Chapter 84 No More Tolerance
Chapter 84 No More Tolerance
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She slammed the bathroom door shut. Meatloaf whimpered pitifully outside, then crouched down on its haunches as if it were kneeling.
Jonathan’s lips curved faintly before he looked away–only to meet Zion’s gaze from the kitchen doorway.
Zion’s expression said it all.
He had seen everything. His boss had secretly beckoned the dog with a curl of his finger, and only then had Meatloaf gone wild. Honestly, the one kneeling outside the bathroom shouldn’t have been the dog at all…
Forget it. The picture is too much. I can’t even go there.
“Mr. Fullbuster, you’re really making the dog take the blame. Bullying the weak, huh?” Zion muttered just loudly enough, guilt pricking at him.
Jonathan arched a brow but said nothing, proving once again that a capitalist’s conscience was made of steel.
“Mr. Fullbuster, I learned a new phrase recently–aggressive simp.”
Yes, that described his boss perfectly.
Jonathan didn’t get the slang, but he understood enough of the literal meaning. As he packed away the medical kit on the table, he said, “I learned a new word too–optimization. Want me to optimize you next?”
Zion immediately mimed zipping his lips. “Mr. Fullbuster, something just came up at home. I’ll be off now.”
Jonathan gave a noncommittal nod. As Zion turned to leave, Jonathan’s eyes flicked toward the drooping dog at the bathroom door. “What’s ‘Paw Patrol to the Wreck‘ supposed to be?”
Zion blinked, then stifled a laugh.
“It’s ‘Paw Patrol to the Rescue! It’s a cartoon. Last year, when you flew the maiden flight to Mancheston, remember that terminally ill boy who asked for a photo? He was watching Paw Patrol in the cabin. One of the pups in it, Skye, is also a golden retriever.”
Jonathan remembered. The boy had been gravely ill, traveling with his mother to see his father working abroad. His dream had been to become a pilot. His mother had begged
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Chapter 84 No More Tolerance
81
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Jonathan for a picture to encourage him. Jonathan had stepped into the cabin during the flight, taken the photo, and even watched the cartoon with him for a minute.
With a snap of his fingers, Jonathan drew Meatloaf’s attention. The dog darted happily to his feet. Jonathan rubbed his big head. “It’s Paw Patrol to the rescue, Meatloaf.”
Meatloaf wagged its tail furiously, fully agreeing.
Inside the bathroom, Anneliese glanced at the caller ID–Natalie Ancel, now the PR director at Clauderias Tech and once her subordinate. She answered, only to hear Zacharias‘ voice.
“It’s me. Where are you?”
Anneliese had been rejecting his calls for days. With unknown numbers constantly popping up, she had stopped answering strangers altogether. Yet here he was, borrowing an employee’s phone.
“Don’t hang up! Can we talk, please?” His tone carried a plea she had never heard before— gentle, helpless, almost earnest.
But Anneliese had long stopped expecting anything from him. Her voice was cool. “If you want to talk about divorce, we can meet. If not, then we have nothing to discuss.”
His harsh breathing came through the line, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Divorce? Anneliese, how dare you!”
Her eyes turned frosty.
How could she not dare? She had already decided long ago.
“Do I look like some pushover to you, Zacharias? That you thought I’d tolerate infidelity?”
Her voice never once rose or broke. Even through the phone, he could feel the ice in her tone. He would have preferred her to scream at him, curse him–anything but this cold indifference. It unsettled him more than anger ever could.
The fury gathering in his face dissipated. His voice dropped, heavy. “Anne, I’ll be at our old spot in an hour. If you don’t come, I’ll have no choice but to call your grandmother and ask her to talk sense into you.”
“Zacharias, you–hello? Hello?”
Before she could unleash her fury, he had hung up. When she called back, the line was
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Chapter 84 No More Tolerance
immediately cut off.
“B*stard!”
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She drew two deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down, then pushed open the bathroom door.
The living room was empty. She walked to the kitchen and saw Jonathan standing at the counter, one hand braced on the surface, his tall frame slightly bent as he studied something intently.
Curious, she stepped closer and peeked. A projection screen displayed the recipe steps for spaghetti marinara.
Isn’t this the kind of dish even grade schoolers can cook? So much for the commanding CEO act- underneath it all, still a kitchen disaster.
“Mr. Fullbuster, why don’t you step out for a bit? I’ll do the cooking–it won’t take long.”
Jonathan glanced at the bandages on her hands. “Call me when it’s time to plate the food.”
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