The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 71

When a client doesn’t want to talk, don’t disturb them. You’ll only annoy them.

It was a hard-earned lesson from years of dealing with clients. Seeing Theodore’s closed eyes, Penelope zipped her lips, determined to leave a good impression.

The car hit the highway and immediately got stuck in traffic. It looked like there had been an accident.

Penelope yawned and leaned her head against the car door. She tried to stay awake but soon succumbed to exhaustion and drifted off.

She wasn’t sure how long she slept, but she woke to someone calling her name.

“Ahem, Ms. Laurier, we’ve arrived at your home.”

Home already?

Penelope groaned softly. She had slept so well, so comfortably. Had she been drooling?

Wait, what was she leaning against?

Still groggy, she opened her eyes and saw she was resting on something covered in black fabric. She poked it. It was surprisingly firm, yet pliant. What was it? As she poked it again, she noticed a large wet patch.

Oh god. Was that her drool?

How embarrassing!

Her mind was still foggy, but her manners were instinctual. She started wiping at the spot, but after a few swipes, the thing beneath her hand twitched. The movement jolted her fully awake.

Then, a large hand clamped down on hers.

“Well, this is a new one.”

That voice…

It dawned on her. She was still in Theodore’s car, and she seemed to be lying… on his lap.

Her eyes followed the path of her drool, and she gasped, her eyes widening in horror as she shot upright.

“I—I—I…”

Penelope’s face was on fire. She had just fallen asleep. How had things escalated to this? It felt like the scene of a crime.

“Get out,” Theodore said, his voice dangerously low.

She looked up and saw his exquisite face was thunderously dark, his jaw clenched as he fought to control his anger, or perhaps something else entirely.

“It’s none of your business.”

She shook off his hand and walked toward her house.

“No wonder you’ve been fighting with me, demanding a divorce. You’ve had another man lined up this whole time!”

“Zebulon! How can you say that with a straight face?”

“Whose jacket is that?”

“We are broken up!”

She didn’t want to argue with him in the middle of the night, but he was relentless. He snatched the jacket from her and threw it on the ground.

“And what happened to your dress? What were you two doing in that car?”

Zebulon was drunk, and his emotions were spiraling out of control.

“He was just a friend who gave me a ride,” she said, trying not to provoke a madman.