Page 70 of Baby For My Bossy Fake Fiancé

“Quite good.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. Her eyes were centred on a spot on the desk.

“Tell me about it.” I cringed at how that sounded.

“I’ve gotten the major evidence.” She said no more. But we both knew there was more.

When I kept staring at her— her forehead, she continued. I let out a breath.

“I’ve prepared the Summons and Complaints. Mr. Don has ordered me to issue a formal notice immediately.”

“And have you done that? Issued the formal notice?”

She eyed me wearily. “Yes.”

I let out another breath. “Good.”

Leaning back into the silence, I moved some strands of my hair in place, glancing around my office as if I hadn’t been here for six years.

The silence was starting to get awkward. It showed with the way her fingers wrung together. And her soft lips pursed.

They seemed to be coated in red— Burgundy. Usually, it was clear or pink. I wasn’t complaining though.

It suited her perfectly.

“Do you think I have poor aesthetics?” The question involuntarily left my lips.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught her brows furrow. She shuffled a bit in her seat.

“Not exactly.”

I whipped my eyes to hers.

“Not exactly?”

She gave a stiff nod.

“What is your definition of good aesthetics?” I tilted my head.

“Whatever appeals to the owner.” Her voice was still monotonous. But we’d spoken more words than we did in the entire week.

Which was a great start.

A great start to what, Damien? Truce?

“What appeals to you?”

I was met with a blank stare. “Good aesthetics.”

Of course.

I rubbed my forehead. Her spine was straight. She sat like she was on a hot seat.

“What country do you think has a nice aesthetics?”

“All of them have their own uni–”

“No.” I quickly interrupted. Surely she knew what I meant.

“This is subjective,” I sighed. “I want to hear what you think.”

---