After Betrayal - I Married a Handsome Tycoon-Chapter 7: Try Me

Moira Sloan didn’t answer, tacitly agreeing.

Their eyes met, a silent battle of wills brewing between them.

To be more precise, it was Moira Sloan who was putting up a fight.

She found Connor Quinn to be a rather uninteresting person—the sullen, reserved type, and completely clueless about women. He clearly wanted to flirt with her, yet when she asked for one small favor, he shut her down instantly.

He didn’t just deny her; he put on a sour face while doing it.

Beautiful people were always given preferential treatment, and Moira Sloan’s advantages in this area were God-given. Add to that the fact that her job made her an ’artist’ of sorts, and it was no surprise she had a certain pride in her bones.

The next second, Moira Sloan gave a derisive laugh, grabbing her handbag and turning to leave.

’Fine, don’t help then.’

’The world will keep spinning without him.’

As Moira Sloan descended the wooden staircase in her high heels, her steps made a sharp CLACK-CLACK-CLACK sound.

Seeing her come downstairs, the men sitting on the first floor all turned their heads in unison.

Moira Sloan acted as if she hadn’t seen them. The hem of her floral dress swayed as she walked past, leaving a faint trail of perfume in her wake.

"Did they... have a falling-out?"

"She’s that gorgeous, and Connor still won’t spoil her a little?"

"The owner of the Miss Gorgeous salon on the next street is pretty too, isn’t she? She tried to climb into Connor’s bed when he was drunk, and he still threw her out."

"Can you even compare the salon owner to this girl? This girl is..."

Before the man could finish his sentence, Connor Quinn came down from the second floor with a grim face. Without a word, he strode out the door on his long legs.

"See? What did I tell you? Connor can’t let her go."

"But this girl... I wonder if Connor can even handle her."

Meanwhile, after leaving Connor Quinn’s tattoo shop, Moira Sloan shot a glance at Shane Jennings before standing by the curb to wait for a taxi.

She had been too consumed by her anger just now to get a good look at him.

Looking at him more closely now, she saw he’d lost weight. His aura was still as distinguished as ever, but his eyes were haggard, devoid of their former light.

As Moira Sloan watched Shane Jennings, he was also watching her.

He looked refined and gentlemanly. If not for his tense jaw, she might have thought he’d become some transcendent being, without desire or want, feeling neither sorrow nor joy.

Their eyes met, and Shane Jennings started walking toward her.

Moira Sloan clutched her handbag, thinking, ’When he gets over here, I’m going to smack him with it.’

But before she could put her plan into action, a taxi stopped in front of her. A large hand settled on her lower back and shoved her into the car. The next moment, the person who’d pushed her slid in beside her.

Moira turned her head and saw Connor Quinn sitting next to her. His gaze was icy as he told the driver in a slightly lazy tone, "West Alley."

West Alley—where Moira’s grandmother lived.

Moira subconsciously wanted to argue, but the taxi was already in motion. She was still thinking about the man on the other side of the road, so she turned her head, her peripheral vision catching a glimpse out the window as she pressed her lips together.

’West Alley it is, then,’ she thought. ’It’s been a while since I was last there, anyway.’

As the car drove on, the figure outside the window gradually shrank until it was just a tiny dot.

Moira turned back around, her gaze sweeping over Connor Quinn. She was still angry. Since she couldn’t vent her frustration on the main culprit, she directed it at this indirect one instead. With a petulant little huff, she said, "I thought you refused."

Connor Quinn said, "I still haven’t agreed to anything."

Moira was speechless.

’True,’ she thought. ’He still hasn’t said he’s my boyfriend.’

Moira was left speechless by his retort. She leaned her supple body back against the seat and pulled out her phone, about to mindlessly scroll through short videos. But then, an idea struck her. Her attempt to vent her anger had failed; it was time to turn it into a provocation. She leaned toward Connor Quinn until her red lips brushed against his earlobe. Her breath was a warm, fragrant puff with each word. "Master Quinn," she whispered, "are you really six feet tall?"

Connor Quinn sat ramrod straight, his expression rigid and unfeeling.

Just as Moira thought her provocation would finally get a rise out of him, he turned to face her. His eyes landed on her captivating red lips. In a cold voice, he replied, "Why don’t you find out?"