Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

Chapter 218: Chapter 218: Too Intimate

Ivy Sherwood didn’t think much of his "I like you." She knew it was just the kind of thing friends say to each other.

Ivy Sherwood raised her glass to Julian Grant twice more, substituting milk for wine.

She had a refreshing and pleasant presence, and she was straightforward and clever in both word and deed. Julian Grant quite enjoyed her company.

It was just a gathering of friends, free of any unnecessary drama. Everyone was simply chatting and drinking.

Julian Grant sat down next to Ivy Sherwood, nudging Quentin Blackwood out of the way.

"From now on, Ivy’s problems are my problems. If you need any help, just say the word."

"And let’s keep in touch! You can call or text me anytime, even if there’s nothing going on. Come on, let’s drink!" Julian Grant was the type to warm up to people instantly, and with immense enthusiasm, he clinked his glass against Ivy Sherwood’s.

The man who had been pushed aside narrowed his eyes.

Quentin Blackwood grabbed Julian Grant’s arm. Julian turned to face him, a dazzling smile on his face. "What’s wrong, Old Man Bowers?"

"Didn’t you want to drink? Come, have one with me."

With that, Quentin Blackwood poured a glass of liquor himself.

There was a wide variety of alcohol available—red wine, white spirits, imported liquors. Quentin Blackwood poured a little of each, creating a potent cocktail.

Mixing drinks was a quick way to get wasted. When Quentin handed him the glass, Julian Grant was stuck—he couldn’t accept it, but he couldn’t refuse it either.

"Come on, drink up!" In the end, Julian Grant threw it back in one gulp, even exchanging a look with Graham Sherwood.

They had agreed before Quentin Blackwood arrived: tonight, they were going to drink him under the table.

So the three of them began to drink. Julian Grant was getting dizzy, downing glass after glass. But when he looked over at Quentin Blackwood—’Holy crap, how is he drunk already?’

"When did his tolerance get so bad?" Julian Grant whispered in Graham Sherwood’s ear, letting out a loud burp as he spoke. "BURP. Remember the last time the three of us drank together? He single-handedly drank both of us under the table."

’Was the cocktail I mixed really that effective?’

’I’m still mostly sober. How is Quentin Blackwood already out of it?’

"You don’t look very sober yourself," Graham Sherwood said.

"Says who? I’m perfectly sober." As he spoke, he picked up his glass and raised it toward the empty doorway. "Let’s keep drinking."

Quentin Blackwood was leaning back against the sofa, rubbing his temples. He looked to be in considerable discomfort.

Beside him, Ivy Sherwood offered him her glass of milk. "Did you drink too fast? I think milk helps with the alcohol. Do you want some?"

Resting his forehead on one hand, Quentin Blackwood took the glass of milk from Ivy Sherwood with his other and began drinking it directly.

Graham Sherwood’s eyes flashed with surprise when he saw this.

They all knew about Quentin Blackwood’s infamous germaphobia; he hated touching other people’s things.

Forget strangers—Quentin Blackwood would likely show disdain even if it were something belonging to him or Julian Grant.

’But Ivy had just been drinking from that glass of milk. And Quentin actually took it and just... drank from it?’

’Isn’t that a little too intimate?’

’Could it be true, just as Julian Grant said? Does Quentin Blackwood really have special feelings for Ivy Sherwood?’

’He hadn’t spent much time around Ivy Sherwood. While it was true she had a very pleasant demeanor, he couldn’t see what about her would so thoroughly captivate someone like Quentin Blackwood.’

Ivy Sherwood didn’t know how well Quentin Blackwood could hold his liquor, but he certainly seemed to be feeling unwell.

Quentin hadn’t seemed to want to come to the gathering, only showing up after she had already promised Julian Grant she would be there.

Ivy Sherwood stood up and addressed Julian Grant and Graham Sherwood. "Mr. Grant, President Sherwood, I think President Blackwood has had too much to drink. He’s been so busy lately and probably hasn’t gotten much rest. How about I take him home? We can all get together again another time."

"That’s fine. Just make sure you take good care of him tonight," Graham Sherwood said.

Ivy Sherwood helped Quentin Blackwood to his feet. Just as he was about to collapse, she quickly caught him, letting him lean against her shoulder.

Quentin Blackwood was tall and built; anyone would look petite next to him.

Graham Sherwood worried Quentin might crush her under his weight. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that Quentin’s tolerance for alcohol shouldn’t be this poor.

Ivy Sherwood struggled to lead Quentin Blackwood away. As they were leaving, she called out to Julian Grant, "Mr. Grant, we’re heading out now."

"Ivy’s leaving? No way, we have to keep drinking!" Julian Grant slurred, looking dazed before Graham Sherwood pulled him back.

"With his tolerance, he still wants to drink?" Graham said. "You take Quentin home; I’ll get Julian home later."

Ivy Sherwood led Quentin Blackwood out of the private room upstairs and took the elevator down. Quentin’s car was in the parking lot outside.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the clubhouse that day, a group of Lustre’s socialites were having their own gathering.

Sylvia Blackwood and Yara Scott were there, along with some other socialites from prominent families.

The Blackwood family had been at the center of a huge online scandal recently. No one dared to discuss it in front of Sylvia Blackwood, so they had to find another topic. And the most gossip-worthy person among them, besides the Blackwoods, was Cheryl Yates.

"Have you guys noticed Cheryl hasn’t been around for ages? I wonder what happened to her."

"Who knows? She always looked down on us, acting like she was Lustre’s ’top talent’ or something, so much more refined than the rest of us. Her whole attitude was nauseating," one of them said, admiring her freshly manicured nails with a vicious expression.

"I think I saw her going to a therapist the other day. In any case, who knows what’s up with her."

"It’s definitely nothing good. If it were, she would’ve been here lording it over us by now. You all know what she’s like."

"I’ve been sick of Cheryl Yates for ages. Maybe she’s finally getting what she deserves."

Sylvia Blackwood was in a foul mood, drinking silently off to the side. Meanwhile, Yara Scott was chatting with the others, eagerly joining in on the Cheryl-bashing.

She had tried to get on Cheryl Yates’s good side before, but Cheryl had been dismissive. That’s just how people were. They’d kiss up to you when you were riding high, but the moment you stumbled, no one would be there to help you up.

Just then, a socialite burst in from outside. "Sylvia, I think I just saw Ivy Sherwood out there! I’m not totally sure it was her, but she was practically holding up some guy. You should go take a look!"

Sylvia Blackwood shot to her feet. "Are you serious?"

"She just broke off the engagement with your brother and she’s already moved on? Or maybe she found someone else first, and that’s why she broke it off. Look at the state of your brother’s reputation now—it’s all because of Ivy Sherwood."

Sylvia Blackwood couldn’t stand hearing any of it. She already despised Ivy Sherwood. The Blackwood Family had been doing perfectly fine, and now it was in this mess, all because of her!

Her father and brother had a complete falling out, and her brother didn’t even come home anymore.

Sylvia Blackwood stormed out in a rage. The moment she was gone, the others in the private room started gossiping about her.

"You really can’t say anything to her face. I have no idea who invited her to this gathering anyway. Look at her, she’s just as obnoxious as Cheryl Yates."

"I’ve never been able to stand her. What’s with that act? Her brother is disgusting, and she’s cut from the same cloth."