Chapter 207 Charles Finds Out
Jesse observed the caller ID; it was Charles on the line. Normally, he wouldn't interfere, knowing that even for a brother, picking up someone else's call wasn't in his habits. But the phone rang a second time. Mark had mentioned that Charles never calls twice unless it's urgent, signifying the matter's pressing nature.
After much deliberation, Jesse decided it was worth answering, given Mark's dedication to his job.
"Hello," Jesse answered coldly, not betraying a hint of drunkenness despite the evening's indulgences.
A frown creased Charles's brow.
He guessed instantly, "Jesse?"
"It's me," Jesse's tone remained as frosty as ever.
Charles sensed an ominous hunch.
He knew about Mark's appointment with Jesse earlier that day, and while it didn't strike him as significant then, later it dawned on him. Having spent a considerable time in Gedser, Jesse hadn't once asked to meet with Mark. It seemed too coincidental now.
Worrying Jesse might be trying to extract information from Mark, Charles had intended to caution him, reminding him to watch his alcohol intake. But his call appeared to be too late.
Despite his realization, Charles, already home, still approached the window and asked, "Where's Mark?"
"Passed out drunk," Jesse said, flatly.
Silence suddenly enveloped both ends of the line.
Neither Charles nor Jesse were particularly the talkative type, and a phone conversation between two such men would typically be brief. On the contrary, they both allowed the line to stay open, both aware that the conversation wasn't over yet.
After what felt like an eternity, Charles's voice came through, his suspicion now a certainty, "Did you meet with Mark to extract information from him ?"
"Yes," Jesse didn't bother to hide the truth.
"He talked?" Charles seeking confirmation.
"He talked," Jesse confirmed.
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.
He had always deemed Mark reliable, which was why he kept him close as his personal assistant. Throughout the years, Mark had rarely made any mistakes or been duped into revealing anything. But now…
Charles felt a heavy sense of disquiet. He knew that Mark, even inebriated, wouldn't normally let anything slip, unless he was talking to someone he trusted, like Jesse.
"Name your price," Charles hesitated but said it anyway, disliking the approach, "Forget what Mark just told you."
"A billion," Jesse answed,
"Okay," Charles agreed.
"Ten billion," Jesse bargained.
"That much in liquid assets I don't have; I can offer you investment products from within our stock and fund holdings," Charles said without hesitation.
He didn't want Daphne to find out. Given Daphne's personality, knowing would only make her think he was meddling, and she might tear up that agreement.
He wasn't trying to prove anything; during this time, he had come to realize that Daphne lacked nothing. She was loved, adored, and well-funded. This gesture was the one small thing he could do for her.
Jesse didn't expect him to agree so readily, "You think doing this will make Daphne change her mind?"
"Not at all," Charles denied.
During the time from the divorce to Murphy's birthday, he had tried.
He also knew that no matter what he did, Daphne would never change her mind, just as they had said; once she'd made up her mind, there was no looking back.
"What terms did you discuss with Daphne Murphy?" At this moment, Jesse didn't sound like an assistant; he was very cool and distant.
Charles narrowed his eyes.
Was this fake suitor-cum-subordinate of Daphne getting too involved?
"It's none of your concern." He didn't tell him, "Let's focus on terms instead; what do you want from what we discussed earlier?"
"I don't need anything," Jesse declined.
Charles let out a chill in his aura, a pressure that came through even over the phone: "I advise you to consider accepting the offer."
"I said I don't want it," Jesse repeated, "And I won't tell Daphne about any of this."
The depth in Charles' eyes grew.
He couldn't believe that an ordinary worker like Jesse could reject the temptation of ten billion, even if he was Daphne's special assistant at the Murphy Group and didn't make much money.
Ten billion could set him up for life without the need for further struggle or effort.
"I need to take care of Mark; let's not chat any longer." Jesse glanced at Mark frowning on the bed, recognizing the discomfort of having drunk too much.
Charles was silent. He realized he couldn't penetrate this person's facade.
"Oh, by the way," Jesse suddenly spoke up.
Charles' lips parted slightly, "What is it?"
"Mark is taking a sick day tomorrow," Jesse's voice was crisp and cold, "He drank too much and won't be able to make it to work."
Charles hung up abruptly.
This Jesse... who exactly was he?
Jesse placed Mark's phone on the nightstand and seeing Mark still furrowed his brow, he took him to the bathroom.
As a friend, Jesse truly was considerate. He bought Mark a set of clothes, tidied him up, and after laying him down on the bed, he went to shower and get ready for bed himself.
Each had their designated bed.
The following morning dawned, Mark awoke with a mild headache. Rubbing his temples, he propped himself up to a seated position and paused when he noticed he was wearing the hotel's bathrobe.
"I called in sick for you," Jesse, already dressed and seated, had been waiting for half the day just to inform Mark, "You don't have to go to work today, I'll head to the office to handle things."
"Did Charles say anything?" Mark was more concerned about this issue.
He didn't care about the drunken antics of being thrown in the bath and changed; such occurrences had become normal over the period of their friendship.
Even though they were both men; it didn't bother him.
"No," Jesse paused to think. Regarding Mark taking the day off, Charles really hadn't said anything, he just hung up the phone.
Mark sighed in relief.
Just as he was about to let Jesse go, he suddenly remembered the previous night's question and quickly spoke, "Wait."
Jesse looked at him questioningly.
"Last night's question, you didn't answer me. Who is the person you have a crush on? What's their name?" Mark was very direct, his eyes filled with genuine curiosity.
Jesse fell silent.
How could he answer that?
The whole night had passed in a drunken blur; could he even remember what had happened?
"There's no one," Jesse eventually gave a vague response.
Mark could tell by his demeanor that there would be no straight answer. If he couldn't get it out of him while drunk, there was no chance now, so he didn't push further.
"How did we get back here?" Mark looked around the room and at the new clothes on the nightstand, feeling somewhat puzzled.
He had been drunk the night before. Jesse had been drunk even ahead of him. Something didn't add up.
"At around two in the morning, the bar staff called me, and I sobered up," Jesse spun a tale with a completely serious face that somehow seemed very credible, "and then I brought you here."
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