Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 309

Sheila nursed her half glass of wine, sipping slowly, but somehow managed to keep Timothy company until he’d polished off the entire bottle of red.

A pleasant haze of tipsiness clouded her senses as Timothy lit a cigarette. The way he smoked—lazy, assured—cast him in an even more enigmatic and irresistible light, the pale smoke curling around his sharp features.

Sheila’s heart fluttered uncontrollably. Tonight, she told herself, he would be hers.

Jessica, that mute girl—she’d managed to seduce Timothy in bed, hadn’t she? Sheila refused to believe she could be any less alluring than Jessica.

After tonight, she’d make sure Timothy would never forget her.

Thinking back over the past few weeks, Sheila felt her cheeks flush. Night after night, she’d watched romantic movies, studying every move and trick, determined to be perfect when the time finally came.

She and Timothy were the same age—old enough to understand desire. Even when the longing gnawed at her, she’d always kept her distance, saving herself for the only man she truly loved.

But lately, her late-night lessons only fueled her hunger, leaving her restless and aching.

And now, the man she wanted was right in front of her.

The gnawing emptiness inside was nearly unbearable.

She wanted him—desperately.

She remembered the day he’d left Jessica with a split lip. He must be even more intense than those actors on screen.

Timothy smoked his cigarette down to the filter, but it did nothing to quell the restless heat that burned through his veins.

He needed to go home. He always felt his needs more acutely after drinking.

Jessica had been turning him down for days now, and the pent-up frustration was close to boiling over.

He stood, grabbing his suit jacket. His voice, low and roughened by alcohol, sounded even more magnetic. “I’m heading out. You should get some rest.”

But when he took a step, his legs nearly buckled under him.

Sheila rushed over to steady him. “Timothy, you’ve had too much. You can’t drive. Let me call a driver and help you sit down for a bit.”

He’d been drinking—of course he shouldn’t drive. And he’d forgotten to ask Secretary Allen to pick him up.

No choice but to call for a driver.