Chapter 209: A Mysterious Woman
Blaine Jackson finally understood why Lucas Zeller was so particular about Claire Grace's diet.
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"Claire, can we pick a different place to eat? Like, say, a French restaurant?" Blaine squinted at the bustling crowd ahead, his sharp almond-shaped eyes narrowing into slits as his brow furrowed deeply, almost pinching a fly to death.
"What? You promised to take me wherever I wanted to eat, and now you're backing out? What's so great about French food? I absolutely loathe foie gras and that dreadful truffle stuff. I endured it for over a year in France; please don't bring it up again." Claire crossed her arms, striking an exaggeratedly intimidating teapot stance, her large eyes glaring at him. Just the thought of foie gras made her stomach turn.
"But these street stalls look unsanitary, and the crowd is overwhelming. I'm worried it'll be inconvenient for you to move around," Blaine tried to reason, searching for any excuse.
"I'm not pregnant and waddling around, you know," Claire shot him a sideways glance before stepping out of the car. "If you're not coming, feel free to head back. I'll eat and catch a cab home myself."
"Hey, you're being so unreasonable!" Blaine muttered under his breath, hurriedly following her out of the car. Walking behind her, he stretched his arms protectively to shield her from the jostling pedestrians.
"Blaine, come on, have some pity on me. Just let me indulge this once. Don't worry, I'll treat you," Claire turned back, flashing him a bright smile.
Blaine could only sigh in resignation as he trailed behind her. He failed to notice the two astonished pairs of eyes watching them from the crowd.
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Claire stopped in front of a small food stall, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to the golden, crispy snacks frying in the pan. "Excuse me, can I get two coffin sandwiches? Oh, and make sure to add some extra spicy chicken liver in them."
"Sure thing. Please wait a moment." The stall owner, surprised but delighted to see such stylishly dressed customers eating at his humble stall, grinned from ear to ear. In no time, he handed over two steaming coffin sandwiches to Claire.
"Thanks, sir." Claire paid for the food, pulled Blaine closer, and handed him one of the sandwiches. "Here, try it—it's amazing."
Blaine stared at the oddly fragrant snack, clearly hesitant to take a bite.
"You turn your nose up at foie gras, but you're happily eating this stuff and even asking for extra chicken liver?" He sounded utterly baffled.
"Ugh, it's totally different! Just give it a try—you'll see. Back in college, I practically lived on these. Come on, hurry up! Once we finish these, I'll take you to try some other snacks, like scallion pancakes, grass jelly, or satay noodles…" Claire rattled off a list of local delicacies while enthusiastically digging into her own sandwich.
Blaine watched as she devoured the snack with gusto, as if it were the most delectable thing in the world. Still, he couldn't bring himself to take a bite.
"Blaine, coffin sandwiches taste best when they're hot. If they cool down, the filling won't taste as good. I'm telling you, you'll regret it if you don't eat it," Claire coaxed, her lively eating style practically daring him to join her.
Finally, hunger from a long day of work won out. Taking a deep breath, Blaine bit into the crispy crust of the sandwich with the determination of a warrior charging into battle.
As the rich, spicy filling burst into his mouth, the flavors melded in a way that took him by surprise. His eyes widened in astonishment.
Claire burst out laughing at his expression. "See? Didn't I tell you? Coffin sandwiches are way better than foie gras, right?"
"I hate to admit it since you look so smug, but yeah, it's pretty good." Blaine nodded, now enthusiastically eating. Between bites, he joked, "I wonder if French chefs would drop dead from shock if they knew coffin sandwiches could beat foie gras."
"Pfft—" Claire couldn't help but laugh. "Alright, let's move on to the next stall."
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Meanwhile, Lucas Zeller stepped out of his office building, his phone suddenly ringing.
"Mr. Zeller, do you still recognize my voice?" A saccharine, cloying female voice greeted him, instantly setting his teeth on edge.
Seeing the unfamiliar number on the caller ID, Lucas didn't bother replying and hung up immediately.
However, the phone rang again the next second, showing the same number. Lucas swore under his breath, his irritation boiling over.
Grumbling, he picked up. "You'd better have a good reason for calling me. I'm not in a great mood, and my patience is wearing thin. If this is pointless, hang up and stop wasting my time!" Damn it, didn't this person know he was in a rush to get home and make dinner for his wife?
"Mr. Zeller, you're just as impatient as I remember," the woman on the line purred. "And here I was, going to share some news with you. It's about your wife, by the way. But since you're not interested, I'll hang up—"
"Cut the nonsense! Who are you, and what's your angle?" Lucas snapped, cutting her off before she could finish her sentence.
"Oh, I have no angle. I just couldn't stand how you treated me before, yet you put your wife on a pedestal. Too bad, though. Your beloved wife seems awfully cozy with another man—sharing food, feeding each other. So intimate."
"You know my wife?" Lucas asked, his voice colder now.
"Ha! I didn't before. But after seeing the new ad for your company's perfume, it wasn't hard to figure out. She's the face of your campaign, isn't she? And the man with her? Blaine Jackson—award-winning stylist, owner of Blue Haven Studio."
Lucas frowned but remained unperturbed. "Blaine's a close friend and consultant for our company. It's normal for them to be seen together. But you—if you're trying to drive a wedge between us, I'd advise you to give up. It won't work."
"You!" The woman faltered, then hissed, "Fine. I was only trying to help, to warn you about your wife cheating on you. But if you want to live in denial, that's on you."
"Who the hell are you?" Lucas asked sharply.
"Huh?" The woman seemed startled, hesitated, and then abruptly hung up.