Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Max was blissfully unaware of the havoc his words wreaked, lounging on cloud nine with

the ease of a Sunday morning. It wasn’t fair, not in the leasting on cloud nine with

Brielle’s emotions churned like a tempest inside her, and it took all her willpower to stay anchored in reality.

She wanted to retract her hand, but it was impossible. His touch was feather-light, barely there. Yet to her, it felt as heavy as a lead weight.

Logic and romance tugged at her in a fierce tug-of-war. At last, she tilted her head slightly towards Max, her voice softening.

“Uncle Max, I didn’t mean to.” Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

Her plan had been simple: visit the Hartley Group to soak in the atmosphere. But then Dustin happened. Dustin, the man who played by no rules, had led to this very moment.

Max turned to glance at her, and something about the tenderness in her eyes, soft as a pool of still water, struck a chord in him. Indeed, Dustin had hit the nail on the head; when she looked vulnerable, it was truly endearing.

The frustration in his chest dissipated unbidden.

“I’m not blaming you.”

Brielle exhaled in relief, then pushed her luck a bit further. “I wanted to call you, Uncle Max, but I didn’t have your number-or your assistant’s.”

She apologized first, then slyly shifted the onus onto Max. He saw through her little ploy, feeling a curious emotion bubble up inside.

Before he could respond, Dustin turned Brielle to face him. “What are you two whispering about?”

His voice carried a note of displeasure, his frown deepening at the sight of their hands together. Years of socializing had honed his ability to sense the subtleties of such interactions, and he felt distinctly uncomfortable.

“So, Mr. Dorsey’s kink is pretty special. Addicted to role-playing?”

Brielle’s lips pursed. If it weren’t for Dustin’s interruption, she was sure Max would’ve given her his private number by now.

Feeling a touch vexed, she couldn’t resist a retort. “Mr. Lynch, if you fancy it, you can call him Uncle Max, too.”

Dustin’s perfect façade nearly cracked, but Max had to add fuel to the fire. “I would mind that.”

1/7/2

They were in cahoots.

Dustin took a few deep breaths to keep from erupting in anger. He straightened up and noticed the seats behind them filling up, which prompted him to warn Brielle.

“Some media outlets have been invited to live-stream the auction.” His implication was clear-if she didn’t want her connection to Max exposed, she’d better keep a low profile.

Brielle understood his hint and murmured a thanks. Standing beside men like Max or Dustin meant passing public scrutiny. A misstep could spell trouble. And her relationship with Max was definitely not

one for the spotlight.

She straightened up and shifted her focus to the stage.

Three hosts had taken their places, and the consultants in the commission seats were busy on their phones, relaying the events unfolding here.

As the first item was unveiled, a cascade of bids erupted, each outdoing the last.

Brielle had once had the privilege of attending a local auction with her professors from Beaconsfield College, but she had never witnessed one of this magnitude. Nearly every face here was a fixture in financial newspapers. There were even a few familiar faces, individuals who had been invited to participate in the graduation speeches at Beaconsfield College in the past.

Brielle herself had no means to participate in such auctions. Her gaze drifted to a nearby seat.

The president of the Hartley Group, a man with blond hair and blue eyes, was seated there. He sat with his arms crossed, noticing her gaze and meeting it with a nod-a basic courtesy.

Brielle returned the gesture, acknowledging the greeting while her mind replayed the news about the Hartley Group.

Dorsey International’s collaboration with them likely meant selling off the unmanned supermarket venture.

In her opinion, Hartley Group should be willing to cooperate with Dorsey International, but after all, she did not understand the business strategy of this president. Therefore, the specific negotiation still depended on the evening party after the auction ends.