Trapped in the boss's embrace (by Katrina A) novel Chapter 120

Chapter 120 An Indiscriminate Verbal Assault

Beatrice's racing heart suddenly stilled, calm as a frozen lake. An icy tranquility flowed through her veins, numbing both body and mind into perfect stillness.

All turmoil vanished.

These aren't work hours.

Just relax.

Damian slowly turned his glacial gaze on Anastasia. None of their blind date's courtesy remained, only frost. "Ms. Whitmore."

"How lovely to see you again." Anastasia's hopeful tone deliberately ignored his chill, willing warmth into the interaction.

Damian's expression didn't thaw. A curt nod was his only response before looking away—no offered seat, no reciprocal greeting, just crushing silence.

Anastasia flushed with embarrassment. Retreating felt improper, but staying meant enduring his blatant dismissal.

"Mr. Crowley..." Her soft plea hung unanswered.

Damian pointedly ignored her. A crimson flush crept up Anastasia's neck as the embarrassment burned.

Her friend gaped, dumbfounded.

This is supposed to be a date!

Why is he treating her like this?

The entire restaurant had noticed now. Though Ethan and Killian pitied Anastasia, neither dared intervene.

Beatrice strained to listen, growing more confused by the second. 

Why is he snubbing his own date? 

The Damian she knew wasn't capricious—if anything, his emotional control bordered on robotic.

"Mr. Crowley," Anastasia's friend finally blurted, "may we sit with you?"

"Table's full," Damian replied without looking up.

Just as Anastasia's hope crumbled, he added, "Though if you insist on sitting nearby..." His gaze flicked to Beatrice. "My secretary's table has space."

Beatrice's jaw dropped. Anastasia whirled around, equally stunned. The entire restaurant held its breath.

Is he insane?! 

Beatrice screamed internally.

Ethan and Killian exchanged glances. 

Classic Crowley move.

Before anyone could react, Anastasia's embarrassment vanished. "That'll do."

She glided to Beatrice's table, her friend in tow.

Theodore gawked as the women settled in without invitation.

Beatrice inhaled sharply. Unlike Damian, she had manners; unlike Anastasia, she wouldn't tolerate this.

"Ms. Whitmore," she said with forced politeness, "we're expecting company. Since you prefer this table, we'll—"

A delicate hand caught her wrist. Anastasia's tear-bright eyes met hers. "Please...let's share?"

Beatrice froze. Threats and flattery rolled off her, but a beautiful woman's tears? Her kryptonite.

Perhaps Ms. Whitmore wasn't spineless—she simply couldn't find a dignified way to extricate herself.

Maria was on the verge of urging him to have further interactions with Anastasia. She parted her lips, yet in the end, she held her tongue...

For she knew that if she persisted, the harmonious bond between her and her son would be irrevocably damaged.

Among her four kids, he was the most dutiful, the most composed, and least prone to errors. Nevertheless, when his temper flared, he could be truly formidable and intimidating.

David shot her a knowing glance from the side, as if saying, "You've gotten on his bad side, haven't you? I told you this arrangement wouldn't fly, but you wouldn't listen. Now he's effectively put a stop to it, right?"

Maria was already in a dismal mood. Upon seeing him reveling in her misfortune, she angrily pinched at his arm.

The phone call came to an end. The ambiance in this corner of the restaurant grew even more uncanny and unsettling.

Anastasia's cheeks burned with humiliation. She had earnestly pleaded with her mom to ask Maria to set up another encounter with Damian.

She had assumed that he harbored no dislike for her following their previous meal together, and thus, she was determined to seize an opportunity to win his affection. She was convinced that given his gentle and considerate nature, even if he was discontented with the idea of arranged dates, he would still date her.

However, she never anticipated that he could be so callous and unyielding.

He had even deliberately changed his seat just to ensure that she overheard those cutting words.

Beatrice scoffed inwardly.

Three birds with one stone.

A reprimand for my "rumors," a brutal dismissal for Anastasia, and even pushback against his mother. 

Masterful.

"Ms. Lawson."

That dangerous purr made Beatrice's shoulders hunch. She turned halfway, stammering, "M-Mr. Crowley?"

After three exact seconds, his warm chuckle caressed her ear, "You seem to be in high spirits this weekend. And now that I've shared my own joy with you, aren't you going to be over the moon?"