Please Lend Me 50 Million - Chapter 8

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Having spent the entire night lost in thoughts that bordered on self-indulgence, Asha ended up not sleeping a wink. She had claimed exhaustion and gone to bed early—and yet here she was, hollow-eyed and haggard in the morning. Cecile could only stare in bewilderment.

Barely dragging herself out of bed, Asha couldn’t shake the drowsiness even at the breakfast table, blinking and blinking in a stupor. Yet the one who had proposed this entire contract sat across from her, reading the morning paper with his usual composed, impeccable expression—and that alone was enough to make a petty surge of resentment bubble up inside her.

Only I’m taking this seriously. Only me.

Grumbling inwardly, Asha cut her vegetables into small pieces and popped them into her mouth, all while stealing glances at him. Bronzed skin, full of life. Deep chestnut hair. Eyes of pale olive. A man flawless in every feature.

He didn’t quite fit the mold of blue-blooded perfection that society praised—but he was a man with a deeply sensual undercurrent. If asked why she thought so, the answer would be, without question—

Asha bit down on her empty fork.

“Asha?”

“Y-yes?”

The gaze reading the newspaper swung to meet hers, and she panicked, spitting out the empty fork as fast as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. She quickly remembered to pretend she’d been eating all along. Whether or not he noticed the tension packed into her eyes, the corner of Harriet’s mouth lifted in a faint smile.

“It appears my lady has been eating me rather than her food.”

His gaze trailed slowly down the fork and settled on Asha’s lips. Asha’s cheeks went red.

“I—no, I was eating. Charles, the food is especially delicious today, isn’t it?”

The voice affecting nonchalance to assert her innocence was awkward enough for anyone to hear. As if she found that insufficient, she threw in an unnaturally placed compliment to the cook for good measure.

Smiling gently as he watched the creaking, self-conscious Asha, Harriet addressed the servants.

“It looks as though breakfast may take a while. You may all step back.”

The household staff bowed and withdrew to attend to other duties. Each movement was seamlessly smooth—befitting those earning Bellstein’s generous wages.

Once the staff had cleared out, Harriet set his newspaper aside in earnest and turned his full attention to observing Asha. Her face was plainly drowsy, and she had been pushing her cutlery around halfheartedly—she tasted a few bites and then set down her fork. She had eaten no more than a single stalk of asparagus and two or three small potatoes, but fatigue weighed so heavily on her that she had no appetite for more.

“Is that really enough for you, Asha?”

“Yes—I’m just so tired today.”

His smile deepened. As Asha stifled a yawn and started to push her chair back, he called to her.

“Asha, come here for a moment.”

“Pardon?”

At the sudden summons, Asha approached him with a puzzled look. The instant her body drew close to Harriet, his thick arm swept every piece of cutlery off the table and laid Asha down flat on top of it. It happened in an instant.

Crash—!

“Harriet!”

It was as though she had never been drowsy. Every trace of sleepiness vanished in a blink. The sudden inversion of her world left Asha blinking in disorientation. Lying on her back looking up at him was strange enough—but gazing up at him on top of the breakfast table, morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows, was not merely strange but utterly surreal.

Before Asha could even take stock of the situation, Harriet hooked her knees over his arm and leaned his body toward her. With every inch he angled himself closer, more of her thighs were exposed.

Coming to her senses, Asha frantically tried to grab at her skirts—but it was already too late to cover what had been bared. His hands worked with a playful ease as he slipped off her shoes and tossed them aside.

“It’s time for dessert, Asha.”

“Surely you don’t mean I’m the dessert, Harriet?”

“Why not? You’re this sweet in the morning—how could you be anything else.”

“So—at the dining table, of all places—ah—!”

Asha’s composed attempt at a rebuttal crumbled the moment his hands lightly pulled her thigh-high stockings down. The soft material she’d chosen for its texture against her skin—always favoring soft things—slid off easily, baring her legs in no time at all. It was the moment she came to resent a preference she had never once questioned before.

The presence of dishes she hadn’t managed to push off the table was vivid near her head, and the sunlight pouring through the tall windows was undeniably, irreparably morning light. The study had at least been tucked away enough to mute the brightness—but here, there was nothing to shield Asha’s body. Every single element was a source of shame.

Unfortunately, Asha was in possession of two pieces of very bad news. The first was that the gentle Harriet she knew would not spare a glance for her struggling to sit up. The second was that he was a man talented enough to do two things at once.

He pressed her smoothly down against the table with a gentle hand, and with the other, slipped off her thin silk panties with ease. With that, there was nothing left beneath the thin fabric of her morning dress to cover her lower half.

“What were you imagining just now, as you looked at me, my lady?”

“N-nothing, I wasn’t thinking any—ah~!”