Late Love: Winning Back the Runaway Wife

Hearing Helen's response, Emma could only sigh inwardly and accept the assignment. She picked up the folder and walked out.

Once she returned to her desk and flipped open the folder, her brows slightly furrowed. The order came from Hunt Corporation-it was a design job for their president, Ethan, who would be attending a charity gala next month.

So that's what this was. Helen probably heard some rumors about her supposed connection with Ethan and figured she'd be the perfect person for the job. What a way to take advantage of office gossip.

Design something for Ethan? Emma thought of that man's insufferable attitude and-slightly annoyed-grabbed her pencil and jabbed it twice at his name on the paper.

At the same moment, Ethan, who was listening to a report from his team, unexpectedly sneezed twice. Rubbing his nose in confusion, he muttered, "Weird... Am I getting a cold?"

...

Two hours later.

"Ugh, it's boiling out here..."

It was around lunch rush, crazy traffic, so Emma decided not to hail a cab. Instead, she walked in the blazing 28-degree sun for over an hour, trekking from the west side of the city to the towering Hunt Corporation building downtown.

The second she stepped inside the lobby, a wave of cool air hit her, finally easing the heat that had stuck to her skin like glue.

"Hi, I'm Emma, a designer with Daisy Design Studio. I'm here about the outfit for Mr. Hunt for the charity event next month."

At the front desk, Emma kept her tone polite, but the immaculately dressed receptionist just snorted and gave her a dismissive once-over.

"Daisy Design? Our president usually works with Swiss indie designers. When did we start letting just anyone handle his wardrobe?"

Surrounded daily by employees decked in the latest high-end pieces, the receptionist couldn't help but sneer at Emma's simple T-shirt and jeans. After tossing out her comment, she didn't say another word to Emma.

Emma wasn't in the mood to argue with snobs. Without a word, she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed straight for the elevators.

If she remembered right, Ethan's office was on the top floor. No surprise there-he always did love that "king of the mountain" view.

"Ding-" The elevator doors opened. Emma stepped out, passed an empty desk, and without thinking twice, pushed open the frosted glass doors to the inner office.

What she didn't expect was to walk in on a scene straight out of a soap opera.

Right in front of her was a woman in a tight red dress, half perched on a chair by Ethan's massive desk. Her body was practically draped over his thigh, arms snaking behind his waist, her fingers gently tracing him. Her dress had ridden up, baring a pale, smooth thigh.

Things were clearly about to heat up... until Emma barged in.

At the sound of the door creaking open, the woman looked up, irritation flickering on her heavily made-up face.

"Who the hell are you? Ever heard of knocking?"

She finally managed to sneak into the CEO's office today, thinking she'd get a moment alone with him. Nope. Didn't even get started before someone barged in. Just her luck.

That thought had the woman glaring even harder at Emma.

"Sorry to kill the mood, Ethan," Emma said, tone flat but slightly amused as she took in the scene-Ethan sitting there like nothing happened, and the woman next to him clearly pissed off.

"You seriously think you can talk to him like that? Know you're interrupting? Then get lost!" The woman's attitude exploded when Emma kept ignoring her, throwing daggers with her eyes.

Right then, Ethan finally looked up and dropped a cold, single word: "Leave."

The woman perked up instantly, thinking he had her back. She straightened up, smug all over her face.

"Did you hear that? Mr. Hunt told you to leave!"

Emma let out a dry chuckle, half-laughing at herself as she adjusted her bag and turned to go. But then came his voice again-this time sharper, colder.

"I meant you."

Emma froze mid-step. The woman stared at him, shocked, lips parting like she wanted to say something. But when she met his emotionless gaze, she instantly shrank back.

"S-sorry, Mr. Hunt. I'm leaving now."

She snatched her purse and scurried out like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Once the door shut, Emma shifted her eyes back to him. "I'm the designer assigned to handle your clothing order."

"I know."

Ethan looked at her calmly and stood up, brushing off his suit jacket as he moved closer.

"Why didn't you let me know you were coming? I could've sent someone to pick you up."

Emma placed her bag down and gave a short laugh. "Pick me up? If I'd said I was coming, guess I would've missed quite the show."

Regardless of how close they were or weren't, she was still legally his wife. What he'd done today? It crossed a line.

Unaware of her thoughts, Ethan leaned back against his desk, arms folded over his chest, a faint smirk on his face, speaking lightly. "She sat on my lap. I didn't touch her."

"What does that have to do with me?" Emma replied coolly, though the edge in her expression had softened a bit. She dug into her bag, pulling out sketches, tape, and a notepad, laying everything on the desk.

"Alright, Mr. Hunt. Stand over there, arms out. I need your measurements."

"Sure, no problem." He chuckled faintly at the serious look on her face, then moved to where she pointed.

As he got into position, Emma walked over, business-like and focused. "Arms out. Feet together."