Chapter 163 Hunter's Slip-Up
After a while, Martin regained his composure and took out his mobile phone to call Patricia.
In his line of sight, Patricia and Hunter had just stopped under the dim light of a streetlamp.
They paused, and Patricia made a motion as if she was about to reach for her phone. Moments later, her voice came through the line, crisp and clear, "Hey, what's up? Is there something else?"
With a deadpan expression, Martin asked, "Where are you now?"
Patricia replied, "I’m at the hospital! What's the matter?"
Her impatient tone pierced Martin's heart with a sharp pain.
"In which part of the hospital are you? It's snowing, and you didn't bring an umbrella. I can bring one to you."
Patricia declined the offer without hesitation, "No need."
In the past, such persistent rejection would have led Martin to hang up immediately. He was not one to be indulged.
It seems that only others had ever tried to please him; he's never stooped to this level of desperation.
But today, he fought the urge to end the call and patiently asked, "Are you planning to go home?"
Patricia didn't intend to hide anything and spoke candidly, "No, I ran into a friend at the hospital and I'm going to grab some late-night food with him, I'll be back later..."
Before she could finish speaking, Martin hung up the phone, his patience exhausted.
Patricia was baffled by the 'beep beep' sound coming through the phone.
Hunter's eyes flashed with a cold glint as he asked meaningfully, "What's wrong? Who was that? It sounded like a husband checking in on you."
Patricia quickly shoved her phone back into her pocket and said, "Don't talk nonsense! It was Martin. It's snowing, and he wanted to know if I needed an umbrella."
"Oh!" Hunter's smile carried a teasing undertone as he drew out his response, laced with a hint of intrigue.
Patricia thought she was being mocked but didn't mind.
Martin clutched his phone tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force, his striking face contorted with overwhelming fury.
After standing still for a moment, he took out his phone and called Ryan. The moment he picked up, Martin said, "Let's go out for a drink."
Ryan hesitated, thinking he had misheard: "Martin, it's freezing out. Go for drinks? Aren't you supposed to be at the hospital with Randy?"
Martin impatiently replied, "Cut the chatter, are you coming or not?"
Sensing his foul mood, Ryan didn't dare refuse and hurriedly said, "When you ask, how can I say no? Where shall we meet?"
"The usual place and bring Carter." Martin hung up without waiting for a response.
They met at the Night Paris Club.
Soft, soothing music filled the spacious VIP room, where the dim lighting cast Martin's face into shadow.
As Martin downed one drink after another, Carter and Ryan exchanged looks.
At Carter's signal, Ryan bravely moved closer and cautiously asked, "Martin, what's wrong? Are you in a bad mood?"
Everyone knew that ever since Randy's congenital heart disease diagnosis, Martin blamed himself and had quit smoking and drinking. During social events, he would have his subordinates drink on his behalf.
But what could have happened today to make Martin break his abstinence?
Martin didn't respond; he just kept on drinking as if it would solve his problems.
Carter, realizing the seriousness of the situation, expressed his concern, "Martin, what's really going on? Is there an issue with Patricia?"
At the mention of 'Patricia,' Martin's drinking paused momentarily.
This unconscious reaction confirmed Carter's suspicion.
He exchanged a glance with Ryan.
Understanding the cue, Ryan refilled Martin's glass as soon as he had emptied it and poured one for himself too, clinking glasses with Martin he said, "Come on, if Martin's upset, as brothers, we've got to stick with him. Let's drink heartily, no going home sober tonight."
Martin drained his glass in one gulp.
The two of them kept drinking, one cup after another without stopping.
Taking advantage of the situation, Carter sneaked out of the private room and made a phone call to Patricia.
Meanwhile, Patricia and Hunter arrived at a barbecue restaurant they used to frequent as children.
The owner, a portly woman in her sixties, recognized Patricia immediately and eagerly led them to their usual spot.
"Miss Watson, visiting with a friend today, are you? We've kept your usual spot available for you. The menus on the table, and as usual, I'll start you off with a grilled fish."
"Boss, don't you recognize him?" Patricia gestured for Hunter to take a seat by the window, where they could dine while enjoying the snowy scenery outside.
At her prompt, the owner couldn't help but scrutinize Hunter more carefully, finding him increasingly familiar yet unable to recall him on the spot.
Patricia kindly hinted, "Cheese fries..."
Suddenly, the owner's face lit up with recognition: "Oh, oh, oh, now I remember! He's the little boy who loved cheese fries. You two used to come here together all the time."
Because everyone else ate Mexican-style fries. But this little boy liked them sweet, a unique preference, which made a lasting impression on her.
It was hard to believe that the little boy from back then had grown up so much.
Patricia laughed and said, "Then, as per the old custom, please give him a portion of cheese fries and I'll have the Mexican-style fries."
"OK, OK! Just a moment, coming right up!" the owner responded with a smile as everlastingly cheerful as the Maitreya Buddha, before bustling off to work.
With the snowfall today and the chill in the air, the restaurant wasn't bustling with customers.
In no time at all, the fries were served.
Patricia began eating and urged Hunter, "Come on, taste them. Are they as good as you remember?"
Hunter took a bite and grimaced slightly as the overly sweet taste spread through his mouth, a hint of disgust flashing in his eyes and the faintest frown briefly furrowing his brow.
Unaware of his expression, Patricia inquired eagerly, "How is it? Good?"
Hunter looked up, his face returning to its initial brightness, his smile warm as a spring breeze: "Just like I remember, it's surprising their skills haven't changed after all these years."
Patricia tilted her chin up proudly. "Of course! They rely on business from regulars like us; if the taste changed, where would the customers be?"
Hunter nodded with a smile in agreement.
Patricia encouraged him: "It's been years since you've had these, have more, we can order extra if it's not enough."
"Sure!" Hunter's face stiffened for a moment as he methodically finished the cheese fries.
He didn't actually like fries. Neither cheese nor Mexican-flavored.
Soon after, the grilled fish was brought to the table.
Patricia casually handed the menu to the owner. It listed all the barbecue items she and Hunter had often enjoyed growing up.
The barbecue dishes were served one after another.
Patricia hurriedly handed Hunter a skewer: "Quick, have a taste. You always said the chili here wasn't spicy enough. I ordered it extra hot today; see if this heat level does the trick? If it's not enough, we can ask the boss to add more spice."
Spicy? A twitch played at the corner of Hunter's mouth as his hand trembled, taking the grilled skewer but he dared not take a bite.
Seeing him not eating, Patricia asked in puzzlement, "Why aren't you eating? Hurry up, it won't taste good once it's cold."
A bead of cold sweat slid down Hunter's forehead. Like a soldier facing his doom, he made a major resolution and bit into the skewer, immediately breaking out into a profuse sweat.
"You..." Patricia sensed something was amiss and was about to ask when her phone in her pocket suddenly rang.
The call was from Carter.
As she picked up, Carter's anxious voice came through: "Patricia, where are you now? Can you come over? Martin's drunk and stubbornly refusing to let me and Ryan take him home. He keeps shouting your name—"
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