Year Five The Perfect Goodbye Plan novel Chapter 42

The awkward tension dissolved almost instantly.

A well-defined hand slid her glass away before she could react.

Kent’s voice was calm, unhurried as he knocked back the drink in one go. “Let me handle this,” he said.

Silvia felt a tremor in her chest.

Hard liquor and closing business deals had become second nature to her. Shipley had never thought anything of it—in fact, when she got drunk, he only found her troublesome.

But this was the first time anyone had stopped her from drinking.

A server appeared at her side, offering Silvia a glass of mellow red wine instead.

She glanced at the rich crimson, her eyes dropping, mouth twitching in a faint, ironic smile.

Pulling herself together, Silvia made a mental note: if Kent got drunk, she’d cover for him.

But by the time the lunch meeting ended that afternoon, Kent hadn’t shown the slightest sign of tipsiness—not even a flush in his cheeks.

Silvia’s only real contribution had been refilling his glass.

After the last of their guests left, Kent turned to her and said, “Call a car service. I’ll have you dropped home first.”

“Alright,” she replied. Then, checking the time, she shook her head. “Mr. Parsons, I still have things to do. Let me call a driver for you instead. You head back.”

A shadow flickered across Kent’s face. He narrowed his eyes at her but eventually agreed.

Silvia watched him leave, exhaled deeply, and hailed a cab to Vespera Lounge.

Despite hurrying, she ended up a minute late.

Pushing open the door, she was hit by a blast of pounding music that nearly split her eardrums.

Hardy lounged on a leather sofa, both arms draped around two curvy, scantily clad women.

A sharp-chinned girl sitting beside Hardy covered her mouth and giggled, watching Silvia remain still. “Miss, Mr. Upton’s not one to joke. The longer you wait, the more you’ll owe him.”

Hardy stood, swaggering toward Silvia, his eyes raw with lust and resentment.

“My time isn’t here for you to waste,” he sneered. “Besides, last time you hit me, I needed three stitches. For that, you owe me another piece of clothing.”

The stench of whiskey, cigarettes, and cheap perfume made Silvia want to gag.

She frowned.

Suddenly, Hardy grabbed her chin, his touch slick and his voice dripping with innuendo.

“A year ago, you were drugged, barely conscious, calling out Shipley’s name over and over,” he crooned. “You sounded so heartbreakingly seductive—I almost wished I were your precious Shipley.”

His grin twisted. “But rumor has it, your Shipley found himself a new girl. Did he kick you to the curb?”