Chapter 9
It took Kerry exactly one minute and two seconds to figure out what the receptionist was so hyped about.
When she pushed open the heavy glass door to the VIP reception room, she was met with a deeply satisfying sight. Maggie Dolley was sitting on one side of the coffee table, looking like she was caught between sheer panic and awe. Sitting across from her, partially obscured by the high-backed leather sofa, was a man.
Kerry only needed to see the crisp line of his dark hair and the edge of his collar to know exactly who it was.
She walked around the sofa, her posture impeccable, and offered a polite, professional smile. "Mr. Condon."
Clifton Condon didn't even lift his eyelids. His devastatingly handsome face was completely devoid of emotion. He didn't say a word.
Desperate to regain control of the room, Maggie snapped at Kerry. "Ms. Jones. In the future, when you sign a contract with a client, you need to report it to management immediately." Maggie nervously checked Clif’s expression out of the corner of her eye. Seeing him remain completely silent, she pushed harder, trying to throw Kerry under the bus. "Otherwise, situations like this happen, and we end up making a VIP wait."
Kerry didn't miss a beat. "I was under the impression that only finalized contracts required immediate reporting. Does that apply to trial-period agreements as well?"
Maggie nearly choked. She was already furious that Kerry had somehow secretly landed a whale like Clifton Condon, and she’d deliberately tried to dump the blame on Kerry to save face. She hadn't expected Kerry to openly talk back in front of him.
Swallowing her rage, Maggie forced a sickeningly sweet smile. "Mr. Condon isn't just any regular client. Even for a trial contract, Vanguard provides the absolute highest level of service."
She turned her entire body toward Clif, her voice dropping an octave into a cloying purr. "Mr. Condon, since you don't care for tea, can I have someone bring you a coffee? Or perhaps some fresh juice?"
Clif was casually scrolling through his phone. Without looking up, he delivered a flat, icy response. "No."
Maggie refused to die. "Then let me have someone prepare a plate of fresh fruit and pastries for you." She immediately shot Kerry a sharp look, silently ordering her to go play waitress.
Technically, Vanguard had dedicated hospitality staff for that. Kerry didn't actually mind fetching a plate if it meant watching Maggie grovel, but the second she shifted her weight to leave, Clif finally spoke.
"I came here to hire a tutor," Clif said, his voice a low, lethal drawl. "Not a maid."
Boom.
The look on Maggie Dolley's face was nothing short of spectacular. Her fake smile froze, cracking at the edges. She didn't dare drop the smile, but she was visibly suffocating. She dealt with elite corporate executives every single day, but she had never met a man who spoke with such casual, effortless cruelty.
The silence in the room was absolute agony. Kerry didn't say a word to smooth things over. Let her burn. Kerry could tolerate Maggie’s petty office sabotage, but watching someone else publicly execute her boss was a perk she fully intended to enjoy.
After several torturous seconds, Maggie’s face burned a dark red. She forced out a strained, breathless laugh. "Haha... Mr. Condon, you really have a great sense of humor."
Clif finally raised his eyes. He stared dead at Maggie.
Instantly, Maggie felt like she had been pinned to her chair by an invisible, crushing weight. She didn't dare move. Her smile completely shattered.
Just as Kerry thought Clif was going to leave it at that, he leaned forward slightly, his expression dead serious. "Are you really incapable of telling the difference between a joke and reality?"
The tension was so thick it was hard to breathe. But for some inexplicable reason, Kerry’s brain short-circuited, and she suddenly had the overwhelming urge to laugh. She quickly ducked her head, biting the inside of her cheek to maintain her composure.
Maggie was actively internally combusting. She couldn't hold Clif's gaze, but she couldn't look away, either. Thankfully, a knock at the door shattered the standoff. An assistant hurried in with the printed contracts.
Maggie didn't dare utter another unnecessary syllable. She practically bowed as she escorted them to the elevator bank. It wasn't until the silver doors finally slid shut that the strained, terrified smile melted off her face.
Inside the elevator, Kerry stood one step behind Clif. She held her leather briefcase in front of her, her posture rigidly professional. The mirrored walls of the elevator reflected the quiet space between them.
"If you want to laugh, laugh," Clif said suddenly.
Kerry blinked, her eyes darting to his reflection in the steel doors. He was watching her right back. How the hell did he know? She’d been staring at her shoes the entire time in the office.
"I helped you again," Clif noted, his tone entirely unreadable.
Kerry gave a slight nod. "Thank you, Mr. Condon."
What else was she supposed to say? You’re like a terrifying psychic tapeworm living in my brain? Probably not the best corporate strategy.
"Gratitude is better kept in your heart than on your lips," Clif said coldly. "More importantly, gratitude needs to be translated into action."
Kerry quickly calculated the warning. She knew exactly what he wanted. "Don't worry," she replied smoothly. "You are my first official client in this city. Professionally and personally, I will give it my absolute best."
I practically swore a blood oath to raise your son like my own flesh and blood, she thought. Hopefully, that doesn't count as taking advantage of you again.
The elevator let them out directly into the VIP underground garage. Clif unlocked a sleek, gunmetal-gray Lamborghini Urus.
Kerry hesitated by the back door. "Do you mind if I sit in the back?"
"Front," Clif ordered.
Kerry obediently slid into the passenger seat and pulled the seatbelt across her chest. She knew Clif wasn't a man for small talk, and honestly, they had nothing to talk about. The second the SUV merged onto the sunlit streets, she opened her briefcase and started reviewing her lesson plans.
The July sun was blazing, the asphalt radiating heat, but inside the cabin, the AC blew a perfect, quiet sixty-eight degrees. It was as comfortable as sitting in a high-end office.
Kerry was deep in her notes, mentally mapping out her strategy for the kid, when the Lamborghini suddenly slammed on its brakes.
Kerry pitched forward violently. The seatbelt locked, digging into her collarbone. She managed to keep her grip on her papers, but her briefcase slid off her lap and crashed onto the floorboard.
Her heart leaped into her throat. She looked up.
Less than six feet in front of their bumper was a cherry-red Ferrari 599. White smoke puffed from its quad exhaust pipes. The engine was roaring aggressively. It was a blatant, screaming provocation.
The light turned green. Before Kerry could even process what was happening, the Ferrari launched forward. Clif’s face remained entirely blank. He accelerated, keeping a steady, normal pace, completely ignoring the taunt.
But the Ferrari slowed down again, deliberately boxing the Urus in. Clif flicked his turn signal to switch to the left lane. The Ferrari immediately swerved left, cutting him off again.
Kerry stole a glance at Clif. His jaw was set, his lips pressed into a thin, beautiful line. He didn't look angry. Everyone says he’s a psychotic tyrant who sets the city on fire, she thought. But look at him. So calm. We should all take notes.
The Ferrari boxed them in for two solid blocks. They caught another red light. This time, they were the only two cars lined up at the intersection.
Kerry watched the Ferrari rev its engine again. This guy is pushing his luck, she thought. Maybe we should just pull over and call the cops?
She opened her mouth to suggest it.
The light flashed green.
Before the words left her throat, Clif slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The speedometer violently whipped past sixty, pushing a hundred in a matter of seconds. The gap between the two cars vanished. He didn't swerve. He aimed the heavy grill of the Lamborghini directly at the Ferrari’s ass.
CRASH.
The sickening crunch of metal on metal echoed through the cabin. Clif didn't just rear-end the sports car—he kept his foot on the gas, physically bulldozing the Ferrari down the street for a solid fifty yards.
Kerry forgot how to breathe. She gripped the papers in her hand so hard her knuckles turned white, her brain entirely short-circuiting in pure panic.
