After Betrayal - I Married a Handsome Tycoon-Chapter 21: No Penchant for Sharing

It wasn’t hard to guess the woman’s identity; Moira Sloan wasn’t an idiot.

A quick glance at the woman’s figure and attire was all it took to make a pretty accurate guess.

In all likelihood, she worked for Shane Jennings’s fiancée.

Moira Sloan stepped through the door in her high heels. Accompanied by the crisp jingle of a wind chime and Shauna Duane’s undisguisably cheerful tone, the two people standing in the store turned their heads in unison.

Sean Grant knew Moira Sloan well.

Before Moira and Shane Jennings had their falling out, Sean Grant had often delivered small gifts to her on Shane’s behalf.

Seeing each other now, they were both composed enough that things weren’t too awkward. They even exchanged nods in greeting.

"Miss Sloan."

Moira Sloan’s smile was pleasant. "Assistant Grant."

Sean Grant said, "President Blanchett would like to place a custom order for a set of wedding furniture."

President Blanchett’s full name was Cassie Blanchett. She was the heiress of Atheria’s Blanchett Clan and currently held a high-ranking position within the company.

Moira Sloan smiled. "Feel free to look around."

Sean Grant asked, "Do you do one-of-a-kind custom pieces?"

Moira Sloan’s eyes crinkled into a smile, showing not a hint of displeasure toward her rival. "You want something one-of-a-kind."

Sean Grant nodded. "That’s right."

A sudden smile flashed across Moira Sloan’s face. "Certainly."

With that said, her tone shifted. "However, that will cost extra."

When it came to money, Sean Grant wasn’t authorized to make the call. He turned to the woman standing beside him. "Assistant Lawson."

The woman frowned at his words. "Isn’t three million enough?"

Moira Sloan’s smile was sharp and bright. "It’s enough for a standard design. For a custom one, it’s not."

’Three million was enough for a regular dose of humiliation. To double the insult, however, would cost extra.’

After Moira finished, it was clear the other woman couldn’t make the decision either. She gave Moira a nod and stepped out of the store to make a phone call.

Watching the woman leave, Moira Sloan walked over to the counter and set down her handbag. She idly tapped a few buttons on the calculator, then glanced up at Sean Grant. "Tea, Assistant Grant?"

Sean Grant had always been a cautious man, so he naturally refused. "I’m alright, thank you."

Moira Sloan responded with a faint smile tinged with a hint of mockery.

Facing Moira Sloan’s blatant smile, Sean Grant felt a little uncomfortable, as if she could see right through him.

Fortunately, he had seen enough of the world not to lose his composure.

The woman returned five minutes later. She walked up to the counter and asked Moira Sloan directly, "How much for a custom design?"

"At least four million," Moira Sloan said.

The woman pulled a check for three million from her pocket and slid it across the counter to Moira. "President Blanchett says she’ll pay five million. This three million is the deposit. The remaining two million will be paid upon delivery."

Moira Sloan glanced down at the check, then took it with a brilliant smile. "Acceptable."

The woman said, "Our President Blanchett’s wish is for a design that symbolizes a long and happy marriage. Beyond that, she leaves it to Boss Sloan’s creative discretion."

Moira Sloan smiled. "Alright."

The deal was concluded swiftly, and Moira personally saw the two of them to the door.

Just before they left, Sean Grant paused and, in a voice only the two of them could hear, said, "I’m sorry," to Moira.

Moira Sloan crossed her arms, acting as if she hadn’t heard a thing.

’Sorry?’

’How much is an apology worth?’

’Besides, he’s just a hired hand doing what he’s told. What authority does he have?’

’If anyone should be apologizing, it wasn’t him.’

After watching the two of them drive off, Moira turned to go back inside. She had only taken a couple of steps when she spotted Connor Quinn in the shop next door, sitting by the entrance near the floor-to-ceiling window, smoking a cigarette.

A woman stood before him. She had long, wavy hair, fiery red lips, a short skirt, and a low-cut top—the very picture of wild allure.

Moira Sloan watched Connor Quinn for a moment. As if sensing her gaze, he turned and looked in her direction.

Their eyes met, and a mischievous smile played on Moira Sloan’s lips.

The next second, Moira pulled out her phone and sent a text: Connor Quinn, I’m not in the habit of sharing men with other women.