Consequences of Dumping the Obsessive Boss: Stuck with Him Forever-Chapter 132: This Is the Treatment Mrs. Sinclair Gets
Summer Lowell looked at the food box placed on her lap and paused for a moment: "I’ve already had dinner, why are you bringing me this?"
"I know you’ve spent a particularly long time in Leonia, and to you, the taste of Leonia cuisine is the real hometown flavor. The chef and the owner of this restaurant are genuine Leonia natives—I bought it specially for you."
Just having had authentic Leonia food earlier that afternoon, Summer Lowell glanced at the box in front of her with a peculiar expression: "Thank you for the kind gesture, but I’m really not hungry now and can’t eat. You might as well take it back and enjoy it yourself; it’s a chance to taste the flavor."
Maxim Sinclair smiled warmly at her: "Don’t worry, this food is from the same restaurant you went to this afternoon, the taste won’t be hit or miss."
Summer Lowell looked up in surprise: "You followed me?"
"How could I? You’re my beloved Mrs. Sinclair," Maxim Sinclair put his arm around Summer Lowell’s waist, "I just wanted to show some concern for you. Anyway, I remember one clause in the contract we signed was not to have ambiguous relationships with other men, especially not with Justin Huxley."
Afraid he was targeting Justin Huxley on purpose, Summer Lowell looked at him, explaining deliberately, "Justin and I are really just friends; I’ve explained it to him clearly this afternoon."
"Justin?" Maxim Sinclair tutted in admiration, "That’s a pretty affectionate way to call him."
"That’s just an ordinary title. From the first day I knew him, I’ve been calling him that."
"Back in the days when you had a crush on him," Maxim Sinclair leaned closer, "were you also calling him ’Justin’ then?"
Even though she knew he was sharp, she didn’t expect he was sharp enough to find out about this bit of history.
Summer Lowell almost couldn’t keep her expression together.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"You know what I’m talking about." Maxim Sinclair laughed ruefully, "I’ve seen the self-deceptive play many times, but don’t worry—since Justin Huxley still doesn’t know our relationship, once he finds out, he won’t keep pestering you."
"Suit yourself."
Summer Lowell moved her gaze aside; as long as he doesn’t go crazy and cause trouble for Justin Huxley, everything’s fine, no matter.
Seeing her with this whatever attitude, Maxim Sinclair felt a surge of helplessness.
"If there’s nothing else, can I go back now? It’s late, I want to rest early."
"What’s the rush?"
Maxim Sinclair smiled helplessly, leaned over and slowly moved his face close to Summer Lowell.
Then, just a second before Summer Lowell was about to change her expression, he pecked lightly on her lips: "Go back, take the food and share it with your friends. Also, next time don’t ignore my calls. Summer Lowell, you are my wife, if you dare to run again, I’ll lock you up and not let you go anywhere."
"Got it, I’m leaving, thank you for the food."
Summer Lowell pushed open the car door and walked away without looking back.
Upstairs, Vivian Sullivan, who had been leaning on the balcony checking out the situation, ran to the door to greet her: "How was it? Did he make things difficult for you?"
Summer Lowell placed the food box on the dining table and shook her head: "No, he just brought me this, then let me come back."
Seeing the plates of food Summer Lowell set out, Vivian Sullivan slowly furrowed her brow: "Did he go out of his way just to deliver food to you?"
"Not entirely," thinking of what he said, Summer Lowell chuckled self-deprecatingly, "It’s from your favorite restaurant; I see the food is still warm, you should have some."
"No thanks, that’s a loving meal from your husband." Vivian Sullivan reached out and put all the food back into the box, "I can just feed on dog food."
"Always love to tease me."
The next day.
Near the end of the workday, in the meeting room, Summer Lowell summarized the meeting with a serious expression: "What I discussed today at the meeting, everyone should go back and ponder it, aim to submit the proposal next week, then I will make the next plan based on everyone’s input."
The designers, big and small, in the meeting nodded and then left the meeting room one after another.
Intentionally staying behind, Summer Lowell handed half of the documents she was holding to her assistant, and the two went into the office together.
When Summer Lowell came out again, she found that the designers who usually leave promptly at the end of the day were still firmly at their workstations.
They appeared very busy, though it was unclear what they were busy with.
Feeling puzzled, Summer Lowell called over her Assistant Fletcher to inquire about the situation: "What’s going on? Why does everyone seem to be working overtime today?"
The assistant was also unsure of what was happening: "Should I find someone to ask?"
"No need," Summer Lowell gently shook her head, "It’s their choice, maybe they want to finish the proposal at the company before leaving."
Summer Lowell pondered it and felt her guess might be right; she gathered her things, called the assistant who had finished packing, and they took the elevator downstairs together.
Just entering the elevator, before she could press a floor, she saw the designers who were busy earlier rushing over, squeezing one by one into the elevator.
Summer Lowell, sensing something off, stood quietly at the very back of the elevator, silently observing to see what these people were up to.
Soon, she understood why her designers hadn’t left promptly and instead stayed in the office.
It turned out they were deliberately waiting for her.
Why were they waiting for her?
Because Stellart facing the main entrance, a particularly eyecatching sports car was parked there, with a man leaning against it—none other than Sinclair Group’s President Maxim Sinclair.
A feeling of unlucky premonition rose in Summer Lowell’s heart. Just as she was about to retreat, Maxim Sinclair, who had already spotted her from afar, raised his hand to greet her, walking towards her: "Summer Lowell, you finally finished work."
Such a flashy car and person, making such a commotion with his greeting, almost all eyes around landed on Summer Lowell.
"What exactly do you want?"
"Picking my wife up from work."
"You?"
Summer Lowell knew that if she got into Maxim Sinclair’s car, it would take less than ten minutes for the matter to spread throughout the company.
Though knowing this day would come sooner or later, Summer Lowell was still a bit hesitant. But seeing his expression, she eventually walked obediently to Maxim Sinclair.
Looking at Maxim Sinclair, who was clearly dressed up, Summer Lowell restrained her urge to bite out her words: "Actually, you don’t have to go out of your way to pick me up after work, President Sinclair."
"President Sinclair? Mrs. Sinclair, shouldn’t we change that title? Moreover, you’re my wife, so it’s only logical for me to pick you up from work."
If she could, Summer Lowell wanted to throw the coffee she was holding onto his face.
"My colleagues are over there, can you stop saying pointless things and hurry up and get in the car?"
Maxim Sinclair wasn’t in a rush at all; he glanced at the Stellart designers gathered at a distance having small chats and deliberately reminded Summer Lowell: "Logically, shouldn’t I go say hi to your designer colleagues? Or, should I host them for dinner tonight?"
Seeing he was intentionally making trouble, Summer Lowell directly sped up her steps towards the car at the road’s edge: "Let’s go, no need for you to go out of your way and treat my colleagues to dinner."
