Overbearing CEO's Contract Love
Chapter 217: The Pursuit of a Wealthy Bachelor

Chapter 217: The Pursuit of a Wealthy Bachelor

Emma Hart’s gaze lingered on Damien Sterling, scrutinizing every detail.

"Stop staring. If I said I didn’t do it, then I didn’t do it."

Even now, Damien Sterling staunchly refused to admit anything, and Emma Hart couldn’t be bothered to argue with him any further.

If she were to find out it was indeed his doing, he’d probably feel utterly embarrassed.

Alright, Emma thought, understanding his need to feign innocence.

Just then, Damien’s phone rang.

Emma couldn’t help but sneak a peek, noticing it was a call from Damien’s assistant.

Damien answered the call, and all Emma could hear was the assistant’s voice on the other end, "Mr. Sterling, do we need to send more water trucks?" Upon hearing his assistant, Damien’s face turned grim, "No, we don’t!" he responded coldly, then hung up.

Damien cleared his throat, but Emma had already heard everything.

She couldn’t help but burst into laughter. The assistant’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Looking up, she saw Damien glaring at her. Emma pressed her lips together, trying to contain her amusement, but the laughter just wouldn’t stop. She covered her mouth with her hand, her laughter only growing as she saw Damien’s expressionless face, his demeanor now slightly awkward.

A hearty laugh echoed through the car, reaching Damien’s ears. How could her sense of humor be so simple? Did she really find it that funny? Wasn’t all of this for her sake?

Eventually, Damien couldn’t help but snap, "Try laughing again!."

"Alright, alright, I’ll stop laughing," Emma managed to say, barely holding back.

But no sooner had she finished her sentence than she burst into laughter again, her amusement uncontrollable at the sight of Damien’s stern face. She forced her mouth shut for the third time, yet the memory of Damien instructing his assistant to call in the water trucks sent her into another fit of laughter, filling the car with the sound of her mirth, while Damien sat across from her, his face as stoic as ever.

In the gentle breeze, the car smoothly sailed forward, the scenery on either side blurring into a swift backward motion.

Inside, Damien Sterling’s voice, authoritative yet tinged with a hint of helplessness, filled the space, "Emma Hart, if you keep laughing, I might just have to..."

"And do what exactly?" Emma Hart retorted with a hint of defiance, seizing the rare opportunity to tease Damien Sterling for his apparent weak spot. He had done something, yet he dared not admit it.

The car then was filled with a stifled silence.

Suddenly, Emma’s protest was silenced by Damien’s lips pressing firmly against hers.

"Mmm..."

Her eyes widened in surprise, while Damien half-closed his, savoring the sweetness of Emma’s lips.

The driver, catching a glimpse through the rearview mirror, only saw Damien covering Emma’s entire head with his, guessing but politely turning away with a suppressed smile.

The car was enveloped in a harmonious, sweet atmosphere that even made the driver feel a few years younger.

Upon reaching the villa, Emma leapt from the car, only for her arm to be caught by Damien.

With a swift pull from Damien, Emma turned to face him, puzzled by his sudden seriousness, as if he had become an iceberg.

After a moment of silence, she asked, "What is it?"

"Stay away from that man!" Damien warned.

"Who?" Emma inquired.

"Who do you think?" With a thought, Emma realized Damien must be referring to Oliver Westmore. Yet, she chose not to engage in this topic with Damien, cleverly slipping her hand from his grasp, "I don’t know who you’re talking about," she said, feigning ignorance before hastily retreating into the villa.

The events of the previous day left Emma feeling genuinely apprehensive about Oliver Westmore’s potential further advances.

Despite sending him messages all morning, urging him to stop his futile attempts, Oliver, like a lovestruck teenager, seemed unable to control his feelings and actions.

Sending one last message, Emma was frustrated to find Oliver still hadn’t given up on pursuing her.

Irritated, she left her phone on the table.

How could Oliver be so childish? His persistence reminded Emma of the naive romance of her school days. Only boys of that age could harbor such stubbornness. How could Oliver, a grown man, still act in such a way?

A colleague approached Emma Hart, coffee cup in hand, the rich aroma alone enough to perk her up. She wondered if drinking that coffee would keep her awake tonight.

"Emma, so? Did you say yes to Mr. Westmore? He’s quite the catch!" Emma frowned, a bit frustrated. This was the fifth colleague today to prod her with similar remarks. Deep down, she wanted to retort, "If you’re so interested, why don’t you go for it?"

But that wasn’t Emma’s style. With a resigned smile, she replied, "No way, we’re not compatible. I know my own limits."

The colleague, sensing the mood, didn’t push further, dropping the subject to avoid further discomfort.

Her phone buzzed again with a message from Oliver Westmore, which Emma was hesitant to even read.

"Emma, let’s have lunch together? I’m waiting downstairs for you."

What kind of message was that? Waiting downstairs already? Was he not even giving her a chance to refuse?

Typing out a response, Emma wrote, "Oliver Westmore, please stop this. If you continue, I’m afraid we can’t even remain friends."

Just as she was about to hit send, Damien Sterling’s secretary approached.

"Miss Emma, Mr. Sterling would like to see you."

Emma looked up at the secretary, then back at her phone, noting the time, "What does Damien Sterling want at this hour?"

After a moment’s consideration, she rose to follow the secretary, slipping her phone into her pocket.

In the CEO’s office.

The large office amplified even the echo of heels against the floor, reverberating with the sound of the secretary’s departure and the door closing.

In such a vast room, the man’s tall silhouette against the window didn’t seem diminished at all—probably a testament to his imposing aura.