Chapter 84 I Wouldn’t Spare You a Second Glance Even If You Stripped

• “You’re saying you gave my number to Mieko and Heather?” Damon King frowned. “Y-yeah… I’m sorry!” Harper Sullivan’s uneasy voice came through the phone. “They just won’t leave. They’re at my company every day. If I don’t give them your contact, they refuse to go.” Damon went silent, a bit speechless. “Alright. I’ll handle it.” Hanging up, Damon knew it wasn’t Harper’s fault. One was a Sakuran princess, the other an heir of the Rothschilds_x000d_. Their influence was huge, even drawing in foreign affairs. It was normal Harper couldn’t take the heat. Now the headache was his. As expected, a few minutes later, his phone rang. “Dear Dragon, guess who?” A familiar voice, fluent Cruice. “Heather, you should go home,” Damon said. “No, dear Dragon. If I don’t see you, I’m not leaving. No way.” “You’re the heir to the Rothschilds_x000d_. You can’t be this willful,” Damon frowned. “For you, I’ll be willful. I’ll do anything. Family, business—none of it matters in front of you. I’ll drop it all, if you’ll marry me.” “Enough. Pick a place with Mieko. I’ll meet you.” Damon didn’t take the bait and hung up. Half an hour later, another call came—Mieko. More playful whining, a soft, wounded tone. They settled on Taste & Time. It’s a high-end traditional restaurant by West Lake—less flashy than the Halcyon Hotel, but more authentic, with real flavor and charm. The choice told Damon they’d done their homework. They wanted the real Cruice taste and vibe. With the time set, Damon ended the call. If he didn’t, Mieko would’ve sighed and pouted at him all day. The next morning, Damon got up to find Anya Anson and Delilah Rochester already setting breakfast. “Brother Damon, I’m heading out to look for a job today,” Anya said. “Nice,” he nodded with a smile. “I’ll drive you.” “No need, Brother Damon. I’ll go alone,” she said quickly. “I feel bad troubling you all the time. It’s a lot of pressure.” “What pressure? You’ll be hitting more than one place in a day.” Damon ate the rice porridge with preserved egg and lean pork Anya had cooked—the cozy, homestyle taste felt good. Anya still shook her head. “Brother, I’ll drive Sister Anya,” Richard Miller puffed his chest. “My sister’s free too, so she’ll tag along!” Wang Tingting’s eyes spun, scheming to keep Anya away from Damon. “Sounds good. We’ll go with her. Damon, you stay home and keep Aunt company.” “I’ve got stuff to do,” Damon said, giving Wang Tingting a look. “Here’s the deal: you two take Anya out, and take Aunt to shop for clothes and whatever she needs.” As for himself, an e-scooter worked fine. He didn’t care. Near noon, Damon rode to Taste & Time. He parked outside. Before he stepped off, a BMW slid in, snagging the spot right beside him. “Well, if it isn’t Damon King?” The passenger door swung open. A woman dressed to kill hopped out, took one look at Damon and his scooter, and crowed with her nose in the air. Damon took her in, one brow lifting, then looked to the driver’s seat. A pudgy middle-aged man sat there, suit on, a chunky gold chain gleaming—a brand-new-money vibe. It was the subcontract boss from Damon’s old takeout route, name’s Song Changsheng. The woman was the dispatcher, Fang Xiaohong. Damon had gotten along with her at first. She’d asked him for help a lot, and he never refused. Later she hooked up with Song Changsheng and started giving Damon the cold shoulder—and plenty of trouble. Damon nodded briefly to Fang and headed for the restaurant. “Hey, Damon, what’s with the attitude? See an old colleague and don’t even say hi? Rude much?” Fang sneered. Damon frowned and ignored her. “Well, well. Big temper, tiny skills,” Song chuckled, lighting a cigarette. “See the car? BMW X3. Just upgraded.” “All thanks to you, really. If it weren’t for you, Sebastian Jenkins wouldn’t have paid so much for my company. I pocketed a nice chunk.” Damon’s phone buzzed. A text from Heather: they were almost there, wait up. Since Mieko and Heather hadn’t arrived, Damon didn’t go in. He waited outside and said flatly, “Congrats, Mr. Song.” Song beamed, full of himself. “Honey!” Fang cooed on Song’s arm. “You don’t know how annoying Damon is. He used to have a thing for me. No self-awareness—like a toad dreaming of swan meat.” Damon looked at her, a flicker of disgust in his eyes. Back when she was new, she didn’t know much and asked him for help, sweet as sugar, shamelessly using her looks to get her way. Damon never fell for it. They were coworkers—he helped when he could. And now she was spinning it like he’d had dirty thoughts about her. Damon studied her face. It looked more refined than before—clearly worked on. Look closer and it was a lot—pointy chin, high nose bridge, even the chest had been redone. “Honey, look at this loser’s eyes. Gross,” Fang said, feeling naked under Damon’s amused stare. With Song backing her, she snapped, “Damon, where are you looking? Go look in a mirror. You, a broke piece of trash, think you get to have ideas about me?” “My curves aren’t for your dog eyes. Don’t blind yourself.” She pushed out her chest with a cold smile. Damon’s face stayed blank. “Fang Xiaohong, you’re overthinking.” She laughed. “You mean to say you didn’t want me? Please. A broke guy who can’t even keep his wife—go home and eat your instant noodles. This isn’t your kind of place.” “I said you’re overthinking,” Damon replied, calm. “I mean, with all that work done, and done badly at that, even if you stripped, I wouldn’t spare you a second glance.” “Too harsh on the eyes. Might poison ‘em.” It was peak lunch hour. People were flowing past the door, and a few caught Damon’s words. They gave Fang long looks and knowing grins. Some even laughed out loud. “You…” Fang shrieked, hit right where it hurt. “Damon, how dare you talk crap! You… jerk! I’ll make you pay!” She clung to Song’s arm, tears shimmering. “Honey, this loser bullied me!” Song knew she’d had work done. His face went stiff. He snorted, “Damon, you’ve got no grace with a lady. No wonder your wife dumped you for Mr. Sebastian.” “Apologize to Xiaohong. Now.” He tried to throw his weight around. Damon didn’t bother. If he weren’t waiting for someone, he wouldn’t waste breath. He glanced down the street. No sign of Mieko or Heather yet—but a familiar middle-aged woman was walking over. Damon’s mouth curved with a hint of playfulness.