Called Off the Wedding, Left Him Bankrupt novel Chapter 23

Assistant Frank quickly shook his head and stepped aside.

"No, Miss Tremaine."

"Miss Tremaine, Mr. Shepard is in a meeting at the moment. Would you care to wait in his office? I can make you some tea while you wait."

As he spoke, he gestured for Cynthia to follow him down the hall and reached for the handle of Benedict's office door.

But Cynthia withdrew her gaze, then turned and strode toward her own office instead.

"That won't be necessary. I'll wait in my own office."

Her office was right next to Benedict's. Lately, Giselle and Benedict had been coming and going together—who knew what the two of them were doing behind closed doors in there. The thought made her skin crawl.

Assistant Frank stood awkwardly off to the side, sweat breaking out on his brow.

Cynthia didn't spare him a glance. She gripped the handle of her office door, pressed her thumb to the fingerprint scanner, and waited for the lock to release.

A sharp beep. "Fingerprint not recognized."

She tried again. Same result.

Assistant Frank hung his head, barely daring to breathe.

It dawned on Cynthia at last: someone had changed the access codes, and her fingerprint had been deleted from the system. The only person with administrative privileges for those locks was Benedict himself. No one else could've done it.

Her eyes turned cold as ice.

"Bring him here."

Assistant Frank stammered, "Secretary Channing is in the meeting with Mr. Shepard right now."

"Miss Tremaine, perhaps you could wait in Mr. Shepard's office instead?"

Secretary Channing? So, after Giselle was fired from Valmont Holdings, Benedict had wasted no time bringing her into this company—and had even given her Cynthia's vice president's office.

Cynthia let out a low, mocking laugh and fixed Frank with a look of withering contempt.

"You covered for him so well in front of me, and yet he didn't even give you the loyalty you deserve. Instead, he let a fresh-faced rookie walk in and take your place?"

"It's... it's fine."

Cynthia arched an eyebrow, her tone light but laced with ice.

"Oh, I thought maybe your foot was hurting—that's why you stretched it out toward Mr. Shepard. Were you hoping he'd give you a little massage?"

Giselle's head dropped lower. Humiliation and shame radiated from her.

Benedict frowned, his voice gruff. "Cynthia—"

Cynthia turned to him, her smile razor-sharp. "What, were you planning to rub her foot for her?"

Benedict stiffened, his expression darkening. "Enough, Cynthia. We're in the middle of a meeting. Go wait in my office."

Cynthia ignored him, crossing the room at a measured pace and taking a seat in one of the empty chairs directly across from Benedict. Her voice was calm, every syllable deliberate.

"As a founding shareholder and vice president of this company, I'd like to know what sort of meeting I'm not allowed to attend."