Following Iris Pryce's decision, Summer Thorne left for the Sutton Group after breakfast.
She spent the entire day at the company, not leaving until evening. Then, with Austin Sutton's assistant, Evan Cheney, in tow, she headed to The Lapis Club downtown.
Summer Thorne was there to see Hugh Underwood.
Hugh Underwood's company had once been the Sutton Group's primary partner. They still had two or three joint projects under construction. But as soon as news of the Sutton Group's financial crisis broke, Hugh Underwood immediately halted all of them. He would rather watch the projects rack up losses than give the Sutton Group the slightest chance.
And now, he was the Sutton Group's best hope for a breakthrough.
"We don't even have an appointment. I doubt it'll be that easy to get a meeting..."
From the start, Evan Cheney had been pessimistic about the trip.
Summer Thorne, however, simply told him to get the new contract ready. She then grabbed two bottles of red wine and marched straight to Hugh Underwood's private room.
The attendant at the door watched her vigilantly. Summer Thorne offered a small smile. "I'm here to deliver some wine to Mr. Underwood."
"Please wait."
The attendant quickly went inside to inquire, then reopened the door and led Summer Thorne in.
Two men were seated in the private room. Besides Hugh Underwood, Summer Thorne also recognized Gale Fawley, the fourth young master of the Fawley Family, who was in the seat of honor.
Hugh Underwood seemed not to have registered at first. Seeing Summer Thorne now, he was even more dumbfounded. "Who told you to bring wine?"
Smiling, Summer Thorne placed the two bottles of red wine on the table before speaking. "Mr. Underwood, my name is Summer Thorne, Austin Sutton's daughter. I heard you were dining here tonight, so I took the liberty of bringing a couple of bottles for you to try."
Hugh Underwood had been stroking his chin, sizing her up with interest. But when she stated her name, he froze for a second. "Austin Sutton's daughter?"
"The one and only."
Hugh Underwood's expression instantly turned haughty. "Fine. I'll accept the wine. You can leave now."
A fetching smile remained on Summer Thorne's face. "I wouldn't want to impose, Mr. Underwood. I was just wondering when I might have the chance to treat you to dinner?"
Hugh Underwood, knowing full well why she was there, waved his hand impatiently. "I'm busy lately. Dinner, whatever—we'll talk some other time."
A flicker of embarrassment crossed Summer Thorne's face. She glanced up at the other two men in the room.
Just then, Gale Fawley let out a soft chuckle and came to her rescue. "Now, Mr. Underwood, that's hardly fair. Miss Thorne brought two excellent bottles of wine. Surely that's worth more than just a single dinner?"
"Of course it's good wine, and I can't just take it for free." Hugh Underwood's tone with Gale Fawley was markedly respectful. He shot another glance at Summer Thorne. "Since you brought the wine, isn't there some other way you can show your sincerity? Did your father not teach you these things?"
Seeing Hugh Underwood drumming his fingers on the table, Summer Thorne knew exactly what he meant.
"You're right, I've been thoughtless. It was an oversight." Summer Thorne smiled, walked to the table, and reached for the decanter.
Hugh Underwood raised an eyebrow. "The red wine?"
Summer Thorne paused, then turned toward the carafe of baijiu.
Hugh Underwood finally seemed satisfied. "Don't bother with a small glass. Just use that. Drink three full ones. That'll be your show of sincerity."
A single carafe held 200ml of liquor. Hugh Underwood was dead set on making things difficult for her. He leaned back in his chair, quietly waiting for her to act.
The liquor was fragrant and clear, but to Summer Thorne, it was anything but appealing.
She braced herself, ready to down it in one go.
But as she raised the carafe, she failed to notice that everyone else in the room was now looking at someone behind her.
The rim had just touched her lips when a hand reached out from behind, gently but firmly pressing down on the base of the carafe.
Summer Thorne froze. Her eyes fell on those well-defined fingers, and her heart skipped a beat.
As she slowly looked up, she saw Timothy York standing beside her, his gaze heavy as he watched her with a quiet, profound intensity.
A whirlwind of images flooded Summer Thorne's mind.
Timothy York simply took the carafe from her, set it back on the table, and asked coolly, "Are you all better?"
Summer Thorne was about to answer, but for some reason, her mind flashed back to the last time she'd seen him—to that night in the hotel room, to the hand that had unzipped her dress...
Her gaze landed on Timothy York's handsome, sharply-defined features, and she found herself at a loss for words.
Clearly, no one in the room had expected this. Hugh Underwood's expression practically froze on his face—
'He knew Summer Thorne was Mason Crawford's wife, but what was going on with York? Why was he speaking to her like that, protecting her?'
Ignoring everything else, he scrambled to his feet, gesturing for Timothy York to take the seat of honor. "Mr. York, hello. My name is Hugh Underwood. It's truly an honor to host you and Mr. Fawley for dinner."
Timothy York's gaze fell upon him, and he gave a slight nod. "You're too kind, Mr. Underwood. Since we're in the same business world, it's only right that we interact."
He was the very picture of a dapper gentleman, his politeness laced with just the right amount of distance.
A man of his stature had no need to grovel; his impeccable upbringing and refined manners were enough to leave one feeling both honored and intimidated.
Summer Thorne finally snapped out of her daze.
'So he was one of Hugh Underwood's guests too.'
'To run into him so unexpectedly... and he'd helped me again.'
Summer Thorne gathered her composure and offered a faint smile. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. York. I'm almost fully recovered."
Timothy York heard her, acknowledged with a quiet hum, and then said, "If you're recovered, shouldn't you be taking better care of yourself?"
His tone was level—concerned, but not overly so.
Hugh Underwood suddenly seemed to realize something. He slapped his forehead and laughed. "Look at my terrible memory! I'd forgotten—given the relationship between the Carrington and York families, Mr. York is an elder. Summer Thorne should follow Mr. Crawford and call him 'Uncle,' right? No wonder, no wonder..."
The moment he finished speaking, the room fell silent.
The silence was so strange that Hugh Underwood had no choice but to keep talking, trying to smooth over the awkwardness.
"My fault, my fault entirely. I didn't know Miss Thorne was ill. She just seemed a bit tense, so I thought a drink might help her relax." Hugh Underwood beamed at Summer Thorne. "You won't hold it against Mr. Underwood, will you?"
'Some people have never studied Sichuan opera, but they've certainly mastered the art of changing faces.'
'Hugh Underwood wasn't even forty. A moment ago, he was forcing her to down three drinks, and now he was calling himself her 'uncle'.'
'Of course. By calling himself her 'uncle,' he could put himself on the same generational level as Timothy York.'
At this thought, Summer Thorne glanced at Timothy York again.
Timothy York had already moved to the other side of Gale Fawley and taken a seat, his gaze lowered.
Summer Thorne quickly averted her gaze and looked back at Hugh Underwood, making a move to leave. "You're too kind, Mr. Underwood. It's not a good time, since you're entertaining important guests. We can reschedule for another day. I won't disturb you any longer."
"Now you're just being a stranger!" Hugh Underwood quickly stopped her. "What's this about disturbing us? You, me, Mr. York—we're all family here. Since you've come all this way, you should join us. I'm sure Mr. York and Mr. Fawley won't mind."
Summer Thorne dropped the pretense and sat down gracefully. She looked up at Timothy York with a faint smile. "Then I'm really benefiting from your presence. Thank you..."
The man watched her, and for a split second, a startling darkness flashed through his deep-set eyes.
The familial title rolled on the tip of her tongue, but what she ultimately said was—
"Thank you, Mr. York."
When she looked again, Timothy York's jet-black eyes were as placid as still water.
That flicker of darkness seemed to have been a figment of her imagination.