Chapter 23 Why Aren't You Answering Your Phone?

The results of Nora's final evaluation were in, prompting a celebration with Eleanor at a nice bar nearby the office, known for its absence of scandalous headlines.

"Eleanor, I've got some juicy gossip for you." Nora took a sip of her drink, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I saw Director Thompson getting into a man's car."

Eleanor swirled her drink, unimpressed. "That's gossip? Give me something explosive."

With an air of 'you better believe it,' Nora set down her glass and animatedly continued, "I even saw her kiss the guy, and then he wrapped his arm around her waist. It was right there in our company's parking garage—I saw it with my own eyes!"

Eleanor set her glass down, her gaze flickering with intrigue.

"I thought she was supposed to be getting engaged? I heard she was marrying Aaron, but that guy wasn't Aaron. I've seen Aaron online, and he is handsome!"

Nora raised her thumb as if Aaron were her own personal victory.
Feeling that it wasn't enough, she added emphatically, "It's an outrage!"

Eleanor skillfully tuned out her friend's dramatics.

Vincent getting cozy with another guy?

"Are you sure you saw right?"

Nora nodded, swearing on her life, "I saw it with my own two eyes. Unless that guy was wearing Director Thompson's face as a mask, I am positive it was him."

This was no small matter.

"Who else have you told?"

Nora shook her head, "I wouldn't dare gossip about the big boss with just anyone. You're my girl, Eleanor—I wouldn't keep secrets from you."

Eleanor advised her, "And don't go talking about it in the future, either. Pretend like you never saw anything, alright?"

Nora wasn't naive; she understood the gravity of the situation and reassured her repeatedly, which finally set Eleanor's mind at ease.

Eleanor's phone, left on the bar table, rang with a call from an unknown number.

Without hesitation, she hit ignore.

Nora, munching on pistachios, asked, "Another nuisance call?"

Eleanor took a sip of her drink, hummed in agreement, and a fleeting shadow of concern crossed her face.

It was just one in a string of unwanted calls that day.

At first, she had been oblivious, answering three calls that were probing about her 'dating preferences,' asking if she was available to meet, or even bluntly inquiring about her night rates.

Holding back the urge to lash out, she asked where they got her number.

Their sources varied from dating sites, to matrimonial portals, and some other absurd channels that no decent person would think of.

An online check confirmed that her number had been posted. She contacted a few websites requesting to remove her information, but had no clue how many sites it had been spread to.

As soon as one site took it down, countless others popped up.

She'd gotten at least a dozen calls that afternoon alone.

She couldn’t afford to limit her phone to contacts only—what if a client was trying to reach her? That'd be another hassle.

Who could be so malicious to do this?

Yet another harassing call came in. Eleanor suppressed her anger and disconnected again.

She got up to head to the restroom, needing a moment to cool off.

She'd already filed a police report, trusting that the authorities would resolve the issue, and hoped these nuisance calls would soon stop.

As she walked around the corner, someone behind her whistled loudly.

Though the area was relatively decent, troublemakers always found a way in. Engaging with such vulgar behavior only fueled their excitement.

Eleanor picked up her pace, ducking into the restroom. When she stepped out again, it was clear except for a pair of girls.
She exhaled with relief, ready to head back when suddenly, a man materialized to her right, blocking her path with the reek of alcohol hitting her face.

The hallway was deserted at that moment.

He had a sleazy look about him, young but with the air of a street thug. "You're Eleanor?" he slurred.

"You've got the wrong person," Eleanor responded, regaining her composure.

"No mistake, you're Eleanor!" he insisted, running his tongue over his lips as he appraised her. "So it was you flirting online, huh? Didn't expect you to be this gorgeous. What do you say, into younger guys?"

A chill crept up Eleanor's spine.

The fact that he recognized her meant someone had posted her picture online as well.

"I'm not interested in men younger than me," she said curtly, pulling out her phone, ready to call the cops.

The man across from her suddenly unbuckled his belt, and with a swoosh, his jeans slumped to his calves.

He wore nothing underneath.

He even gave it a little shake. "Why not give it a try?"

Eleanor thought of Grayson—his careless grin and that slightly roguish charm. She glanced over dismissively and said with a smirk, "I thought you were a little brother, didn't expect you to be quite so... little."

Patting him on the shoulder, her gaze returned to his face, now flushed with anger. Her mockedp. "Sorry, not impressed by the merchandise."

With that, she walked away, her heels clicking with confidence.

Around the corner, she quickened her pace, her blood racing, the pounding in her ears magnified.

Distracted, checking if the creep was following her, she blundered into a group of people rounding the bend.

"Whoa, watch out!" Ashton was mid-conversation with Aaron, not expecting the collision.

She stumbled right into Aaron's arms, and surprisingly, the young heir of the Quinn family didn't push her away.

Upon closer inspection, he realized, "Isn't this Aaron's lady friend from the Heavenly Fairy Hall?"

"Hasty," he muttered.

Hearing the familiar voice, Eleanor looked up. The bar's dizzying lights swirled around Aaron, whose austere aloofness clashed starkly with the ambiance.

Her defenses crumbled in an instant.

Moments before, she had dared not show weakness before the pervert, feigning calm for fear of what he might do in a deranged moment.

Now, her knees buckled, and instinctively clinging to Aaron's arm, she fought back tears threatening to spill.

"What's wrong?" Ashton, noticing her face turn pale and then flush, asked in a low voice, "What happened?"

He recognized it—the look of someone caught in the aftershocks of intense fear and anxiety.
He glanced over at Aaron, but Aaron was fixated on Eleanor, picking her up and pulling her into the empty booth beside them.

The door shut behind them.

"Talk to me," Aaron said, standing before her as he casually undid two buttons of his shirt. There was a hint of alcohol on his breath, but it wasn't overpowering or unpleasant.

The air was thick with his masculine presence, enveloping her completely. It was so reminiscent of that day in the locker room that she couldn't help but recall the intensity of the moment.

Her eyes fell to his crisp black shirt, and slowly, her racing heart began to calm. She shook her head slightly, "It's nothing."

"You wouldn't be this flustered over nothing," he retorted.

Eleanor remained tight-lipped. Aaron leaned against the door, pulling out a cigarette case and lighter from his pocket. It was as if he was ready to wait her out if she chose to stay silent.

Her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and without hesitation, she declined the call.

"Why not take the call?" Aaron asked, pausing in the middle of lighting his cigarette.

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