The Boxing Champion CEO's Hidden Little Sister

2: 2

2

I tightened my grip on the car keys and let out a breath.

"Who said Ms. Fox bought this car?"

The parking lot went quiet for two seconds.

Then, like they'd heard the funniest joke in the world, everyone pointed at me and burst out laughing.

"So you didn't earn it in bed? Bonnie Fox, you're an intern. You think nobody knows what your monthly paycheck is?"

Jeanette Dickerson peeked out from behind Michael Gilbert and said in a small voice,

"Bonnie, you mean the money for the Mercedes came from your commission after closing a deal with a client, right?"

On the surface she was clearing my name, but there was a strange gleam in her eyes, and every word only dug me deeper.

"Unless you're saying that behind Ms. Fox's back, you and that big client also…"

She stopped halfway, and the stares from the coworkers around me stabbed in like needles.

It made me laugh out of sheer anger.

Apparently, the only idea in Jeanette Dickerson's head was a woman climbing into a bed to trade for money.

I took a step forward and stared at her without moving.

"Jeanette Dickerson, just because you can't afford a luxury car doesn't mean other people have no money either."

Something in that hit a nerve.

She stamped her feet and jumped, craning her neck as she shot back,

"Bonnie Fox! My family may be poor, but I've never climbed into anyone's bed for the sake of some so-called face!"

"Oh, so it isn't true just because you say so? Who knows."

Her face went red under my words, and she started crying, all wronged.

Michael Gilbert looked heartbroken, his eyes full of disgust for me.

"Bonnie Fox, who are you trying to fool, acting all high and mighty in front of me?"

"You mooch three meals a day off Ms. Fox's cooking, you never once shopped on the weekend, you wouldn't even spring for a cup of bubble tea. There's no way you saved up for this Mercedes yourself, is there?"

"Jeanette's family may be poor, but she's clean to the core! What right does someone like you, driving a luxury car by selling your body, have to talk about her?"

The muttering around me grew louder and louder, and the mocking laughter rang in my ears until they hurt.

Every word out of Michael Gilbert was like a knife rolled in chili, cutting open my heart.

Those three meals a day were because my stomach was bad, and my sister had them specially made for me at the company.

Not shopping on the weekend was because when I shopped at our own malls, the managers wouldn't dare take my money.

I was afraid that going in would blow my cover and make Michael Gilbert lose face.

As for the bubble tea, that was because my sister thought the stuff outside wasn't clean, so she'd hired one of the best masters in the country to make it for me at home.

After I agreed to be with Michael Gilbert,

I'd tried, in both my daily life and what I spent, to bring myself down to his level of money.

Last time I went with him to a street-side barbecue stall, I had diarrhea for a week,

and after one "Drink plenty of hot water," he turned right around to make warm honey tea for Jeanette Dickerson, who was on her period.

Thinking about it now, in his eyes,

that street-side barbecue must have been the greatest favor he could grant me.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and stared at him.

"Michael Gilbert, who do you think you are? What makes you fit to judge me?"

I ignored his ashen face, shoved past his shoulder, turned, and got in the car.

I'd just started the engine when Michael Gilbert blocked the front, spread his arms wide, and glared at me.

"Bonnie Fox, Jeanette was doing this for your own good, and you throw her kindness back in her face! If you really want to drive a luxury car, you could just ask me. What's with rushing off to be some bed-climbing slut? You've completely ruined my reputation!"

I rolled down the window. My voice wasn't loud, but everyone there heard it clearly.

"Even if you took every penny you and Jeanette Dickerson have and added it all up, it still wouldn't cover a month of my pocket money."

The Gilberts were nouveau riche, and Michael Gilbert had always cared about appearances and feared nothing more than being called broke.

His face went so dark it looked ready to drip, and his sharp glare wanted nothing more than to pin me to the seat.

"Bonnie Fox, fine, you can talk about me, but what gives you the right to talk about Jeanette? If you don't get down on your knees today and apologize to Jeanette and me, watch me dump you, you secondhand goods!"

The whole scene froze on the spot.

Everyone waited for me to climb out of the Mercedes and beg Michael Gilbert on my knees not to leave me.

Instead, I leaned my head out and said flatly,

"Move, or this car won't have eyes for you."

The instant I hit the gas, Michael Gilbert scrambled behind a pillar like he was running for his life.

The window rolled up, and the cursing in the parking lot faded away behind the glass.

That night Michael Gilbert sent me a long string of messages. I blocked him without a second thought.

The next morning, I broke out in a rash from a pollen allergy and was putting on ointment in my sister's office.

By the afternoon, word had spread through the whole company that I lived a wild private life and had caught some filthy disease.

In the restroom, Jeanette Dickerson came sashaying over to me.

"Bonnie Fox, want to guess whether Ms. Fox will still let you climb into bed once she finds out you've caught a filthy disease?"