Chapter 202 The Song

As the music faded, Meryl caressed the cello, her love for it evident. She truly adored it.

Chandler smiled. "Well, it was worth getting up before dawn to pick it up at the airport."

Meryl was taken aback. No wonder Chandler wasn’t beside her when she woke up this morning. He had gone to the airport to pick up the cello. A man as busy as he was, taking time out to personally pick up an instrument at the airport.

Meryl blushed as she looked at him. "Chandler, thank you."

Chandler’s gaze lingered on Meryl’s face, deepening slightly. "Thank me? I’ll be waiting for your gratitude tonight."

Meryl was startled, looking at him with surprise, her face flushing even deeper. Chandler’s voice was slightly hoarse. "Didn’t you say you forgot what happened last night? Well, I remember, and I wouldn’t mind reliving it with you."

Meryl was not naive; she quickly understood the man’s implication. He wanted to help her remember, but she… her cheeks were burning.

Just then, Walter knocked on the door from outside. "Mr. Aniston, there’s a meeting you should be getting to."

Chandler responded with a sound, then pulled Meryl’s hand, drawing her onto his lap and burying his face in her neck. He gently inhaled Meryl’s comforting scent. Meryl’s heartbeat quickened, a shiver of instinct rippling through her as Chandler’s lips grazed her neck.

"I’m off to take care of some things, Mrs. Aniston," he whispered in her ear. "Remember to miss me."

Meryl immediately stood up, her heartbeat a chaotic symphony. She patted her cheeks and followed Chandler out of the office. They exited the office one after the other.

As soon as Chandler left, Freya leaned in close. "Was that you on the cello just now? It sounded amazing! We won’t be the last at the annual party this year!"

Meryl’s cello technique was rusty, and she had actually hit several wrong notes. But laypeople couldn’t tell. With less than a week, brushing up her skills should be more than enough to manage the annual party.

Medea then shook her phone. "I told my department we’d be the talk of the town this year, and my boyfriend didn’t believe me, heh, I just sent him a clip."

Last year, Freya’s poetry recitation was so memorable that the entire Galaxy Holdings Group knew the President’s Office staff were all workaholics with few hobbies and, naturally, no impressive talents. Just two days ago, someone even started a betting pool in the company’s internal chat group, wagering on whether the President’s Office’s talent show this year would be even more awkward than last year’s.

In the marketing department’s break room, Troy Scott was brewing coffee while clicking on a video his girlfriend Medea had sent three minutes ago. The sound of a cello instantly emanated from his phone.

The break room had a window overlooking the hallway. Dalton, who was smoking in the hallway, froze.

"This melody… wasn’t it the same one I heard when I was in a coma after his car accident?" he wondered. The song, the emotion, suddenly awakened a memory deep within his soul.

Dalton immediately extinguished his cigarette and rushed into the break room.

Troy, who had just finished brewing his coffee, was startled. "Mr. Aniston?"

Without a word, Dalton snatched Troy’s phone. "What’s going on? How did you get this piece of music?"

"My girlfriend sent it to me. She said it’s a piece a female colleague in her department is going to perform at the annual meeting."

Dalton’s expression turned serious. "What department is your girlfriend in?"

"She’s in the President’s Office at Galaxy Holdings Group."