<b>Chapter </b><b>259 Unwanted </b><b>Reunion </b>
Chapter <b>259 </b>Unwanted Reunion
“Weston, slow down–I have not even washed my face, brushed my teeth, or touched <b>my </b><b>hair</b>, Laura protested as she stumbled after him..
Weston ignored theint, towed her to his sedan, and swung open the passenger door. <b>“</b><b>Get </b>in”
“I can get home on my own. I do not need your car,” she said.
“You don’t think we still have a mountain of unfinished business?” Weston asked, voice even. <b>“</b><b>If </b>you <b>n </b>on dodging it today, I have other ways to get your attention.”
Laura knew that tone all too well. As Jexburgh’s leading barrister, Weston could conjure legal headaches for her with a snap of his fingers if she refused to talk.
She climbed obediently into the seat.
Weston eased the car out of theplex, driving at an unhurried pace.
“Where are we going to have this talk?”
“Your apartment.”
Laura grimaced; thest thing she wanted was to invite him into her personal space. “Could we choose somewhere else?”
“Looking like that? Tell me–where would you feelfortable showing up unwashed and disheveled?”
She sighed; by his logic, her ce was the only sensible option.
When Weston stepped into her apartment, Laura grew self–conscious, as though every cushion and picture frame were under cross–examination.
“Freshen up first, then we will talk.”
“Fine. Make yourselffortable,” she said, gathering clean clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.
Weston stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping across the small apartment. No razory by the sink, no men’s slippers waited by the shoe rack–nothing hinted that a man spent nights here. <i>So </i><i>they </i><i>don’t </i><i>share </i><i>this </i><i>ce</i><i>. </i><i>Or </i><i>her boyfriend </i><i>rarely </i><i>visits</i><i>. </i>The notion loosened something inside his chest, and he released an almost inaudible breath of relief.
They had broken up months ago, yet she drifted into his mind without warning. Because he still dated no one, friends whispered that he remained hung up on Laura. <i>Hung </i><i>up</i>? <i>Nonsense</i><i>. </i>She hardly possessed the sort of maism that could haunt him. He stayed single only because courting someone new felt like needless trouble.
He slouched onto the couch. A photo albumy on the coffee table; he picked it up and leafed through the pages, idle curiosity guiding his fingers.
One nce turned his eyes dark. The album overflowed with portraits of men, each one disturbingly
handsome.
C
<b>Chapter </b>239 Unwanted Reithion
<b>Just </b><b>then</b>, <b>Laura </b><b>emerged </b>from the bathroom<b>. </b><b>When </b>lie saw the album <b>cradled </b><b>in </b>lits brands, Cidor <b>drained </b><b>from </b>her face
<b>Why </b>would <b>you </b>leaf through another person’s album without asking first<b>?</b><b>” </b>she demanded.
<b>“</b><b>If </b>you feel like suing me, be my guest. I’ll appear in court,” Weston said, utterly unfazed.
“It’s… not that serious,” Laura muttered.
Weston let out a thin smile. “So you collect men now? Every face in here a potential conquest? With <b>that </b>many photos, aren’t you afraid your boyfriend will choke on jealousy?” The unintended jealousy <b>in </b><b>his </b>own tone caught him off guard.
Laura offered a breezy smile. “My boyfriend is generous. He never minds trivial things like this<b>. </b>The album actually belonged to a friend from a modeling agency, but she saw no need to volunteer the exnation.
Weston arched a brow. “So he also finds it generous that you spentst night in Han Ingram’s t? One man, one woman, four walls–anything could have happened.”
“I told you, my boyfriend is generous. He doesn’t mind,” Laura repeated.
Weston responded with a derisive snort.
He set the album back on the table and stepped closer, stopping when their breaths mingled. “If your boyfriend truly is that generous, then either he doesn’t love you, or he’s the best actor I’ve <b>ever </b>met.”
“What exactly are you implying?” Laura frowned.
Weston shook his head. “Men aren’t as magnanimous as you imagine. Choose more carefully next time.” Noticing her freshly washed hair dripping onto her shoulders, he tugged the towel from her grasp and started to blot the damp strands.
Laura froze, jolted back to the afternoons when, fresh from the shower, he would do the very same thing.
Back then, the gesture had filled her with shy delight. Now it prompted nothing but stiff, breathless awkwardness.
She stepped back, whipping her half–dry hair behind her shoulders. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Windore. I’ll use the dryer in a minute. Whatever you came to say, just say it.”
Weston frowned. “You truly feel nothing for Han?”
“I swear I don’t have the slightest interest in Han Ingram,” Laura dered. Misunderstandings of this kind had to be strangled before they even sprouted.