Never Forgive Never Forget (Celeste and Philip) novel Chapter 152

"I refuse."

Her answer was blunt and honest. Celeste stood, ready to leave.

Herbert shot up from his chair, both hands braced on the edge of the table.

"Cece, we're family—father and daughter. We can talk this through!"

"I just need you to say a few good words for Duncan Group to Philip. That's it! If you're willing to help, I swear, your mother's memorial won't be stuck in that cold mausoleum. I'll build her a private garden, just the way she would've wanted. All her wishes honored. Please, Cece, I'm begging you."

Herbert's voice trembled on the edge of desperation.

He still remembered the day of the bid, watching with his own eyes as Philip chased after Celeste's car.

Whether it was old feelings or guilt driving Philip, it didn't matter. As long as Philip cared, this would work.

If he could win Philip over—secure The Robertson Group's partnership and investment—Duncan Group might just survive.

Celeste paused in the doorway, then let out a short, incredulous laugh.

"Whenever you need me, you show up with empty promises. You think I'd fall for that now?"

"Cece! We don't have to build the garden, all right? Tell me what you want. Anything. If you'll just agree to meet Philip for dinner, I'll give you whatever you ask for!"

Herbert nearly vaulted over the table to block her path, desperation etched across his face.

Celeste finally turned, calm and composed.

"Anything?"

"As long as it's something I can actually do," Herbert ground out between clenched teeth.

The room fell silent. Sweat beaded on Herbert's brow as he waited.

At last, Celeste spoke.

"I want Ingrid Group."

Ingrid Group—a Duncan subsidiary, named for Celeste's mother. It had started as her mother's pottery studio, then shifted into a small manufacturing firm. Over time, her mother's presence had faded, but the name remained.

Now, the company was barely staying afloat, teetering on the edge of collapse.

She'd barely shrugged off her coat when there was a knock at the door.

Opening it, she found Alfred standing in the hallway, a sheen of sweat at his hairline, trying to maintain his composure.

"There's an urgent meeting overseas. I have to leave in an hour—my flight's booked."

Celeste's hand tightened on the doorknob.

He was running this late, but still made time to see her in person?

She worried he'd miss his flight.

"With so little time, you could've just called me. You didn't need to come all the way over…"

Alfred met her eyes, steady and searching.

"I had to pick something up too."

Oh, so it was just a detour—not a special trip.