Mr. Fairchild's Rose: She is Wild and Proud-Chapter 332 - 220: Becoming the Family Head’s Wife! (Part 2)
Maeve Lane nodded, "What’s up?"
Ms. Roland remained silent, feeling a bit regretful inside.
Previously, when she saw the list Owen Osborne gave her, Maeve Lane caught her eye immediately. Seeing her in person today, she found Maeve very similar to what she had imagined.
But during the audition just now, she was a bit angry, because not to mention the younger generation, even elders had to speak politely to her, yet this young girl in front of her didn’t play by the rules at all, just said her piece and left.
She left so decisively that Ms. Roland instantly regretted it when she saw Maeve walking out the door.
She hadn’t bowed her head to anyone in a long time...
Now encountering this, and with the young girl giving her slippers, she began to waver again.
"Aren’t you being considerate now? Why were you so rash earlier?"
Maeve Lane raised an eyebrow, showing a slight smile, "You think that was rash?"
"No..." Somehow, Ms. Roland seemed a bit at a loss for words. Looking into Maeve’s eyes, she had the urge to think she was being unreasonable.
"If you feel embarrassed, I can take back my kindness. No matter who it was today, if I saw it, I would help. If you think I have an ulterior motive, then just take them off now."
Maeve actually extended her hand to her, looking at her with an open and honest gaze.
Ms. Roland choked, feeling ashamed for her thoughts for a few seconds, as the girl saw through her thoughts, making her seem like someone who couldn’t recognize a good intention.
However, Maeve Lane like this was truly reminiscent of "Ruby Reed."
Not only did she resemble her in appearance, but her personality was just as she imagined.
Maeve Lane was someone who disliked trouble and wouldn’t overflow with sympathy. She helped if she wanted to, and now not wanting to help, she genuinely didn’t want to.
Suddenly, Ms. Roland said, "My last name isn’t Roland."
Maeve Lane was slightly surprised, "So what?"
"My husband’s last name is Roland, you can call me Mrs. Roland." Mrs. Roland looked at her, "You passed."
Maeve Lane’s expression was neither good nor bad, she lightly frowned, "Just because I gave you a pair of shoes?"
If Mrs. Roland continued to make such arbitrary decisions, she really wasn’t optimistic about this production.
Moreover, she was dissatisfied with her performance just now, and now she suddenly extended an olive branch—is it so hasty?
Could she then assume that other roles she chose were under similar circumstances?
In just a few seconds, countless thoughts raced through Maeve Lane’s mind.
Mrs. Roland also realized the ambiguity in her words and smiled, saying, "It’s not like that, I suppose Director Osborne mentioned that I favored you when you came. It was just in a moment of excitement that a little misunderstanding occurred."
"Maeve Lane... can I call you Maeve?"
Maeve Lane nodded.
"To be honest, I just wanted to see you today until just now. Then I was sure you were the Reed in my mind." Ms. Roland continued looking at Maeve Lane, "I apologize for my rash behavior today... If you’re willing, you can join me in adapting the script."
"Are you willing?"
...
After greeting Director Osborne and the others, Sarah Sutton came looking for Maeve Lane.
When she arrived, Mrs. Roland had just left.
"Maeve, why did she come to you?" she asked curiously, "It’s not to give you trouble, is it? Just now Director Osborne explained to me that this Mrs. Roland has quite an odd temper."
"We just ran into each other by chance." Maeve Lane lightly curved her lips, "Let’s go, get in the car."
"Alright, where shall we chat? I saw there’s a Western restaurant nearby, how about going there?"
"No need, I’m about to join the set." Maeve Lane placed her hand on the back of her head, her long eyelashes gently lowering.
"Join the set? Which production?" Sarah Sutton asked, bewildered.
"’Southern Mountain.’"
...
Mrs. Roland declined Maeve Lane’s offer to drive her home, opting instead to carry her high heels and walk in slippers to the main road.
People around her cast curious glances at her outfit.
Before long, a pitch-black SUV stopped in front of her. It was unbranded, but the license plate was very notable.
Some knowledgeable individuals let out sounds of awe simultaneously.
The car stopped directly in front of Mrs. Roland; she didn’t need to take a single extra step, the door opened, and a man in his forties or fifties stepped out from the passenger seat. He was tall, and the passage of time hadn’t left many marks on him, still handsome.
Onlookers peered inside, greeted by darkness, the windows seemingly treated with something special, reflecting a unique shiny gloss under the sunlight.
Raymond Roland looked at his wife’s shoes and jokingly smiled, "This isn’t like your style. Does my wife have a little girl side too?"
