No More Waiting, She Chooses Love



You know, I actually did want to eat those things earlier, but if I had, then Ernest's secret attempt at making things up to me would've been satisfied.

And I couldn't have that. I wanted to keep him on his toes, feeling guilty but powerless to do anything for me.

Luckily, I had some snacks stashed away in my desk drawer. Just as I was about to grab them, the office phone rang.

Snack in one hand, phone in the other, I answered, "...What? Is it serious? I'll be right there."

Hanging up, I stood up, leaving the snacks behind.

The call had come from one of my team members downstairs. Apparently, a discussion about a project had turned sour, and they'd even gotten physically assaulted.

This was serious.

My team member being bullied felt like a direct affront to me. I drove down there immediately.

"Director Hudson, I swear I didn't go into their women's locker room. They're framing me," the injured team member explained, his face a picture of distress, as I approached.

Inspecting his swollen face, which seemed to be mostly superficial bruises, I asked, "Who hit you?"

"Their head of security."

"And where's their person in charge?" As I finished my sentence, a middle-aged man hurried over.

"Director Hudson, today's incident was a complete misunderstanding, I'm terribly sorry," the man, named Larson, the project manager, was profusely apologizing, nearly bending over backward.

"Since Larson claims it was a misunderstanding, yet my employee ends up like this, what do you suggest we do about it?" I asked coldly.

Larson was quick, almost eager, to offer, "We'll cover all medical expenses."

I couldn't help but sneer. "Is that all?"

Larson hesitated for a moment, then he added, "We'll also cover lost wages and nutrition costs..."

I raised my hand to stop him, "Bring the one who hit him here."Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

"That person... I've already fired him," Larson claimed, though his words lacked conviction.

"Larson, I want to see him, or I'm calling the police right now," I threatened, reaching for my phone.

The next second, my wrist was in agony, my phone snatched away.

"Think you can call the cops on our turf, lady?" the thief taunted before smashing my phone on the ground.

Glancing

the shattered device, the

injured team member whispered t

me,

Director Hudson, he's the one who hit me."

"Yeah, I hit you. What are you going to do about it?" the man was brazen.

"Got any proof?" I countered, unfazed.

"Proof? I am the proof. Saw him with my own eyes entering the women's locker room," he pointed at me.

I narrowed my eyes, "Get your hand off."

The man laughed mockingly, "And what if I don't? In fact, I might just touch you instead."

As he reached towards my face, I didn't give him the chance, swiftly slapping him across the face.

The smack echoed; crisp and loud.

The man was

about to retaliate

when I kicked him, my high heelsznot

ideal for combat but the pointed heel proved useful. The kick sent him stumbling back into a wall and then rebounding onto the floor.

Just as he was about to curse, a

figure approached, and a polishede dress shoe pressed down on his hand, causing him to howlin p

pain.

Looking up, I was surprised at the newcomer's sudden appearance.