Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 121

Christine whispered with a hint of worry, "Are you sure about this? Rupert’s wine collection is no joke in terms of price, right?”

Bridget laughed off the concern casually. "Oh, Rupert takes me here all the time and always insists I help myself to anything. I don’t really pay attention to the prices, but I remember once I knocked over a bottle and it was, what, around fifteen thousand? Rupert didn't fuss over the cost; he was more worried about me getting cut by the broken glass."

"Wow, just casually dropping in a humble brag there. Can we all just take a moment to thank our generous hostess?" a colleague joked.

"Thanks, Bridget," everyone chimed in, half-jokingly.

"Stop it, you guys. I'm going to stop talking now," Bridget said, her face turning a bashful shade of pink, the picture of a shy young woman asserting her territory. Yet, her sideways glances were firmly fixed on Sylvia.

Sylvia, catching the glances, offered a forced smile along with her colleagues. As if she cared about Rupert’s attention or about being the future boss lady.

Then, Christine sidled up to Sylvia with a grin. "Gotta admit, I'm a bit jealous of Ms. Simpson. But you, Sylvia, you probably don't care, right? Your boyfriend must treat you just as well."

"I don’t have a boyfriend," Sylvia clarified.

“But your neck…"

"Dog bite."

Sylvia muttered the explanation under her breath and quickly made her way to find a seat.

When the server arrived with the wine, he made a point of introducing its variety, origin, and, of course, its hefty price tag in front of everyone.

“A 2016 bottle of Romanée-Conti, priced at thirty thousand.”

Everyone gasped, their hands gripping their glasses a little more cautiously.

Bridget, seemingly accustomed to such extravagant displays, waved her hand dismissively. "Please, don't be shy. Drink up."

This led to a round of toasts directed at Bridget, and soon enough, those with a lower tolerance for alcohol were showing signs of tipsiness, their inhibitions significantly lowered.

"Ms. Simpson, didn’t Rupert say he’d join us? Why isn’t he here yet?" someone slurred slightly.

Bridget, leaning on her hand and looking a bit tipsy herself, said, "If he were here right now, we wouldn't be able to enjoy ourselves and drink freely like this. So, I told him to come later."

With that, she pulled out her phone and dialed, her actions drawing a hush over the table. All eyes were on her- except Sylvia’s, who was preoccupied with her meal.

His arrival was so prompt, it was as if he had been waiting just outside.

Dressed casually in a khaki trench coat, a black turtleneck sweater underneath, and dark gray trousers, his simple yet sophisticated attire did nothing to hide his imposing aura.

As Bridget leaned into his embrace, she cooed, “Rupert, I’m feeling a bit sleepy. Take me home?”

The phrase "take me home" couldn’t have been more aptly used.

The moment Rupert entered, everyone stood up to greet him. “Mr. Rupert Garcia.”

He acknowledged them with a nod, his gaze eventually finding Sylvia, who was still focused on her meal.

As Rupert escorted Bridget out, Sylvia felt a momentary sense of relief, until Christine leaned in with a smirk. "Sylvia, you and Rupert are matching with your black turtlenecks. Though, he’s probably not using his to cover up a dog bite, huh?”

Sylvia nearly dropped her fork.

Behind her, Rupert’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment before he finally turned to leave, his expression unreadable.