Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

Chapter 63: Chapter 63: Quentin Blackwood Saw Her True Face Again

Ivy Sherwood had a skillful touch. Perhaps because it was so soothing, the tension in Quentin Blackwood’s brow slowly eased.

Ivy Sherwood then found a light throw blanket and covered Quentin Blackwood with it. When she stood up, she took in his features.

He was truly handsome. His features were like starlight seen through mist—deeply defined, exuding an air of proud indifference. His sharply angled brows, long and slender, still held a keen edge. The outer corners of his long, narrow eyes were tinged red from the alcohol. With his eyes—usually so arrogant they seemed to look down on the world—closed, he lost some of his cold, distant air.

The Buddha Beads on his wrist lent him an air of piety, an elegance that couldn’t be concealed.

His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his brow, which had just relaxed, furrowed once more. It looked as if he was having a bad dream.

Ivy Sherwood took Quentin Blackwood’s hand in one of hers and gently smoothed the space between his eyebrows with the other.

"It’s alright, it’s alright now." Her voice whispered beside Quentin Blackwood’s ear.

As if he felt some unseen force, Quentin Blackwood’s hand tightened its grip on hers.

After a long while, Ivy Sherwood’s hand had gone numb. Only then did she manage to pull it from Quentin Blackwood’s grasp.

She couldn’t move Quentin Blackwood, so she had no choice but to let him sleep on the sofa.

By now, it was already two in the morning.

Ivy Sherwood felt flushed and went to the bathroom to wash her face. But when she saw her reflection in the mirror, she froze.

She had forgotten to put on her makeup!

When she was home alone, Ivy Sherwood would naturally wash her face before starting work.

She never expected Quentin Blackwood to show up. When she opened the door, it hadn’t even occurred to her that she wasn’t wearing her usual makeup.

She cupped her flushed face in her hands. Droplets of water from washing it clung to her skin and even her long eyelashes, making her eyes look especially dewy.

’Thank goodness Quentin Blackwood was drunk. He probably didn’t get a good look at me, right?’

Ivy Sherwood could only try to reassure herself with this thought, but her heart still wouldn’t stop pounding.

She quickly washed her face again. After a moment’s thought, she decided to reapply her makeup. Soon, her features were concealed beneath the cosmetics, and Ivy Sherwood was once again her usual self.

When she came out of the bathroom, she saw that Quentin Blackwood was still in the same position on the sofa.

Ivy Sherwood still had some work to finish, so she moved to the side and resumed working.

All she had to do was look up to see Quentin Blackwood. The feeling was strangely wonderful.

Ivy Sherwood usually lived alone. Occasionally, Nina Scott would come over to stay with her. The two of them were so close they could talk about anything. ’To have such a good friend in life is a truly happy and precious thing.’

’Come to think of it, Quentin Blackwood is the first man to ever spend the night here!’

Her brand was launching soon. While most things were settled, there was still a lot to do.

Ivy Sherwood dimmed the lights and kept working until four or five in the morning.

Thinking that Quentin Blackwood’s stomach would probably be upset in the morning after drinking so much, Ivy Sherwood went to the kitchen and started making some porridge.

This way, it would be ready for Quentin Blackwood to drink when he woke up.

Quentin Blackwood’s body ran on a strict internal clock. No matter the day, he always woke up at six in the morning.

He stirred, rubbing his aching temples. As he slowly opened his eyes, he realized he was lying on a small sofa.

The sun rises early in the summer. By now, there was enough light filtering through the window to see the room.

To Quentin Blackwood, this was an unfamiliar place.

The blanket covering him fell away as he shifted.

Quentin Blackwood picked it up. He remembered last night... he had received news about his mother. His mother had always been a wound in his heart that wouldn’t heal—the most heavily guarded, yet most vulnerable part of him.

His mood had been abysmal, so he had gone to his wine cellar and drunk a great deal. With so much on his mind, especially concerning Yvonne Summers and Ivy Sherwood, he had—in a fit of rage, it seemed—ordered his driver to take him to Ivy Sherwood’s home.

He didn’t know where Ivy Sherwood lived, but getting her address was trivially easy for him.

After that, Quentin Blackwood had blacked out. He couldn’t remember what happened next.

His gaze swept across the modest apartment. Though small, it was impeccably tidy. Everything from the design and furnishings to the color scheme created a very warm and cozy atmosphere.

Even though Ivy Sherwood lived alone, she had managed to make it feel like a real home.

His eyes landed on a nearby table, where someone was slumped over it, fast asleep.

Now that the impulsive rage of the previous night had faded, Quentin Blackwood reverted to his usual inscrutable, deeply calculating self.

’In an avalanche, no snowflake is innocent. Even if Ivy Sherwood’s mother was just one of the many flakes, Quentin Blackwood would not go soft. This was the price she and her family had to pay.’

Quentin Blackwood took the blanket and draped it over Ivy Sherwood, who was still asleep at the table.

Ivy Sherwood hadn’t been asleep for long and was a light sleeper anyway. The slightest stir was enough to wake her.

She slowly opened her eyes. They were still hazy and clouded with sleep, yet they shimmered with a clear light.

’Those eyes... they really are beautiful.’

She looked up at Quentin Blackwood with such innocence, a look that was inexplicably vulnerable.

But on her neck was a ring of red marks, looking as if someone had choked her with great force.

The moment she saw Quentin Blackwood’s face, Ivy Sherwood was instantly wide awake.

"You’re awake," she said, quickly straightening up. A glance at her computer screen confirmed it was still very early.

"Do you want to sleep a bit more?"

"No."

Gone was the frantic rage from the night before; the Quentin Blackwood standing before her now was a man of extreme coldness.

Ivy Sherwood didn’t bring up what happened last night. Knowing Quentin Blackwood’s temperament, he would probably refuse to discuss it anyway.

"I have other matters to attend to. I’m leaving," Quentin Blackwood said, turning to go.

"Wait!" Ivy Sherwood grabbed Quentin Blackwood’s wrist. The second her palm touched his warm skin, it felt like an electric shock. She instantly let go and snatched her hand back.

"You drank so much last night. It’s bad for your stomach. If you leave now, you’ll have a headache all day. I made some porridge. You should eat some to line your stomach first while I go make you some hangover soup."

Without waiting for a reply, Ivy Sherwood went straight to the kitchen.

’Thank goodness I had the foresight to put my makeup back on last night,’ she thought. ’From the looks of it, Quentin doesn’t remember what I looked like.’

’Then again, after drinking that much, how could he possibly remember anything!’

Quentin Blackwood watched her disappear into the kitchen, then glanced down at the papers Ivy Sherwood had left on the table. Most of them were printed data analyses. She had clearly done a lot of market research—a lot of homework.

It looked like Ivy Sherwood hadn’t slept at all.

The porridge was already done. Ivy Sherwood had turned off the heat before she dozed off, letting it sit and steam. It was now perfectly soft.

She had also prepared a few small side dishes, which she quickly brought out.

The fragrant aroma of rice filled the air, and Quentin Blackwood did feel a pang of hunger. But he had warned himself time and again not to get too involved with Ivy Sherwood.

"It’s not necessary. I’m not hungry." His voice was cold and distant.