CHAPTER 78: CHAPTER 78: NO MAN IS A GOOD THING

The night was deep.

Staring at the computer and the drawing tablet for the entire evening, she finished handling a few illustration orders.

After exporting them and sending them to the clients for feedback, everything went smoothly.

Poppy Hale glanced at the time; it was already eleven o’clock at night.

Florence Lynch had not come to call her.

Poppy’s heart suddenly tightened. She rubbed her stiff, sore neck as she walked outside.

As soon as she walked out.

She saw Declan Hawthorne holding Florence, lying on her couch.

This couch, according to the real estate agent, was newly purchased by the landlord.

Its length perfectly accommodated Declan Hawthorne’s height.

Unlike the couch in her previous place, which couldn’t even allow him to stretch his legs.

Florence was sleeping on Declan’s chest, drooling and soaking through his expensive shirt.

It was as if the man didn’t even notice.

He held Florence securely to prevent her from falling, operating his phone with the other hand as if managing some work messages.

Poppy glared at Declan.

All her words, afraid to wake her daughter, turned into silent reproach.

Declan nudged with his chin, signaling her to check her phone.

She saw the chat history between Florence and Declan.

Poppy remained silent.

Florence had called him over.

It was a child’s joke, not meant to be taken seriously.

Did he also make a video to teach Florence how to send him his address as a childlike act?

The two-year-old called him, and he actually came.

Poppy was rendered speechless with anger.

Declan stood up, steadily holding Florence, and looked down at Poppy.

Knowingly, he asked, "Where’s the bedroom?"

Poppy wanted to take her over, but Declan shook his head.

"Don’t wake her up."

Poppy didn’t understand why Florence was easy to soothe to sleep with Declan, unlike her usual difficult self.

Poppy even suspected Declan applied some hypnotic on himself.

She led him inside, watching the man gently place Florence on the bed, covering her with a small blanket.

She gave his leg a playful nudge.

"When are you leaving?"

Declan ignored her gesture to drive him out.

He propped himself up and started undressing.

Taking off his coat, unbuttoning his shirt, his hand moved towards his belt buckle.

Poppy was startled and dragged him out of the room.

She pushed him into another room, only speaking after ensuring they wouldn’t wake the child: "What are you doing?"

His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his bare chest and tensed muscles.

Poppy felt herself blush at the sight.

Declan raised an eyebrow, "Didn’t you say you were painting for me today? I’m just trying to save time, presenting my requirements first."

His requirement was to undress?

Poppy glared up at him.

Having worked on drafts all night, her neck and shoulders were aching, and every movement tugged on her muscles.

The pain made her grit her teeth.

The man’s warm hands landed on her neck, precisely finding the sore spots, and began to massage slowly.

He spoke, teasingly, while massaging.

"Why didn’t you eat the breakfast I made for you? Not hungry?"

"I didn’t dare."

She had a sip of the water he fed her, feeling almost consumed by him in the process.

Breakfast, she couldn’t afford.

More importantly, she had lost control today.

She hadn’t explicitly or firmly rejected him.

But he knew her well.

He knew exactly how to make her go weak at the knees.

And ensure she couldn’t refuse him.

The stiffness in her neck quickly eased under his skilled hands.

He withdrew his hand.

Leaning leisurely against the door frame, he watched her.

Poppy realized that their current posture seemed somewhat odd.

Declan, disheveled, cornered against the door by her, with nowhere else to retreat.

It seemed as though she was forcing him into something.

Poppy felt a flare of anger.

"President Hawthorne, don’t you find it inappropriate to appear here in the middle of the night?"

A child’s invitation provided a flimsy excuse for an adult’s ulterior motives.

Declan murmured in agreement.

His voice was deep, sensual, and slightly hoarse.

With a hint of amusement.

In the room without the lights on, she couldn’t discern the hint of greed in his gaze.

"Poppy, didn’t anyone ever tell you that men are all bad news?"

Not a single man in this world is good.

And he’s no exception.

The candor left Poppy momentarily speechless.

Fortunately, he just watched her for a moment.

Using his upper arm’s strength, he found the wall switch and turned on the light.

He went straight to the chair in the room and sat down.

"Exactly how I want it. When will you paint?"

His belt was half undone, hanging loosely; one could even see the edge and brand logo of his underwear.

His enticing V-line was clearly visible.

On his upper body, only a tie remained.

The very tie that had bound Poppy’s hands during the day.

Seeing the tie, Poppy felt a tingling in her wrists.

"I can’t paint tonight."

She had already exceeded her work quota for today.

Her neck hurt, and her hands were sore.

If she continued, she might get tendonitis again.

"When will you be able to?"

"Does it need to be done in person? Can’t I just take a photo?"

Declan shook his head.

"No, it can’t."

In her years of painting, it was the first time Poppy encountered someone insisting it must be done in person.

Declan, unhurried, replied, "I’m afraid you’ll take my photo and post it."

Poppy gritted her teeth in frustration.

"Last time I took many photos too, why aren’t you worried I might have posted them then?"

"Last time, you didn’t photograph my face."

This time, he wanted her to look at him and paint his portrait.

Poppy finally understood.

He was deliberately doing this tonight.

She went to the other room.

Poppy picked up Declan’s clothes and shoved them back to him, "Only on the weekend, I’m busy during the week."

She wore pajamas with a low neckline.

The red marks on her fair skin hadn’t faded yet.

The fire in Declan’s belly, interrupted during the day, reignited slightly.

She pushed him out of her front door.

The security door shut tight.

This building only had two apartments per floor; apart from those in Poppy’s home and the neighbor, no one would come to this floor.

He held his clothes, bare-chested, and pulled out a cigarette from his pocket.

Click, he lit it.

The lighter’s glow illuminated his handsome and cool face.

Moments later, the door to the neighboring apartment opened.

Declan casually tossed his clothes on the couch, not bothering to turn on the light, finished his cigarette.

He reached for another, but stopped.

He remembered she didn’t use to like him smoking.

Might as well find a time and quit.

-

A few days passed.

Morgan Sloan asked Poppy to deliver some documents to a vendor.

The vendor’s office was downtown, not far away, and she might even get off early by working off-site.

Poppy agreed and took a cab over there.

After finishing the task, it was already eleven in the morning.

She was about to head back to the office when she received a message from Morgan.

"The file the vendor sent needs to go directly to Starlight Hotel, President Hawthorne is waiting for you in the lobby. Hurry, President Hawthorne needs it urgently."

Starlight Hotel was just a few minutes away.

Hailing a cab, Poppy arrived at the hotel lobby, searching for Declan Hawthorne for quite a while.

Upon spotting him, she hurriedly went over to hand him the document.

Just as she was about to speak, a child appeared out of nowhere, bumping into Poppy’s leg.

Declan swiftly caught the child.

From behind, she heard Sean Lynch’s cheerful voice.

"Poppy? Didn’t you say you weren’t coming? I knew you’d relent!"

Poppy then remembered.

This hotel was evidently where Sean Lynch and Stella Hollis were hosting their wedding.