Chapter 38 Better Acting Might Win Hearts

Vincent was the future lady of the Drunken Paradise, and the Manager was too eager to please. Hearing that she was tipsy, he personally brought her hot water and hangover remedies.

There he was, just heading towards the private room with a tray when he heard the elevator doors open behind him. He glanced back reflexively.

"Aaron?"

The man likely just came from a gathering, clothed in a black overcoat atop a coordinating suit, his tie knotted tight beneath a cleanly cut jawline, with features sharp and hair meticulous as if painted with ink, exuding an aura of educated austerity.

He casually adjusted his tie, "Which room is Vincent in?"

The overpowering presence of the man prompted the Manager to promptly respond, "Right this way; I'll show you."

Aaron strode forward with the Manager in tow, suddenly halting to told him, "Comp that room tonight."

"Of course," replied the Manager, thinking to himself that it was the least he could do for the future boss's wife.

The waitstaff pushed open the door to the private room, revealing a boisterous crowd, young men and women singing and drinking—the laser lights casting over flushed faces.

Aaron frowned slightly at the scene, only to hear Vincent call out to him, "Aaron!"
Vincent stood up, tipsy and unsteady, making her way to Aaron. He casually looped his arm around her, holding her as she slumped against him. With feigned annoyance, she pouted, "I was starting to think you wouldn't show up."

Her voice held a flirtatious lilt, hinting at the level of intimacy between them.

Aaron was an enigma, his presence in the media almost non-existent. An accidental photo of him at a university award ceremony two years ago had gone viral, stirring up a frenzy online—it was the meme of the year.

Eleanor's colleague recognized him and, almost reflexively, stood up from the couch. Even those who had overindulged were helped to their feet, greeting him respectfully with a simple nod, "Aaron."

Aaron, ever aloof, was not one for warmth, even with those he knew well. His words were always measured.

With a non-committal "Mhm," he dismissed them, "Carry on."

The others quickly replied, "We were just leaving."

Aaron's gaze swept across the room, landing on a dimly lit corner where Eleanor sat quietly, pouring herself drink after drink, head bowed.

Feeling his eyes upon her, Eleanor slowly looked up, her gaze meeting his steadily.

When she chose to captivate, Eleanor exuded a dangerous beauty, especially with a drink in her hand. Her eyes, misty like a gentle spring rain, wrapped around you, carrying a certain fierceness, downright bewitching.

Aaron retracted his inscrutable gaze.

As Vincent and Aaron made their exit, she turned back, giving Eleanor a coy smile, then pressed herself against Aaron.

"Aaron, I feel dizzy."

"Then close your eyes," he said coolly.

Vincent basked in his brusque demeanor, finding his stoic charm irresistibly masculine.

...

The car door shut, and silence enveloped them.

Vincent opened her half-closed eyes and realized she was alone—Aaron was gone. In the driver's seat sat a man ready to start the car, but it wasn't Aaron.

She snapped to attention.

"Wesley, where's Aaron?"

An indifferent voice answered, "Miss Thompson, I'm Blake."

Vincent rubbed her forehead in frustration. She always confused Blake with Wesley—they could be twins—but that wasn't the point.

"Where's Aaron?"

"He got tied up with something," Blake replied.

"I'll wait for him, then," Vincent said, reaching for the car door, only to find it locked from the inside. Her irritation flared, "Unlock it. I want to get out."

"Aaron asked me to take you home," said Blake, his face expressionless.

Vincent was livid—these twin brothers were equally stubborn. "I don't want to go home yet. Unlock the door!"

"I only take orders from Aaron."
After Blake spoke, he started the car, indifferent to Vincent's shouts and demands.

"I said I want to get out, are you deaf?" Vincent banged on the back of the seat in frustration.

Blake didn't respond, choosing instead to blast music through the car's stereo to drown out Vincent's curses.

Vincent, fuming with anger, threw his bag down onto the floor mat, staring resentfully in the direction of Drunken Paradise.

One by one, the colleagues had left, and the once lively private room quieted down. Eleanor leaned on the couch, her cheeks partially concealed by her hair, her pale and delicate skin blushing as if touched by makeup.

The sound of a can being kicked disrupted the silence as the private room door opened. Eleanor crinkled her brow in annoyance.

"Drank too much?"

Aaron gently caressed her flushed cheek with the back of his hand, leaning in to sniff her, the scent of alcohol overwhelming.

She felt a tickle in her half-drunk stupor, instinctively dodging to the side, and ended up leaning into the Aaron, quiet and well-behaved, making no fuss.

Aaron watched her for a few moments, then lifted his arm to hold her, his gaze sweeping over the bottles in front of her, frowning slightly, "How much did you drink?"

Eleanor, with bleary eyes, lifted her right hand and after confirming in a daze, held up two fingers, then switched to three, looking uncertain.

"Three bottles..."

Aaron glanced at the three bottles of foreign liquor, two and a half bottles down. Not very high in proof, but they packed a punch later on.

"Happy about the promotion?" he asked, looking down at her.

Eleanor nodded with her eyes closed, "I can make more money."

Aaron let out a chuckle, helping her up, his overcoat flaring out, easily enveloping her slim figure.

From a distance, the Manager noticed Aaron returning, thinking he had forgotten something. He quickly handed off his work and followed.

"Aaron..."

He reached the private room's door just in time to see Aaron embracing a woman. Aaron turned slightly, his overcoat wrapping around her, revealing just the top of her dark hair and a pair of silver high heels.

Ah, Miss Thompson.

He had noticed earlier that Miss Thompson was the one wearing silver high heels.

But hadn't they left already?

"Aaron, did you leave something behind?" The Manager was tactful, with Miss Thompson clearly intoxicated, he stood by the door without peering in, his gaze cast downward.

Aaron hummed an affirmation, "Nothing here concerns you anymore."

"Got it." The Manager quickly stepped back out.

A few steps away, he pondered to himself; he remembered Miss Thompson having chestnut hair, but the woman in Aaron's arms had hair that seemed black.
Yet I couldn't dismiss the sway Light had over her.

Sheesh, he must've been seeing things.

Wesley slid the car into the underground parking at Drunken Paradise, while Aaron and Eleanor shot up to their destination in the elevator, wrapped cozily in each other's arms.

Once in the car, Eleanor snuggled up against Aaron as the engine hummed to life. His hand cradled the back of her head, gently preventing her from bumping around.

Eleanor purred contentedly like a lazy cat, rubbing against his chest, seemingly growing dependent on him after their couple days together.

"Why so obedient tonight?" he asked.

Her eyes, clear and sober, met his question without a hint of inebriation. She muttered, "Don't you like it?"

Aaron tilted her face up toward him, a smirk on his face at her convincing act, "I'd like it more if the performance were better."