Page 17 of The Widower
“You miss her?”
“I don’t,” I said flatly, my tone as cold as ever.
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to.” I stood. “I’ll do what you want, but this is the first and last time you’ll ever force me into something I don’t want.”
In the end, I already had a small idea of who I could invite.
But to her, it would sound strange.
And to me… even stranger.
I was supposed to meet someone else, but this time it would be at my mansion. I have a rather peculiar friend…
His name’s Henry—one of the biggest players in the state’s food industry. He’s… problematic, let’s put it that way. The man’s too cheerful. I’m not used to that much happiness, and he honestly feels like a walking rainbow—bright, colorful, and impossible to ignore.
Does it irritate me? Absolutely. No question about it.
Still, he’s been there for me more times than I can count, so I can’t deny he’s a good friend. An annoying one, but a good friend nonetheless.
Most of the time, anyway.
He’s always teasing me, cracking jokes, trying to make me laugh for no reason—and, somehow, he usually succeeds. That’s Henry for you: brutally honest, relentlessly upbeat, and way too happy for his own good.
He’d just parked his Ferrari GTC4 outside my mansion. The second he saw me, he broke into that stupid grin of his, the kind that’s so infectious it makes you hate yourself for not smiling back.
“Big man Colin! How’s life?”
“What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait?” I asked, cutting straight to the point. I have to keep Henry on a tight leash—if I let him ramble, he’ll start talking about the most useless things imaginable.
“I forgot.”
I let out a heavy sigh. This guy…
“Oh, right! I just wanted to see you, but I figured if I said it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t let me in.”
I closed my eyes and cursed him silently. I know I’m not the best friend in the world, but Henry has a gift for testing my patience.
“I honestly don’t know why I still talk to you.”
“Hey, watch your tone with your best friend! You’d better—”
Henry froze mid-sentence. His gaze shifted toward Isabelle, who was moving around the kitchen, helping Helen with something. He even took off his imported sunglasses to get a better look, which immediately annoyed me.
“Colin… who’s the little cutie you’ve got working in your house?”
“Don’t start, Henry,” I warned.Isabelle glanced in our direction, then quickly pretended she hadn’t.
“See the way she looked at you?” he said with a smug grin.
“No. How exactly did she look at me?” I asked, intrigued despite myself.
“Like she hates you. Like she despises every breath you take. If she ever had to sleep under the same roof, she’d probably murder you in your sleep. Or dismember you first.”
I shook my head. Henry had a habit of taking things too far—but, to be fair, I probably deserved a few jabs.
“I’m not as bad as I seem,” I muttered.
