From Deadbeat To Doting; Something Is Wrong With My Husband!-Chapter 30: Unsuccessful Seductress

Brianna finally let out a long-held breath as the ad campaign ended.

"Ah. I’m so exhausted."

She sighed, relaxing her shoulders as she accepted a bottle of water from Rochelle.

"I can arrange a spa session right now if you like."

Brianna shook her head, taking a long, elegant sip, but her eyes actively scanned the room for Thomas.

The moment she saw his charcoal-grey suit cutting through the crowd, she pulled the bottle from her lips and nudged Rochelle forward with a silent, meaningful look.

Rochelle understood the assignment instantly.

As Thomas approached, Rochelle stepped into his path, her hands rising to form a literal physical barrier. "Mr. Lynde, I’m terribly sorry, but you cannot speak to Mrs. Colburn without a formal appointment."

Thomas craned his neck, looking side-to-side like a hunter trying to spot his prey behind a thicket. Brianna was standing right there, just three meters away. "It’ll be quick. Just let me see her."

"No, no, no," Rochelle chirped with a voice like a wall of polite stubbornness.

"I simply cannot do that. The Doctor’s schedule is saturated. She is a very, very busy woman."

"She is literally standing right there!" Thomas pointed, his patience fraying.

"I am so sorry. Please, speak to me instead."

Narrowing his eyes, Thomas paused. "What?"

"Any questions you have for Mrs. Colburn, you can ask me directly... Sir." Rochelle flashed a smile that was one part professional and three parts suspicious.

Thomas hesitated. He only wanted to speak briefly with Brianna, but Rochelle was her assistant. If Brianna was hiding something about the fall, the assistant might have seen the cracks.

"Fine."

"Wonderful. Let’s talk in Mrs. Colburn’s office."

Arriving at the office, Rochelle gestured for Thomas to enter first. She let out a tiny, silent sigh of misfortune behind his back before stepping in with a blindingly fake smile.

"Please, have a seat." She pointed toward a small, decorative sofa.

Thomas cleared his throat, eyeing the piece of furniture. It was a designer loveseat that was barely large enough for a single person of his size to sit comfortably. When he sat, Rochelle immediately sat right beside him, her shoulder pressing against his.

Thomas adjusted himself uncomfortably, his frame too large for the cramped space. Rochelle, however, didn’t budge. She was fully aware of the awkwardness, but she was prepared to sacrifice her dignity for Brianna’s bonus.

Thomas pulled out a small, sleek device and pressed record. "Where were you on the day Mr. Colburn fell?"

Rochelle showed all her teeth in a dazzling, distractingly bright smile. "I followed Mrs. Colburn home to collect a script."

"What kind of script?"

Rochelle leaned in, her knee ’accidentally’ brushing against his. "A work script. You know... for work."

Thomas cleared his throat sharply and crossed his legs away from her. Rochelle groaned inwardly. This man is made of granite.

"And where was Mrs. Colburn?" Thomas pressed.

"Oh? She was just going to retrieve the script and all." Rochelle passed her hand along the back of the small sofa, her arm halfway draped behind his frame.

Thomas looked back at the invading limb and firmly pushed her hand off. Rochelle cleared her throat, smoothing the hem of her skirt with an air of innocence, as if she hadn’t just tried to embrace him.

She bit her bottom lip, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear with a lingering touch.

Thomas cleared his throat again.

"Do you have a throat thing?" Rochelle asked, gesturing toward her own neck.

Raising a dark brow, "What?"

"A throat... problem. You’re making a lot of noise."

Thomas sighed deeply. It was the sound of a man nearing his limit. "Let’s focus back on the questions. While you were downstairs, did you happen to see the housekeeper? And did you hear anything suspicious happening upstairs?"

Rochelle had remembered it perfectly. The muffled sound of their argument that preceded the fall. But she didn’t blink, instead she shook her head. "No."

"You hesitated."

"What?"

"You hesitated before you answered," Thomas’s voice turned clinical. "Did you hear something?"

Rochelle realized the ’Professional Assistant’ act was failing. It was time for the ’Successful Seductress’ to take the stage. She leaned in close, her eyes searching for his as if she were about to reveal a deep, dark secret.

"Mr. Lynde," she whispered in her soft airy coo voice.

"Why are we talking about stairs and housekeepers when the air in this room is so... heavy?"

She leaned in further, parting her lips as if for a kiss. But as she moved to close the distance, her palms slick with nervous sweat, slipped off the leather cushion.

Rochelle’s body plummeted toward the floor.

Thwack.

She didn’t hit the ground. Thomas’s hand shot out with lightning reflexes, and his palm caught her squarely by the forehead, holding her head suspended inches above the carpet.

The contact was awkward for Thomas, who looked like he was holding a bowling ball, but for Rochelle, it was progress. She stayed there for a second, staring up at him from her tilted position.

Thomas stood up abruptly, pulling his hand back and straightening his back as if he’d touched a live wire. Rochelle scrambled up too, smoothing her clothes and trying to reclaim her poise.

He checked his watch, masking his expression with his usual coldness. "I’m going."

The moment he turned for the door, Rochelle’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist before he could reach the door. "Wait!"

Thomas looked down at the hand, then back up at her, making Rochelle let go instantly, but she wasn’t done.

"I... I-I would love to have dinner with you tonight," she tilted her hip, softened her shoulders, and gave him a look that promised a very different kind of interrogation.

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"To complete the... investigation," she purred, her eyes tracing the line of his jaw.

Thomas cleared his throat yet again.

"Seriously, you need to check your—" She cut herself off under his icy, warning stare.

Turning towards the door, "I’m going to have to decline."