Dear Ex-wife Marry Me novel (Maja) novel Chapter 1324

The man raised an eyebrow and stood up, making his way to the edge of the small riverboat, the kind used for carrying modest cargo.

Peering into the water, he spotted a figure floating and let out a chuckle.

"Looks like we've hit the jackpot. Tell Omar we've found the man," he said with a smirk.

Quickly, they hauled Fitch aboard.

Fitch was out cold, burning up with fever, his wounds festering, in dire need of proper care.

Abner had just gotten off the phone with Omar, and finding the man so soon had put him in a fairly good mood.

His gaze fell on the figure sprawled on the deck, and he frowned.

If they didn't get a doctor soon, the guy was as good as dead.

And the Haskins family was all aflutter, planning Fitch's funeral, unaware he was bobbing in the water this whole time.

Abner had no desire to untangle those high society secrets.

"Dock this thing and get a doc for him," he commanded.

"Mr. Olson, shouldn't we send a servant instead?"

"Fitch? His friend Ian blocked my shipment just the other week. I didn't chop him into mincemeat only out of respect for Omar."

The inquisitor shrank back, wisely choosing silence.

They were a good distance from Greenfield, in a city about sixty miles out.

As soon as they docked, Fitch was whisked away to an unassuming little villa.

When Omar got the call, he was taken aback; he hadn't expected Fitch to still be breathing.

After hanging up, he turned to Cornelia.

"Fitch is with Abner, who won't bother with proper care. Let's send someone from our side."

"No need. I'll call Mr. Raymond," she replied.

At that, Omar's expression darkened.

Cornelia hadn't even known these men before, and now she seemed chummy with them?

He watched her dial Ian with practiced ease.

Ian had been waiting for any word, but this was sooner than expected.

After a long pause, he asked, "Aside from you, Omar, and Abner, does anyone else know?"

"It shouldn't be out. Mr. Casson says they just fished Fitch out."

"Cornelia, have Zoey look after him."

She thought she'd heard wrong. Zoey?

But Ian's word was law, so she agreed without protest.

When leaving the Casson estate, she pondered a moment before sidling up to Omar and circling his neck with her arms, planting a quick kiss on his lips.

Quid pro quo.

"Mr. Casson, I might need your help again someday."

It was all about solidifying connections, always handy for future needs.

Omar said nothing, his breath quickening.

Then, grabbing the pack of cigarettes beside her, she lit one up.

Her nails were painted a fiery red, a requirement for her latest film role.

Leaning back, she smoked, pondering if only feelings could be turned off as easily as a faucet.

Water under the bridge.

Omar was the only man who had left deep marks on her life. Her first and many times after, she was docile under his body, like a kitten.

Perhaps there had been countless moments of doubt, questioning if Omar was really just a delivery guy.

Could a delivery guy truly be that handsome and well-built?

But the excitement he brought was so intoxicating that she had ignored those uncertainties.

The pain of missing out on an international opportunity, of having her fingers broken, had made her reclusive, holding tightly to whatever she could grasp.

So she clung to Omar when he appeared, as if he was the most important thing in her life.

After finishing her cigarette, Cornelia noticed her cheeks were wet.

She quickly wiped her tears with a tissue.

A soft tap on the car window made her look up to see Omar standing outside, offering a handkerchief.

"Cornelia, I'm sorry. I seem to always make you cry."

Cornelia didn't take the handkerchief, her heart pricked by his gesture.

She rolled up the window and left him with a request, "Send me Fitch's current address. I'll inform Zoey."

With that, she floored the accelerator, not looking back.