Divorcing The Wrong Man: Her Regret

Chapter 8: Tables Turned

Vivian knelt on the floor, her red blazer creased. Sweat dripping down her face like she’d just walked out of hell fire alive. It turned out that everything Helen had said was true. She really was a Cross. And not just any Cross, John’s favorite. 

Now, all Vivian could do was beg. Really drop on her knees and beg for Adrian and Helen’s forgiveness. And so she did.

John Cross, however, loomed over her, his cane thumping, his face red with rage. “You. How dare you? You’re done,” he growled. “You are fired. For insulting Mr. Adrian West!”

Vivian’s hands shook, her voice a broken whisper. “Mr. Cross, please, I didn’t know…” She looked at Adrian, then Helen, her eyes pleading. “I’m sorry, I swear on my mother’s grave, I didn’t mean…”

John cut her off, his cane jabbing the air. “Save it. You’re out.” He turned to Adrian, his face softening, almost ashamed. “Adrian, I’m so humiliated this happened. Please, let me make it right. Please, join us in the Supreme Banquet Hall.” 

Really, John Cross felt extrememly embarassed. He had invited Adrian over to be honored and now, Adrian had to see all of this nonsense from rude people like Vivian?!

The crowd gasped, whispers exploding. The movie, if it had a title must be, Tables Turned. 

The Supreme Banquet Hall? That was for the city’s elite — mayors, moguls, presidents, celebrities, people who owned skyscrapers and mutli-million dollar firms. Eyes darted to Adrian, who stood calm, hands in his pockets, like he’d expected this all along.

Who the hell was this guy? 

Adrian nodded, his voice low. “Lead the way, John.” Helen’s smile was small but sharp, like she’d just won a bet nobody else knew about. The Cross family flanked Adrian and Helen as they moved through the lobby, leaving Vivian on her knees, her career in absolte ruins.

************

The Supreme Banquet Hall was a sight — gold-trimmed walls, crystal chandeliers, tables draped in silk clothing. Well dressed waiters in crisp vests glided with trays of very very expensive champagne, and the air smelled of money and roasted lamb. John led Adrian and Helen to a head table, his eyes still apologetic. 

“Adrian,” he said, voice heavy, “I… I can’t believe that fool manager disrespected you. It’s on me. This is on me. I am deeply sorry about today.”

Adrian settled into a chair, his face unreadable. “Come on, it’s not your fault, John. Vanessa was here. Her presence brought this trouble. You know, she is always stirring trouble. Trouble is her middle name.” He glanced at Helen, who sat beside him. She quickly looked away, shyly. 

John’s face darkened at Vanessa’s name. “Damn it,” he muttered to himself, pulling out his phone. “I forgot to cancel that Cooperation with her company.” He dialed fast, his voice sharp as he spoke to his assistant. “Get me the manager handling Vanessa’s deal. NOW!” The assistant scrambled, then gave him a number. John called, his jaw tight, waiting for the line to connect.

***********************

Across the hotel in a way smaller banquet hall, Vanessa and Bobby sat at a long table, surrounded by a crowd of well-dressed guests — business types in suits, women in flashy dresses, all invited to watch Vanessa seal her big Cross family deal. 

The room was lively, glasses clinking, everyone laughing out loud, real and fake, but it paled in comparison to the Supreme Banquet Hall’s grandeur. 

A middle-aged man in a gray suit, the Cross family’s contract manager, leaned toward Vanessa, his smile all flattery. “Wow, Miss Lang,” he said, voice smooth, “you’ve got a hell of a partner. I mean, getting deals like this is almost impossible. People out there would kill to get what you now have. Whoever your partner is, they definetely langated your deal with the Cross Family.”

Vanessa’s eyes flicked to Bobby in gratitude, her smile smug. 

“Umm… Vanessa, isn’t your husband here?” the manager suddenly asked without warning. 

The question broke through the noise, silencing everyone. Vanessa was extremely embarrased. She had prepared for this meeting, but had definitely not included this conversation in her speech preparation. “Umm…” she began, trying to compose herself. “You see, my husband… um… he is really not fitting for places like this. I mean, this is not his thing. He is way too ornidary to come to an ocassion like this.” she answered.

“Bobby is my ‘husband’ for the day, if you know what I mean.” she jeered and the crowd laughed in response. “No, really, Bobby has power. You spoke about having a good partener, that is him. He used his connections to help me get in touch with the Cross Family.”

Bobby puffed up, his tie still crooked, his watch sparkling like it was trying too hard. The guests murmured approval, some raising glasses to Vanessa’s “power couple” vibe. Even though the joke was clear that they were not a couple, sometimes, the joke just write itself.

The manager’s smile faltered, his brows knitting. “Bobby?” he asked, glancing at him. “Huh. I meant…” He trailed off, confused. He seemed to have seen Bobby. And his mental picture of Bobby was not this pretender in front of him. Not even close. He definetly didn’t have the juice to touch the Crosses. The manager opened his mouth to clarify, but his phone buzzed in his pocket, loud and insistent.

“Excuse me,” he said, standing fast, his chair scraping. His expression changed abruptly as he saw the caller. He instantly exited the hall. It was his boss calling.

John Cross.