Chapter 538 Martin Steps In to Help Patricia
The pain from the fall was too intense, so Patricia gave up on trying to get up and just lay there, staring up at the starry sky. Oddly enough, she started counting the stars.
"One, two, three...fifty...a hundred..."
Martin, who had been lurking not too far away, was puzzled.
Patricia kept counting, "So many stars. Where was I?"
Finally, Martin realized that she was drunk... again. He sighed.
Martin scanned the area, noticing the sparse late-night foot traffic, and realized it could be hours before someone found her and took her home. Concern for her welled up inside him, and he couldn't help stepping forward.
"Patricia, it's cold on the ground. Get up; let's go home."
At the sound of his voice, Patricia jolted, struggling to lift her eyelids, which felt like a lead, to look at Martin.
Martin squatted down, peering at her under the pale wash of a streetlamp that only outlined his figure, leaving his features obscured.
Yet, even like this, Patricia recognized him immediately as the man she'd been longing for. Somehow finding strength, she clutched his hand tightly. "You finally came to see me again."
Martin frowned, puzzled.
Patricia spoke urgently, "Ever since I dreamed of you, I've been waiting every night to see you in my sleep. But..."
Her voice filled with a growing sense of injury, and she began to whimper, "But you never came back into my dreams. Martin, you're so cruel. I miss you so much, and you... you don't miss me at all."
Martin's heart went out to her; at a loss for words, he could only keep on apologizing, "I'm so so sorry."
Pouting, Patricia whimpered, "I don't want your apologies. I want to see you every day. You handed over the entire Langley Group to me and those old-timers; none of them are good. They're all ganging up against me, bullying me..."
Reflecting on the day's events in the conference room, she felt anger and hurt.
Martin's brows knit together slightly. "They're bullying you?"
Patricia nodded. "Yes! They're all just terrible. Today, none of them showed up for the meeting, all giving ridiculous excuses. They think I'm a fool. Why can't they attend the meeting with a sprained ankle? It's not like their father-in-law has passed, just sick. If a car breaks down, don't they know how to take a cab or the subway? Do they all take me for an idiot? They're doing this on purpose. Trying to push me out, make me give up. But I refuse. The more they oppose me, the more I'll stand my ground. I don't believe I can't beat them."
The more Martin listened, the more his brow tensed, and his large hand instinctively caressed her flushed cheek. In just a few short months, she had lost a considerable amount of weight. She must have had such a hard time during this period.
Patricia clasped his large hand that was caressing her face, terrified that letting go would mean his departure.
"I was so mad today, really mad," she confessed. "But now? Not anymore. Seeing you makes all that anger melt away."
Martin couldn't help but smile at her words.
The buzz from the drinks was overpowering; Patricia's head felt heavy, and her eyelids were too tired to stay open, yet her grip on Martin's hand was unyielding.
She mumbled through pursed lips, "Tomorrow, I'll keep fighting them; I can't let them beat me, not a chance. Honey, can you give me the strength I need? Cheer for me, okay?"
Martin gently tucked her stray hair behind her ear and, with some effort, pried his hand from hers. He scooped her up from the floor and carried her upstairs to bed.
The next day, Patricia woke up without causing the commotion she had last time, merely hugging her pillow and giggling like a fool.
Martin had come to see her again. And it felt just as real.
Piecing together the times Martin had appeared, she finally got it. To coax him out, it wasn't enough to get drunk; she needed to be lying outside. He was concerned, so naturally, he showed up.
If she ever wanted to see him, this was the trick to use. It was sure to work.
Patricia's mood was high all morning, and it wasn't just her; everyone around could feel it.
After dropping off Charles and the kids at daycare, she left each with a loving kiss. The three tykes were amusingly baffled.
Regrettably, her good mood didn't last. Upon seeing the barren meeting room, her smile froze on her face, unable to manage even the most basic display of pleasantness.
Seeing her turn pale, the middle-aged man who had responded to her yesterday continued, "One is still out sick, on leave. Another has a father-in-law in the hospital; he's needed there. One is nursing a leg injury, and as the doctor says, 'A muscle strain and bone injury take a hundred days to heal.' That won't be quick. One arrived this morning, but then her daughter's condition worsened, so she had to leave again. And one's car still isn't fixed."
Listening to the same excuses as the day before, Patricia was on the verge of flipping the table.
"Who are you?" she snapped.
The man gave a sheepish grin. "I'm the Director of HR. Just call me Jack."
"Jack?" Patricia echoed.
Jack nodded hastily.
Patricia forced a smile, barely hiding her annoyance. "Then tell me at once, how many days off have they taken altogether? I can reschedule the meeting based on the time they're out."
Jack looked down. "They didn't specify. You know how it is with sickness—it's beyond control. No one can predict when they'll get better. As for car troubles, well, people can come back as soon as their car is fixed..."
It dawned on Patricia that Jack was in cahoots with the absentees.
He hadn't concocted some excuse for missing the meeting, not because of her authority but because he worked in HR. If he didn't show up, the no-shows would get penalized for unauthorized absence.
Defeated once again, Patricia trudged back to her office.
Alan tried to comfort her. "Max has clout as one of the company's longstanding shareholders. It's common for those opportunists to suck up to him and gang up on you—a young and ambitious woman. Don't take it to heart, Mrs. Watson. It's not worth it."
Standing with her hands on her hips, Patricia seethed. "How can I not be furious? That old rat—I thought winning the wager would be the end of it, but he's still plotting against me."
Alan looked at her intently, gauging her mood. "Mrs. Watson, I have a friend who's a business prodigy. He might be able to help you."
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