Sorry, I'm the Final Boss Now novel Chapter 15

“How about this one?” George asked his assistant, Kim.

Kim looked at it numbly. “That one’s fine, too.”

Dear God, this was the twenty-fifth white suit.

As a straight man, he genuinely could not tell the difference between any of them. And the glasses—they were all either silver or gold, with nearly identical frames. It wasn't like there was some important event tonight.

What was his boss doing?

He had already showered five times.

“Alright, I’ve decided. You can go home now,” George said, dismissing him.

Hearing the words “go home” was like a shot of adrenaline to a weary worker.

Kim felt no desire to linger. He grabbed his bag. “Okay, Mr. Spencer. See you tomorrow!”

As the villa fell silent, George examined his reflection one more time.

He had shaved, trimmed his eyebrows, and his hair was freshly washed. His glasses were new.

Good. He looked clean and perfect.

He desperately wanted to take another shower—he had worked up a bit of a sweat trying on clothes, and he couldn’t risk Marguerite smelling it. But he glanced at his watch. It was already eight o’clock.

Marguerite could arrive at any moment. He had to be ready.

Earlier today, his assistant had informed him that Theobald’s executive assistant was inquiring about the current resident of this villa. It confirmed his early-morning suspicion: her sleep disorder meant she could only rest properly in this house.

She would likely come tonight.

So, George had worked from home all day, waiting.

The villa community was situated on a hillside, and his was the very first house. Every time he saw headlights coming up the winding road through his dressing room window, his heart would hammer in his chest.

Just then, another pair of lights cut through the darkness of the mountain road, moving slowly towards him.

George’s breathing grew ragged. He reached up to loosen his tie, then immediately tightened it again.

He paced the room, his long legs restless, sweat pooling in his palms and stinging the cut from last night.

Would it be her this time?

Could it be?

The doorbell rang for a while with no answer.

Marguerite pressed it again.

The lights were on, so someone had to be home.

Ding-dong.

This time, they heard footsteps approaching from inside.

The door opened to reveal a middle-aged man who looked like a butler.

“Good evening. May I help you?”

“Hello,” Marguerite said politely. “I’m looking for George. Is he home?”

“You’re looking for Mr. Spencer? May I ask who you are?”

Marguerite thought for a moment. “Just tell him an old classmate is here to see him about something urgent.”

After a full day and night without sleep, Marguerite’s head was starting to feel fuzzy.