Ethan instinctively tried to shake off my hand. I glanced at the time, worried I would mess up this 40-million deal.
I added, “We’ve been working together as a couple for seven years, and you’ve never once picked me up or dropped me off. Just this once, are you really going to say no?”
Perhaps it was out of pride that Ethan finally nodded and agreed. Turning around, he opened the backseat door for me and urged me to hurry.
The car reeked of a nauseating fragrance. I had smelled it on Anna before. Clearly, she had been in the car often.
While I was still piecing this together, Ethan suddenly veered off the usual route and started driving further away.
I anxiously checked the time. “Why are you changing routes? The company’s that way.”
Ethan did not even bother answering me. He clicked his tongue in irritation and kept driving the long way.
20 minutes later, we arrived at Anna’s place. She stepped out looking meticulously styled and beautiful, smiling as she slid into the passenger seat.
“Mr. West, don’t I look sweet today? Not only me, though, this little one in my tummy is craving something sweet, too!” she cooed, almost reaching out to wrap her arms around Ethan’s neck.
Ethan cleared his throat awkwardly, which made Anna notice me sitting in the backseat. She immediately pouted in feigned grievance.
“Looks like Ms. Thompson is so lucky to have Mr. West as her personal chauffeur.”
I clenched my jaw, staring at Ethan. He looked like he had no choice, as if he was the victim. He even added in agreement, “Yeah, Claire really knows how to enjoy life.”
The two of them looked more like a couple than anything I had ever experienced with Ethan. As I watched their silhouettes lean subtly toward each other, I thought back to a memory of riding on the back of Ethan’s bicycle.
Back then, he had promised me that one day, I would sit in the passenger seat of the most luxurious car.
Here we were. Not only was the passenger seat not mine, but the marriage he had promised me had been dragged out for seven years, and he still wanted to stall for another five.
How many more ‘five years’ did I have to give him? How many more ‘seven years’?
My phone vibrated. It was a message from my mother.
[Claire, the wedding invitations are ready. I’ll mail some over to you. Let me know if you have friends who want to come.]
[Next Wednesday, don’t forget to come home.]
I swiped my finger across the screen and replied with a simple, [Okay.]
At this point, there were only four minutes left until my meeting started. Ethan had already wasted 20 minutes picking up Anna, and to satisfy her craving for sweets, he stopped again for 15 minutes to buy her eight meticulously selected cupcakes.
By the time we arrived at the company, I rushed out of the car, only to find the largest shareholder standing at the entrance. He furiously threw a thick stack of documents at me.
“Claire Thompson! If you can’t handle the job, then quit! Is a forty-million-dollar deal nothing to you now?”
The partner glanced at me, scoffed, and stormed off after my 30-minute delay.
I stood frozen.
Anna, acting clueless, gasped and covered her mouth. “Wow, Ms. Thompson, you’re so headstrong.”
Ethan shot me a disapproving look as if none of this was his fault.
He added indifferently, “Guess someone’s gotten a little too high on their pedestal. If you had better time management, would this have happened?”
With that, he led Anna inside the building.
Exhausted, I picked up the scattered contracts and returned to my office.
Later that evening, Ethan sent me a cupcake. It was one of the ones he bought for Anna this morning.
