Undressed By His Arrogance-Chapter 237: The Man’s Cheesy

A big, huge smile bloomed across Ivy’s face.

She laughed—an honest, belly-deep laugh and placed the framed photo gently on her desk.

Her smile widened, and when she rummaged further into the box, she found a neatly folded note. His handwriting read:

’Where would you like to go on a first date as a dating couple?’

Ivy snorted.

"Sheesh. The man’s cheesy," she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

But even as she complained, her stomach fluttered.

She grabbed her phone and typed quickly:

’Where do you get these ideas? I’d like something simple. A simple date.’

It wasn’t even a second before her phone dinged.

Eugene: You got it.

With a small shake of her head, she set the phone down and forced herself to switch into work mode. She opened her laptop, the Everest logo glowing softly as the device woke. The stream of emails hit her—contracts, permits, updated design drafts from the Kane Designer Mall project, and a message from one of the Dutch investors insisting on proof of progress.

She typed a crisp message to all of them:

I will be visiting the Netherlands to keep you all apprised of the project timeline, financial expenditures, and resource allocations. A full account summary will be presented during the visit.

Lunch hour crept in unnoticed. Marissa knocked and peeked her head in.

"Miss Morales?"

"Yes?" Ivy answered without looking up.

"Mr Rothschild is here to see you."

Ivy inhaled slowly. She waved her hand lightly.

"Send him in."

Moments later, Eugene stepped inside—smooth stride, confident shoulders, suit so well-tailored it practically purred.

"I came to take you to lunch," he said.

Before she could respond, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Is the lunch the date?"

"Oh, no," Eugene replied instantly, as if offended by the mere suggestion. "I figured you’d be so engrossed with work that you’d forget to eat."

He glanced around her desk, then began smoothing the scattered papers into neat stacks—straightening them.

He slid her laptop shut with one decisive click.

Then his eyes snagged on something.

His brows lifted.

A bouquet of flowers sat crushed in her trash bin, petals bent, stems broken.

"An unwelcome admirer?" he asked.

"What?" Ivy looked over.

He gestured toward the waste bin with two fingers—an elegant, controlled motion.

"That."

"Oh. I didn’t see that." Ivy waved a hand. "Marissa must have put it in there."

That was technically true. Technically.

She had told Marissa to trash every single floral apology Winn Kane sent.

Eugene, unsatisfied with her half-answer, bent down. His expensive suit whispered against itself as he picked up the bouquet from the trash.

He checked the card attached to it.

Of course.

’Winn Kane.’

"Do I have to consider your ex-fiancé competition?" he asked finally.

Ivy lifted her chin.

"Eugene... Winn is not competition."

One slow eyebrow arched. "No?"

"No," she said.

"There is a note on the back of the card," Eugene said. "Why do you need to see a therapist?"

"What?" Ivy snatched the card from him, irritation already spiking. She flipped it over—and her stomach dropped through the floor.

’The Veridian Trauma and PTSD Institute. Request for Doctor Elodie Ravensburg.’

"Oh, the son of a bitch!!!" Ivy exploded.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Of all the lines Winn could cross, he had chosen this? Signing her up for therapy?

The audacity.

The arrogance.

The sheer Winn Kane-ness of it.

Eugene, calm as a glacier asked softly, "Is there something I should know, Ivy?"

"No! No—I’ve just been having nightmares. Once. I mentioned it once and he thinks he has the damn right to... to—" she waved the card dramatically, —"to do this. I am not crazy, okay?"

Eugene reached out and slid his hand slowly, firmly down her arm—starting from her elbow, ending at her palm.

"If you’re having nightmares," he said gently, "I think you should go, Ivy."

She opened her mouth to argue, her instinctive defense rising but he used his thumb to stroke the inside of her wrist in a slow, hypnotic pattern that shut her right up.

"What have you got to lose?" he asked. "If you don’t like it, you can always stop going."

"Eugene..." she tried again. "It’s not—I’m not— I don’t want people thinking I’m—"

"Hey..."

He raised a finger, touching her lower lip.

Tiny contact.

Massive effect.

"Yes," he said quietly, "I am jealous that your ex gets to know something this personal when I don’t."

"But I care about you," he continued. "And if a therapist is what you need, then a therapist you should see."

Her mind swirled.

Winn’s controlling gesture.

Eugene’s supportive one.

The contrast nearly made her dizzy.

"And Ivy?" Eugene added, lowering his voice as he cupped her jaw lightly, thumb brushing her cheek. "Seeing a therapist doesn’t make you weak."

"You know you don’t have to try so hard. I already like you," Ivy said, rolling her eyes.

"You do uhn?" Eugene raised a brow, his laugh warm and disbelieving. "That’s news to me."

He scooped up her handbag. "Come on. Lunch."

They stepped out of her office. She matched Eugene stride for stride.

They took the elevator down.

"I parked on the sidewalk," Eugene said casually as the doors opened with a soft chime.

Ivy’s bodyguard immediately straightened from the lobby armchair.

"I’ll ride with Eugene," Ivy told him. "You can follow behind."

"Okay. I parked the car in the garage. If you could just wait for me to pull out—"

"Sure," Ivy nodded.

The guard hurried out while Eugene rested a hand lightly at the small of Ivy’s back, guiding her through the revolving door.

Outside, the afternoon air washed over them. Eugene’s car was right there.

Her handbag dangled from his hand.

They stepped off the sidewalk together—

And then Ivy heard it.

The screech of tires.

Metal screaming against asphalt.

A force accelerating too fast.

Her stomach plunged.

She turned—instinct, confusion—only to see a dark sedan barreling toward her, impossibly fast, impossibly close.