I Owe the Tyrant Four Little Heirs novel Chapter 67

The door to Mr. Bragg’s office was slightly ajar, and through the gap, Usher could see him studying the bamboo plant on his desk, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Mr. Bragg is smiling again? What’s he so happy about? Did they land that three-hundred-million-dollar deal?

It was strange. He’d caught Mr. Bragg smiling to himself several times in the past few days. His mood seemed to have improved significantly. Aside from his outburst at Blaire earlier, he hadn't yelled at anyone in three days.

Seeing that Mr. Bragg was in a good mood, Usher seized the opportunity. He knocked and entered.

He was shocked when, after explaining the cleaner’s situation, Mr. Bragg readily agreed. “Tell her she can come as often or as little as she likes.”

“What about her pay?”

“Are you an idiot? Obviously, she gets paid for the days she works!”

Usher scratched his head, grinning sheepishly. “Right, right. I’ll go tell Winnie right away.”

As Usher was leaving, Jareth muttered to himself, “Who’s the real idiot here? She wants to give up a job that pays fifty dollars for two hours of work?”

Usher, as Mr. Bragg’s top secretary, worked himself to the bone for over ten hours a day and barely raked in three times that amount.

When Usher relayed the news to Winnie, she was stunned. The owner must really like Niamh.

Niamh was thrilled when she got Winnie’s call.

The owner seems perfectly nice. Why did Winnie say he was so strange?

Since she wouldn’t be back for three days, Niamh cleaned with extra care. She couldn’t help but think how lonely it must be for the owner to live in such a large house all by himself, with no one to talk to when he came home.

Her own apartment was small and cramped, but it was always full of life and laughter.

While cleaning the living room, she spotted her small notebook on the coffee table. She picked it up and flipped to the first page.

A line of strong, elegant handwriting caught her eye: “May your dream come true.”

A warmth spread through her chest. The owner must have written it. He had beautiful handwriting, she noted, surprisingly similar to Jareth’s.

They say you can tell a person by their handwriting. If their script was so similar, they should have similar personalities, but the two men couldn’t be more different. If Jareth knew she wanted to be a designer, he’d probably laugh in her face and call it a pipe dream.

She finished cleaning at 8:40 PM and hurried to the kitchen to prepare a late-night snack for the owner. When she saw the word “Tortellini” on the note on the fridge, a smile lit up her face.

It was as if she had a sixth sense. She had bought some fresh pasta wrappers on her way home from work. Her tortellini was delicious; the kids never got tired of it. It seemed this owner had similar tastes to her children. From now on, she’d just make him whatever she was making for them.

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