Chapter 306
The door opened, and Linda emerged, briefcase in hand. Quickly, I shut the glove compartment, hopped out of the car, and greeted her. "Good morning, Ms. Foster!"
"You're here early," she replied with a nod.
I walked around the car to open the passenger door for her, placing a hand on the roof to prevent any mishaps. Once she was settled, I returned to the driver's seat.
"Please make sure your seatbelt is fastened, Ms. Foster," I said as we pulled away from the villa.
During the drive, Linda asked me numerous questions, particularly about the Foreign Expansion and Project Departments.
"You're doing well," she complimented. "Make sure to network when you have the opportunity."
"I will, Ms. Foster," I replied.
She was dressed impeccably as always in a beige pantsuit and black stockings. What surprised me was that she'd removed her high heels in the car. Her small feet were alluring, and the subtle fragrance emanating from her stirred something within me.
Feeling compelled to break the silence, I asked, "Ms. Foster, is your foot alright?"
"I sprained it a few days ago," she replied.
This was my chance. "Then why are you still wearing heels? Won't that make it worse?"
"Company regulations require professional attire during work hours," she explained.
'The company requires professional attire, not specifically high heels,' I thought to myself.
"Have you seen a doctor?" I asked.
"It's getting better, but it still hurts sometimes."
"That's not good. It could be a serious sprain," I said.
We hit a red light in the heart of the bustling city. It was Monday morning, and traffic was predictably awful.
"Let me take a look," I offered.
She frowned at me. "Hey, eyes on the road, John.""
"Ms. Foster, please don't misunderstand. I learned massage from a doctor in my village when I was young, especially for ankle injuries. I have a special technique that's very effective."
"Are you sure?" she asked skeptically.
"Absolutely," I nodded. "Let me just check. If it's serious, you should definitely see a doctor. Work is important, but not at the expense of your health."
She hesitated for a moment before slowly placing her left foot on the center console. Her foot, clad in that sexy black stocking, sent a jolt of desire through me.
I gently prodded her foot. "Does this hurt?"
"Not really."
"How about here?"
"A little."
When I touched her ankle, she couldn't help but cry out, a surprisingly pleasant sound.
"That hurt?" I asked.
"Yes," she confirmed.
"This seems serious, Ms. Foster," I said, holding her small foot in my hand. It felt smooth and delicate, and my heart skipped a beat.
After a brief examination, and just as I sensed her about to object, I withdrew my hand. "The swelling hasn't gone down after all these days. It's definitely a sprain. If walking isn't too painful, it shouldn't be a major issue. Even if you see a doctor, they'll likely just prescribe some topical medication."
Her anger seemed to dissipate. "What should I do then?"
"No more high heels, take it easy on that foot, and use the medication. Otherwise, it won't heal properly," I advised.
It was common sense, really. I'd sprained my ankle playing basketball before. Without medication, it took ages to heal. Even with it, it was still a good three or four days.
"Alright, but the medicine smells awful. We'll talk about it later," Linda said, withdrawing her foot. "The light's green. Let's go."
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the underground parking garage. As Linda headed for the elevator, I took the stairs to the first floor. I ducked into a women's shoe store and bought her an expensive pair of white flats. I didn't even blink at the price tag. Winning Linda's favor was worth it.
Back at the office, I chatted with Amelia for a bit. When she went to Katherine's office, I made my way to Linda's.
She was at her desk, and her brow furrowed when she saw me. "Do you need something, John?"
I smiled and approached her desk. She eyed me warily. "What are you up to?"
"Don't worry, Ms. Foster," I said, opening the shoebox. I took out the soft-soled white flats. "I bought these for you. Wear them in the office to protect your foot."
"I don't want them. Take them back," she said firmly.
I shook my head. "Ms. Foster, your foot is swollen. What's more important, your health or adhering to a dress code?"
I knelt down to remove her shoes. We were alone in the office, and she needed my help. She wouldn't fire me, not now. I felt bolder. I didn't believe she'd make a scene. It would only damage her reputation.
She clearly hadn't expected me to be so forward. By the time she realized what I was doing, it was too late. I'd already slipped off her shoe!
Furious, she kicked me in the shoulder, and I tumbled to the floor. As she stood up, she put weight on her injured foot and cried out in pain, clutching her desk for support.
"Ms. Foster, are you alright?" I asked, my face burning with embarrassment.
Despite the humiliation, the show had to go on.
I moved to help her up, but she pushed my hand away. "Don't touch me with your filthy hands!"
I stood there, unsure what to do. "Ms. Foster, I'm just trying to help."
After a moment, I tried again. This time, she didn't stop me. I helped her into her chair and knelt down, taking her foot in my hands. She tried to pull away, but I warned, "If you want to injure yourself further, go right ahead!"
"John, what are you doing?" she hissed. "Do you really think I won't fire you?"
"You can fire me right now," I said, meeting her gaze. "But let me take care of your foot first. I'm not doing this for myself. If you weren't so helpless, I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole."
She stared at me, incredulous. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me," I scoffed. "Do you managers always resort to threats to feel powerful?"
My heart pounded in my chest. I was gambling that she wouldn't kick me again. Gambling that she wouldn't fire me.
Linda's eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, I was genuinely afraid. Then, she let out a cold laugh. "I'd like to see you try."
Relief washed over me. I realized her words were just a way to save face.
I remained silent, using my left hand to support her foot and my right to gently massage it. My palm felt hot against her stocking.
Holding her foot like this, encased in nylon, was surprisingly intimate. There was no unpleasant odor, just a hint of her perfume.
From my angle, I could see the outline of her thighs beneath her skirt.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away. "This might hurt a little, but if you want it to heal properly, we need to use the medication."
"It smells awful. I hate it," she said with a frown.
'I'm not afraid of your talking. I'm afraid of your silence,' I thought, an evil smile playing on my lips.
As long as we were talking, I could figure out a way to get her to take off her stockings.
I pulled out the unopened tube of ointment. "You twisted it again just now. It's even more swollen. You really can't wear heels."
As I applied more pressure, Linda winced. But she didn't cry out, not loudly. Not in front of an employee. It wouldn't do to give the wrong impression.
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