Chapter 502: Apology

Susan knew of the feud between them, yet they worked together. She felt compelled to reconcile. Each attempt left her feeling humiliated, but she persevered. Unfazed by Manuel's evident dislike, she resolved to act.

"What's the matter?" his voice was cold, businesslike.

Susan silently placed a bag on his desk. "For your clothes."

Manuel frowned, confused.

"I threw up on you that night, after getting drunk. Remember?" She visibly cringed, recalling the embarrassment.

Later, lying in bed, she worried about his disgust; he was fastidious. Sleep eluded her—a rarity—as she replayed his likely reaction. She'd bought him replacement clothes as an apology.

"No, thanks. Take them back," Manuel refused.

"But I paid for them," Susan retorted, irritated by his harshness.

"Get a refund."

"I'm Susan Phillips. I don't ask for refunds!"

"Not my concern." His gaze remained cold.

Susan glared, suppressing a furious urge to assault him with a nearby trash can. Though she'd previously disliked him, this was a first. Fighting back anger, she said, "I'm leaving them. Consider it compensation. We're done."

His expression didn't change. She craved closure. He knew she hated owing anyone anything, but her feelings were inconsequential to him. He felt no responsibility for them.

He watched her leave, sensing her fear of further rejection. With a set jaw, he tossed the bag into a nearby trash can.

Hearing the sound, Susan turned back. The bag was too large; it slid out, knocking over the bin. He'd discarded it without a second glance.

Her anger flared. Manuel calmly called for a cleaner, "I need someone to deal with the trash."

Trash? The audacity!

Face contorted, Susan retrieved the bag and stormed out. The apology had been a mistake. She was crazy. He didn't deserve it. She should have vomited all over him that night! The door slammed. Manuel glanced at it, but remained silent.

…

Furious, Susan returned to her office. She was insane to apologize. Rage pulsed, urging her to attack him, but her phone rang. It was Henry. Taking a deep breath, she answered, "Hi, Henry."

Henry had been monitoring them. He knew Susan had visited Manuel. Her angry departure was bad news; it was her initiative.

"Dinner tonight?" he suggested.

Susan was surprised. "But you're busy."

Since the Sawyer Group scandal, a guilt-ridden Henry had been working overtime. They hadn't dined together in ages.

"It's a special day," he explained.

Susan realized, "It's your birthday!" She'd known, but her anger had blocked the memory.

"Yes," he said. "I have a reservation."

"Okay. What do you want?" she agreed, excited.

"Your company. It's the best gift."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Then I won't get you anything."

"Fine."

After a pleasant chat, Susan felt better. She'd rather be with Henry than waste time on Manuel. Henry was her destiny; Manuel could be ignored.

…

Susan skipped work that afternoon—a common occurrence. She went to a high-end men's tailor to prepare a birthday surprise for Henry. His words, "Your company is the best gift," resonated. It was the perfect cue. She decided to gift herself to him.

She chose a sexy lace slip dress with a white mink coat, a blend of cute and sophisticated. Winter demanded appropriate attire. Her hair flowed loosely. With the stylist's help, she transformed into an enchanting figure, accentuated by black diamond-studded heels. While not breathtakingly beautiful, her elegance and grace were striking. Her curves and charm, combined with poised silence, were intoxicating.