Seize His Little Wife

With that thought, Christine White couldn’t help but curl her lips and take a much faster shower.

By the time she came out of the shower, the room was devoid of the man, only the suit jacket was casually tossed on the couch.

“Where did he go?” Christine White muttered suspiciously, gathering her robe around her and opening the door to exit the room.

Downstairs in the living room, Aunt Lucy was still cleaning the floors, and when she came down, she called out mildly, “Ma’am.”

“Aunt Lucy, have you seen Baird?” Christine White inquired, clutching the collar of her bathrobe.

Aunt Lucy stopped what she was doing, “See, mister went out just now.”

“Out the door?” Christine White raised her eyebrows in surprise.

It’s late and he’s still out?

Aunt Lucy nodded, “Yes, sir just took a call and left in a hurry, don’t you know that ma’am?”

Christine White forced a smile, the loss clearly visible under her eyes, “He didn’t tell me …”

“Then it was probably something urgent that didn’t come up in time, ma’am, don’t think too much of it.”

“I know, I’ll go to my room first.”

Christine White turned, holding onto the railing of the staircase as she made her way up at a slow pace.

Lying in bed, she stared up at the ceiling with wide eyes and stared until her eyes got sore and she inclined her head, picking up the cell phone next to her pillow.

Ten-twenty!

Christine White wasn’t sure if Baird Lane would be back tonight.

But that man of his is always true to his word and should be back.

Christine White sat up propped against the sheets and fished over a novel she usually read on the bedside, reading it with boredom while she waited for Baird Lane.

When she finally couldn’t stay up any longer and didn’t see Baird Lane return, she gave up and went to sleep.

When she woke up the next day, Christine White looked to her side where the comforter was cold, the pillows flat, and it looked like no one had been lying there.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

So he stayed out all night?

Christine White bit her lip, her heart aching, and shuffled downstairs, not even taking a few bites of breakfast before putting down her knife and fork and heading off to work.

When she arrived at the office, as soon as she stepped out of the elevator, she heard a few other secretaries standing in the corridor chatting, and she subconsciously lightened her footsteps.

“I heard from Assistant Gates that President Lane isn’t coming to the office today.”

“Why? I might not be excited to go to work today if I don’t get to see President Lane in all his glory, where did he go?”

“I know, half an hour ago, I heard Assistant Gates on the phone with President Lane, who asked him to take the clothes to the hospital.”

“Hospital?” Hearing this, Christine White stepped forward quickly, interrupting the trio.

“President Lane what happened to him?” She asked a little anxiously.

He didn’t come home last night. Is he sick?

“You’re asking us? That’s strange, you’re President Lane’s personal secretary, don’t you know that?”

The three secretaries looked at her with either jealousy or contempt.

Christine White shook her head slightly.

“Since you don’t know, we know even less, if you’re so concerned about President Lane, call and ask yourself, see if President Lane will tell you, okay, let’s go to work.”

The three secretaries walked past Christine White one by one on their high heels.

One of the secretaries walking at the end, not knowing whether it was intentional or unintentional, bumped Christine White’s shoulder, knocking her back two steps before she could stand still.

Christine White sighed softly as she covered the sore spot.

From the time she was parachuted into the position of secretary, she suffered the ostracism of the secretarial corps.

She was pretty much used to it all these days.

Not taking that little thing to heart, Christine White rubbed her shoulders and pulled her cell phone out of her bag, flipping through the number that had been in the phone book for three years but she hadn’t had the guts to call.

She looked at the number, both familiar and unfamiliar, for a long moment, squeezed her palms, couldn’t control her concern for Baird Lane, and summoned up the courage to dial it.

“Which one?” The man’s low, cool voice rang from the phone.

Christine White’s gaze dropped bleakly, “It’s me …”

I can’t believe he didn’t even save her number.