall looked every inch the executive in his crisp white shirt paired with classic black slacks, standing tall on one side of his office. By his hand rested what appeared to be a blueprint about a meter long.
Violet Devereux kept a safe distance of about six feet and asked, "You wanted to see me, Mr. Hall?"
His eyelids lifted lazily, a fleeting glance her way, his voice that clear and mellow timbre of early morning, "Avoiding me?"
Violet simply pressed her lips together, her silence speaking volumes. Was he playing coy?
"Come here, take a look at this design for me, will you?" He motioned her over without making further eye contact.
Biting back her uncertainty, she slowly approached the vast oak desk, peering at the papers spread out before her. To her surprise, it was a finished design for children's furniture.
As she stood there, astonished, Brady suddenly moved behind her, encircling her with his arms and resting his hands on the design in front. Leaning close, his lips brushed her ear, his breath—a mix of masculinity and a hint of tobacco—warm against her eardrum, "Ms. Devereux, as a professional designer, what do you think of this kid's furniture? Do you think the little ones will like it?"
"Will they like it?" The question echoed in her head, causing turmoil. He was pushing her buttons on purpose.
Did he even have kids?
Or was he trying to draw her out?
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