I Married the President-Chapter 67: Can’t See His Good Points at All
Adrian Quincy said, "It may or may not be useful. Once you’ve adapted to your current environment, the Astoria Daily will become a powerful tool. It’ll prove its worth eventually."
Claire Sinclair: "..."
’I can’t take it anymore. This guy is so toxic—everything that comes out of his mouth is just cynical, demotivating garbage.’
’I have no idea how my sister put up with this man who’s toxic to his core.’
’Speaking of which...’
’Am I going to turn into a boring person like him in the future? That would be terrifying!’
The thought of turning into a woman with a fossilized mindset, spouting cynical nonsense while still so young, made Claire Sinclair shudder.
"Mr. Quincy, I’m just going to use the restroom..."
Adrian Quincy nodded, watched the girl go into the restroom, and went back to eating his noodles.
Claire went into the restroom, immediately sat on the toilet, and pulled out her phone to text Faye: Faye, if I turn into a woman who talks like a stuffy bureaucrat, will you still love me?
Faye Dean: Of course. I’d still love you even if you became a nun.
Claire-bear: I’m being serious...
Faye Dean: What’s going on?
Claire felt it was too complicated to type, so she sent a voice message in a very low voice: "I’ll vent to you properly when I get to my room. I’m a little busy right now. Talk to you in a bit."
After putting her phone away, Claire washed her hands and returned to the dining room.
Adrian Quincy had nearly finished the noodles in his bowl, leaving only a few mouthfuls of broth.
When Claire saw the clear broth, it reminded her of his toxic advice, and a wave of nausea hit her. She instinctively covered her mouth.
Adrian Quincy asked in a low voice, "Not feeling well?"
The girl shook her head vigorously. "No, no!"
But she didn’t look fine at all.
Adrian Quincy was concerned. "If you’re not feeling well, go get some rest. I can clean up the bowls myself."
"Okay, you can clean up then. I’m heading up!"
With that, Claire Sinclair fled upstairs as if for her life, her footsteps going THUMP THUMP THUMP.
Adrian Quincy drank the rest of the broth down to the last drop, washed the bowls, and walked upstairs.
His footsteps were light, making almost no sound. When he reached the door to her bedroom, he heard the girl venting freely—
"My sister’s old boss is only 28, and he’s insanely handsome, but everything he says is laced with poison. It’s all just cynical, anti-motivational crap! I just had to endure a few doses of it, and I can’t take it anymore. I mean, why does a guy that handsome have to talk like that? Shouldn’t he learn how to flirt like some pop idol?"
Hearing this, the man froze outside the door.
’So that’s why she suddenly ran off just now. She couldn’t stand the way I talk.’
’Is what I say really that unbearable to listen to?’
Just as he was beginning to doubt himself, the girl inside suddenly imitated his tone of voice, repeating something he had said:
"This is how he spouts his poison at me: ’It may or may not be useful. Once you’ve adapted to your current environment, the Astoria Daily will become a powerful tool. It’ll prove its worth eventually.’ HAHAHAHA... Isn’t that hilarious?"
On the other end of the video call, Faye Dean heard this and also burst out laughing.
"PFFT HAHAHAHA... Claire, this guy you’re talking about, did he time-travel from the past or something? That’s not just officialese, that sounds like something out of an ancient text."
"Right, right, right? I think so too! I really don’t know what my sister saw in a guy like that. Other than the fact that he’s good-looking, I really can’t see his appeal at all..."
Adrian Quincy couldn’t bear to listen to any more of the complaints. His face dark, he walked into the room next door.
Claire Sinclair vaguely heard footsteps, and her heart skipped a beat. She pricked up her ears to listen, but it seemed she had misheard; there were no more footsteps.
’Was I just imagining it?’
’Who cares. It’s not like that guy is going to stay the night anyway. I’m going to keep venting!’
