Not One, But Two!

Chapter 197

"Try figuring it out yourself," Cody whispered when he saw that Greg had returned, bringing the conversation to an end.

Abigail didn't press any further, but she was starting to have several thoughts on the matter.

Meanwhile, Greg came back with the ointment, and he began to massage Abigail's swollen ankle while Cody watched in exasperation. When he was done, he asked, "Is that all? Does she really not need antibiotics or something?"

"I'm actually pretty tired," she suddenly muttered to cut him off before he could badger Cody any longer.

When Greg heard this, he quickly scooped her into his arms and murmured, "You're sleeping over at my place, and don't say no."

Cody sputtered at this, and Abigail flushed slightly in embarrassment. Sleeping over at his place? That sounds like an innuendo waiting to happen.

However, Greg couldn't care less about innuendos as he strode out of the office with the same brusque air he had when he first came in. He didn't even bother thanking Cody or sparing him a second glance.

After she was settled into the backseat, Abigail began to feel a hot, tingling sensation around her ankle. The ointment must have seeped through her skin and was working to ease out the sprain. Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Then, she kept her eyes on the back of Greg's head as he drove home. There were several times when she wanted to ask him what had happened that day when he went day-drinking with Cody, but the question merely rolled to the tip of her tongue before she swallowed it back down.

While the both of them hadn't spent much time together before this, she still knew him well enough to understand that once his lips were sealed on a matter, nothing was going to pry them open.

Just then, she suddenly thought of something before she asked in a low voice, "Greg, why did you replace the ever-so-capable Troy with the somewhat-haphazard Benjamin?"

She had wanted to ask him about this since the replacement happened, but Greg didn't seem like he was in a good mood then, and she didn't think she had a right to inquire about the Buckley's Group internal affairs. However, after hearing what Cody had said earlier, she began to think that Troy must have found out something about her.

If Greg wouldn't tell her, then the only other person she could ask was Troy—he might actually know something. Of course, that pivoted on whether she could get Greg to tell her of the man's whereabouts.

Greg's eyes darkened when he heard this, and he replied curtly, "He's needed for a job, and I figured it would be good training for him." That was such an official and formal answer that it could only mean he had no intention of telling her more about this.

As such, she decided to change the subject. "I want ravioli for lunch. Can you make them for me?"

Greg froze upon hearing this, and he was so taken aback by her request that his hands nearly slipped on the steering wheel. "You want me to make ravioli for you? I don't know how, though."

"Will you make me the ravioli or not?" Abigail was not going to take no for an answer.

Upon hearing the somewhat girlish tone of her voice, Greg realized that he couldn't bring himself to say no to her. Dare I say no to her?

"Yes, I will!" he promised her swiftly and solemnly, but he was actually chiding himself for being such a pushover.

He wasn't confident at all that the ravioli he made would hold up the stuffing, but even as he doubted himself, he couldn't chicken out right now.

In the backseat, Abigail smiled in satisfaction after hearing the answer she wanted. Exhaustion washed over her as she said, "I'm going to take a nap."

"Alright. I'll wake you up when we get home."

Greg wanted her to fall asleep more than she could imagine. That way, he could carry her home immediately, and Hugh could sit there and wait for her until he bled himself dry for all he cared.

Abigail knew exactly what he was thinking, but because she didn't want to dash his hopes, she kept quiet and closed her eyes before drifting off to sleep.

Before long, their car pulled in at the driveway outside Allie's Garden, whereupon Greg noticed the unfamiliar BMW that was parked outside Abigail's place. He had never seen the car plate number before, and he couldn't help his wariness. Is this Hugh's car?

At the thought of this, he called the security booth. "A car has trespassed into the neighborhood; throw it out immediately," he ordered with an air of authority that came with his status.

The security dropped by soon after the call ended, and when they saw the car, they explained, "Mr. Buckley, the owner of this car is Violet Langley. She's here to see Dr. Kain."

"Violet? That's a woman's name, right?"

The security knew who Violet was, and they did not dawdle in answering Greg. "Yes, sir. She's a surgeon at the hospital downtown."

Greg frowned at this, but he connected the dots fairly quickly. He realized there had been a reason why Abigail wasn't in a rush to return home; as it turned out, she had already arranged for somebody else to

tend to Hugh.

Crap! He felt like he had just been tricked by Abigail, and this frustrated him very much. Then again, at the thought of how considerate she was of his feelings by not tending to Hugh's injuries personally, nor did she call him out on his childish behavior and instead went along with him to the other side of the city, Greg's anger subsided.

Sometimes, one little thing was all it took for someone to know how much their feelings were being cared for, and Abigail's way of going about this matter had shown Greg much respect. With that in mind, he decided that he wouldn't be unreasonable with Abigail, but he was going to have to punish Hugh no matter what.

As such, after he laid Abigail on the bed and tucked the covers over her, he fished out his phone and went downstairs. Then, he went out to the balcony and closed the door behind him, thereafter making a phone call. He kept his voice down as he said, "Help me look into Hugh's forces and how many rivals he has at the moment. I want all the details."

"Got it, Mr. Buckley," Benjamin said on the other line and hung up.

Following this, Greg clicked into the browser on his phone and began searching for ravioli recipes, earnestly looking for instructions on how he was going to make the dough. When he settled on a recipe, he started to doubt if he could pull it off, though the steps to making the dough didn't look complicated at all.

When he thought about how Abigail was the one who requested this, he shrugged off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and headed into the kitchen.

He soon added water to the flour and whipped up the stuffing, both of which gave him a great sense of accomplishment. However, he began to experience failure after following the tutorial on how to fold his

ravioli. The first ravioli was over-stuffed and tore through the dough, whereas the stuffing spilled over before it ended up on Greg's shirt in a clump.

He frowned and took another piece of ravioli dough to stuff it. He pinched the sides of the dough after he had put in the stuffing, and while it was an odd shape, he thought it wouldn't matter as long as it held up the stuffing. Alas, his fingers were not nimble enough, and the stuffing spilled through the gap before he could get around to pinching it up.

He was getting more exasperated. "What the hell is this stuff? Who invented ravioli? Are they sadists?" he muttered under his breath as he produced one failed ravioli after another with his less-than-skillful fingers, and it was clear to see that he was growing impatient. Cooking is easier than this, he thought sourly as he moved on. When he saw his failure in the form of ravioli littered over the countertop, he was possessed by the strong urge to just throw everything into the bin and call it a day.

He wasn't sure when Abigail had showed up behind him, but she smirked when she saw all the failed non-ravioli that were scattered across the kitchen countertop.

"Here, let me do it," she offered.

She spoke so suddenly that Greg turned his head to look at her in shock. When their eyes met, he frowned and demanded, "What are you doing down here? You can't stand for too long, or you'll add more strain to your ankle! Go into the living room and sit down there. There's nothing here that requires your help."

"If I don't help, then I'd probably starve until dinner time. Anyway, bring the dough out and put it on the coffee table in the living room. I'll sit on the couch and guide you on the art of making ravioli."

Abigail was suddenly interested in this endeavor. She usually did not have the time nor patience to cook, but now that she and Greg were dating, she thought of cooking as a fun activity.

On the other hand, Greg did as he was told and carried the dough to the living room after he considered that Abigail's suggestion did not include hurting her ankle any further.

Apart from that, he carried her onto the couch as well.

"I'm a little flustered, honestly. What's so great about ravioli anyway? Why do you like it so much? It's such a waste of time and energy, not to mention it's a challenge to make."

"That's because you don't know how to make it," she teased with a smile. After washing her hands, she pinched a piece of dough and flattened it out by tugging on its sides.

As he watched her, he was surprised to find what he had found difficult was child's play to her. It wasn't long before pieces of perfectly-wrapped ravioli were produced under her nimble fingers, and she worked so fast that it seemed like she was using magic to do this.

"How long have you been doing this for?" Greg asked with wide eyes.

Abigail was kneading some leftover dough as she replied thoughtfully, "I don't know. I guess I've been doing it for as long as I can remember, but I haven't done this in a while."

As she said this, she took a spoonful of stuffing and put it in the center of the ravioli sheet. It looked like a lot of stuffing, so Greg pointed out worriedly, "That's too much stuffing; the ravioli will burst."

"No, it won't," she answered reassuringly and confidently. She pinched the dough and sealed its edges, and out came a perfectly-made ravioli.

Greg picked it up daintily and inspected it. When he saw that it was flawless, he asked in bewilderment, "How did you do it? Why can't I do it?"

"It's called skills, darling," she said haughtily.

"Pfft, don't chalk it up to something great. It's easy, isn't it? I refuse to believe that I can't wrap a perfect ravioli."

He pinched a piece of dough and did as Abigail had, but the ravioli still burst with stuffing.

Abigail sputtered.

Meanwhile, embarrassment washed over Greg as he growled, "Don't laugh!' This stupid crap is picking on me!

However, Abigail didn't seem to care that he was embarrassed, for she laughed even louder.

At the sight of this, he quickly dabbed his palm with flour and brushed it over her face, grinning as he said, "I believe this is what they call 'powdering the nose', my lady. Look at how pretty you are!"

Abigail blinked at him in surprise, but she quickly snapped out of it and reached out to dab her flour- coated finger on his face. "Why don't you try powdering your nose, too? Let's see how pretty you are!"

"Oh, are you fighting back?" All of a sudden, he mischievously sunk both hands into the bowl of flour and reached out for her face with white fingers.

"No! Don't you dare, Greg!" She tried to dodge, but he was quicker. Even though she managed to escape one hand, the other had already brushed her skin.

When she felt the flour on her face, she gaped at him incredulously. "Greg, how could you?!" Without warning, she grabbed a handful of flour and hurled it at him.

He didn't back down either, and it wasn't long before they erupted into a childish flour fight.

At this point, it looked like it had snowed in the living room, but the both of them were having fun as their laughter filled the house.

Abigail couldn't help but laugh when she saw how much flour had gotten into Greg's hair. He grabbed her hands and leaned forward before shamelessly rubbing his flour-coated face against hers. "Ew, no! You're disgusting, Greg!" she shrieked, completely caught off guard by him. More importantly, he sneakily kissed her on the lips while he was at it, and the flour on his mouth made the kiss taste funny.

However, he didn't seem bothered by this, and he looked like he was having a lot of fun.

They were still trying to get the better of each other in this flour fight when the doorbell suddenly rang.

Abigail was the first to register this. She shoved Greg's face aside, planting a flour handprint on his lower jaw.

He straightened up unhappily and grumbled as he walked to the door, "Who is it?"

Presently, the first two buttons of Abigail's shirt had been undone, and her hair was raked through with flour. Her face, however, had a pink tinge to it that made her look like a ripened peach. She quickly dusted herself off and straightened her clothes while Greg went to get the door, but that was when she heard him ask frostily, "What are you doing here?"