Chapter 6 Clean Freak

• As she spoke, tears welled up in Molly's eyes—partly from the pain of Lucille's grip, and partly from her poor attempt at acting.
• Lucille suddenly smiled and released her hold on Molly's jaw. "What are you thinking? I was just joking."
• She casually pulled out a wet wipe from her bag and meticulously wiped the spot on her hand that had touched Molly, as if she had touched something filthy.
• Watching Lucille's actions, Molly was furious.
• What's that supposed to mean? Is this hag implying I'm dirty?
• Molly was itching to lunge at Lucille and hit her, but with that person standing behind Lucille, she had no choice but to swallow her anger.
• Fine, go ahead and play your games. I can't wait to see how you'll handle things when this all blows up in your face.
• Lucille noticed the fire in Molly's eyes but didn't mind. She even made a point to explain, "Sorry, I'm a bit of a clean freak. Touching you just felt... gross."
• She then tossed the used wipe into a nearby trash bin.
• Molly's face flushed red and then turned pale as the humiliation sank in. Yet, she kept up her pitiful facade. "Madam, you've misunderstood. Nothing is going on between Mr. Ashworth and me."
• Lucille looked at her, feigning confusion. "Didn't I just say I was joking? You're so petty—you can't even handle a little teasing."
• Molly was speechless.
• Da*n you, Lucille!
• She gritted her teeth internally, frustrated that her attempts to get the upper hand were failing. But just as she was about to retort, Lucille continued:
• "Flint might have bad taste, but even he wouldn't stoop so low."
• "You…"
• Molly's face twisted in anger, but she couldn't help feeling secretly pleased that the person behind Lucille heard that remark.
• Lucille, you're digging your own grave, I'm not to blame for this one.
• "Madam, how could you say the president has poor taste?"
• "Well, there's not much difference between severe nearsightedness and blindness. Even if he's not blind, the fact that he brings someone like you to events makes me wonder who he's disrespecting."
• Lucille pursed her lips and then suddenly acted as if she'd figured something out. "Oh, I get it now. I heard he only takes you to the more casual events. For the high-profile ones, it's always Mr. Muller by his side, isn't it?"
• Molly's heart sank; she had a bad feeling about where Lucille was going with this.
• "Of course, Flint may have poor taste, but he's not stupid. He knows someone as clueless and tactless as you would only cause trouble at important events. If you said something wrong or offended the wrong people, it'd be a disaster for him."
• Molly's face darkened. "You..."
• "But for the less important events, where he doesn't want to deal with the hassle, you're perfect. After all, it's just using waste material efficiently. Being useful in the right situation isn't all bad."
• Lucille's tone was calm and matter-of-fact, making her words even more cutting.
• "And, that's about the only value you bring to the secretarial office, wouldn't you say?"
• She ended her statement with a poised smile, completely devoid of the rage or bitterness one might expect from a wife facing off against a mistress. She looked every bit the picture of grace and elegance.