The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 155

Zebulon saw her too, and a look of disdain crossed his face. Penelope was confused, unsure what had prompted his scorn. She returned her attention to Mrs. York, who was struggling to cut her steak. She hurt her hand, so she can't really cut her steak. Penelope gently took her plate, neatly sliced the beef for her, and then stood to place it back in front of her.

Was that it? Was that what he was sneering at?

She watched as Zebulon walked over to Mr. Temple’s table, one hand in his pocket. He gave a curt nod, handed his jacket to a waiter without breaking stride, and sat down. There was no apology for his tardiness, no hint of remorse.

Mr. Temple, ever the professional, extended his hand. Zebulon, playing the part of the entitled heir, merely half-turned, gave him a limp handshake, and then leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He gestured dismissively with his hand as he launched into a monologue, his voice full of self-importance.

Penelope scoffed. Putting on airs in front of a client? He was an absolute fool.

Mrs. York was delighted with the meal. As she left, she promised Penelope that she would use any means necessary—even if it meant an all-out war—to get Cedric to sign the contract the next day. Penelope walked her to the door, thoughtfully helping her with her coat.

When she returned to her table to grab her bag, Zebulon was still boasting about Stone Group’s greatness. Mr. Temple had been remarkably patient, but he had clearly reached his limit.

“Mr. Sullivan, to be frank, I know the state of Stone Group better than you do,” he said, setting his wine glass down on the table with a firm thud.

Zebulon saw the shift in his expression, but it didn’t faze him. He gave a faint smile. “Which means you know very well that your company has no better option than to partner with us. What we can offer, no one else can.”

“No better option?” Mr. Temple finally lost his composure and let out a derisive laugh. “We can partner with Company A, B, C, or D. Stone Group is, at best, a C. Not a first-tier firm, not even a second-tier. You’re third-rate.”

At these words, Zebulon’s face darkened. “Mr. Temple, I am personally hosting you for dinner tonight. That should be a sign of respect. You are being rather ungrateful.”

Mr. Temple looked at him, speechless with disbelief, then laughed. “I’m ungrateful?”

“Forget it, I won’t hold it against you. Now, about the next phase of our partnership…”

“Let’s end it here,” Mr. Temple cut him off.

Zebulon frowned. “What do you mean?”

The word ‘friends’ seemed to relax him, and he smiled. “My mother hasn’t been doing too well lately. She keeps asking about you.”

It had been two years ago. Stone Group was struggling, and to secure Mr. Temple as a client, she had pulled out all the stops. She had even played the part of his mother’s long-lost younger daughter for several days when the elderly woman’s health was failing, successfully coaxing her back to good spirits.

“I am quite busy these next few days,” Penelope said sincerely, “but as soon as I have a moment, I will definitely go and visit her.”

Mr. Temple, knowing she was a woman of her word, thanked her profusely.

They walked out of the restaurant together. As they passed Zebulon’s table, he was still sitting there, casually eating his steak, seemingly unfazed by the major contract he had just lost.

Mr. Temple didn’t even glance in his direction.

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