Novel Storm
52
52
Connor took a drag of his cigarette, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
“But if you think I can be of any help in your work, and you haven’t found someone to replace me, I’m ready to give it my all until the end, Camila continued.
“You’ve said it all.”
Camila gave a sheepish smile, waiting quietly for him to speak.
Connor stubbed out his cigarette and said indifferently, “Don’t be late tomorrow.”
“Good night, Mr. Connor,” Camila responded with a nod.
Connor’s lips curved slightly upwards as he returned to his study with a poker face and said, “You may continue.”
“How did it go?” Erica asked anxiously.
“It was him.”
Erica looked at Camila in disbelief. “He went that far?”
Camila nodded, “He must have spent millions to settle the matter, but Connor doesn’t want Tucker to have an easy life.” NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.
Erica was stunned, “Wow! A few million? Well, that’s a lifetime of ease. Speaking of which, do you think your boss might actually like you?”
Camila rolled her eyes, “You’ve been reading too many novels?”
“The self–made wealthy are less traditional about marriage. Connor fits the bill of tall, rich, and handsome. Marrying him wouldn’t be a loss for you.”
“You are getting more and more absurd. Tall, rich, and handsome has nothing to do with me. I’m just happy with the high salary he pays.”
The next day, Camila arrived on time at Cedarhill Estate, made coffee as usual, and went to wake Connor up.
At the breakfast table, David had already served their breakfast. Camila took a sip of milk and bit into a pancake, suddenly feeling queasy.
“Oh…” She couldn’t control the nausea.
Connor and David watched her intently. Camila, embarrassed, said, “Excuse me…” and covered her mouth as she rushed to the bathroom, hugging the toilet as she vomited uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face.
After a while, she walked out of the bathroom. Both sets of eyes were still fixed on her.
“Camila, are you feeling alright?” David asked.
Camila quickly waved her hand, not admitting to the onion in the pancake, “It’s nothing, just a sensitive stomach.”
Connor pursed his lips, his anxiety apparent. He glanced at Camila, his expression turning dark and unreadable.
“Let’s go.”
“Mr. Connor, you haven’t eaten anything…” David began.
I’m not hungry.”
Connor grabbed a set of car keys from the cabinet and pulled Camila by the arm towards the elevator. “Get in the car.”
Connor pressed the lock on the Bentley, leaving Camila and the driver baffled.
“We’re going somewhere. You don’t need to follow,” Connor told the driver.
Camila hurriedly followed, buckling her seatbelt, and turned to stare at Connor in the driving seat, whose handsome face was filled with
worries.
The car quickly left the parking lot, not heading towards the office.
“Mr. Connor, where are we going?”
“To the hospital.”
“The hospital?” Camila was puzzled./Mr. Connor, are you feeling unwell?”
“It’s not me. It’s you,” Connor said flatly without turning his head..
“Me? I’m fine. Camila glanced at herself.
At the traffic light, Connor gently applied the brakes and turned to look at Camila’s stomach.