Compared to Benedict, Cynthia was far better suited to lead.
Ever since Benedict had let Giselle into VistaSphere Group to take his own place, it had been obvious: Benedict wasn’t cut out for leadership.
“Keep moving,” Assistant Frank said, his tone crisp and unruffled.
Benedict just glared at Frank, his expression dark and silent. Frank, unfazed, simply instructed the others to carry on.
Benedict couldn’t believe Frank’s insolence. He seized Frank by the collar, yanking him close, his voice low and seething with anger.
“Listen to me, Frank. Cynthia only brought you back to VistaSphere Group as a temp. Don’t get any ideas about your place here—you’re just the dog she keeps to keep an eye on me. When Cynthia and I patch things up, when she’s pregnant and steps away from the company, I’ll have plenty of ways to deal with you.”
Frank stayed perfectly still, meeting Benedict’s fury with a polite, measured gaze.
“Mr. Shepard, whatever issues you have with Ms. Tremaine are between the two of you. There’s no need to involve me.”
Benedict’s face darkened further. He drew his fist back, ready to punch Frank square in the face—but as his arm tensed, he caught sight of Cynthia a short distance away, phone raised, clearly recording everything.
When his fist didn’t swing, Cynthia cocked her head, her face the picture of innocent curiosity. “Why’d you stop?” she called out.
She already had a headline ready to post.
Grinding his teeth, Benedict shoved Frank aside and stormed over to Cynthia, his expression icy.
Cynthia didn’t lower her phone; she pointed the lens straight at his face. Benedict snatched her wrist, trying to drag her toward his office.
“We need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Cynthia snapped, yanking her arm free.
Benedict’s patience snapped. He bent down, hauled Cynthia over his shoulder, and carried her off toward his office.
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