This time, Andrew Lane’s anger was plain as day. Maybe approaching from Isabella Austin’s side would yield better results.
Mr. Green forced a smile and turned to Isabella. “Ms. Austin, it’s been a while. You’re looking lovelier than ever.”
He was so eager to find an opening that he completely missed the way Isabella’s expression stiffened.
Isabella managed a polite smile, glanced at Andrew, and said quietly, “Well, we should get going.”
In a rush of desperation, Mr. Green blurted, “I heard the good news—congratulations are in order, I suppose? Will I have the honor of attending your engagement party?”
Isabella opened her mouth to reply, but Andrew cut her off. “Isabella, let’s go.”
She bit back her response, nodded with a gentle smile, and answered softly, “Alright.”
All trace of Mr. Green’s smile vanished.
Out of the corner of her eye, Emily Blair caught Andrew’s hand tightening around the handles of her wheelchair. She spoke up, “It’s alright, I can manage.”
She placed her hands on the wheels and tried to propel herself forward, gripping the rims for leverage.
Before she could make any real effort, Andrew brushed her hands aside.
His voice drifted from behind, lazy and cold. “What are you trying to prove?”
Without giving her a chance to protest, he simply started pushing her wheelchair.
Emily rested her hands on her lap, fingers curling into the fabric of her jeans.
Her ankle was still injured; there was no way she could win an argument with Andrew right now. She might as well let him play chauffeur—it saved her the trouble, anyway.

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