The man before her didn't resemble a domineering CEO at all—he looked more like a rogue.
"Definitely not!" Grace gritted her teeth.
With a swift motion, she lifted her leg to kick him, aiming for his lower abdomen. But John was faster. He caught her calf midair, her slipper slipping off as her toes curled slightly—painted a deep, alluring red.
Grace Quinn was a contradiction. To her students, she was gentle and kind, but with men, she was cold as ice. Her fingernails were polished clean and simple, yet her hidden toes hinted at something more sensual.
Now trapped in an awkward position, she hooked one arm around his neck while gripping the ropes with the other, struggling to keep her balance.
"Mr. Amster, I'm here for a home visit," she said, forcing her voice to remain firm.
"Except for my lips, you've visited every part of my body," he teased, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.
Her cheeks burned, but she held his gaze, unyielding. "Please don't interfere with my work."
John chuckled, clearly entertained by her defiance. Finally, he let go. "Fine. I'll change my clothes first."
Grace exhaled sharply, slipping out of the ring and making a beeline for the elevator. As soon as the doors opened, she rushed in—only for a large hand to block the closing door.
John stepped inside. Without a word, he pressed multiple buttons, preventing her escape.
In the confined space, Grace stood rigid, staring at the doors, waiting for the first chance to slip away. But just as the elevator was about to stop, he pressed the close button again.
"Mr. Amster, I hope you won't pull stunts like this again," she said coolly. "I want no misunderstandings. Whatever issues you have with your wife, I won't involve myself in your family affairs."
His expression shifted. "So, you regret it?"
Grace's voice was firm. "Yes. If I had known you were married, I never would have chosen you."
Silence thickened between them. His chiseled features darkened. "Who would you have chosen instead?"
"Certainly not a married man," she shot back, pushing his arm away as the doors finally opened, spilling light into the space.
John watched her walk away, his gaze unreadable.
Upstairs, his butler stood waiting.
"That Miss Quinn—is she the one you care about?" he asked.
"Yes," John admitted without hesitation.
"Then you should treat her well," the butler advised. "But does she know about the child's background? Many assume Jimmy is your illegitimate son. If you want her to stay, you should clarify the truth."
John's mouth quirked into a smirk. "She's not interested in the truth."
In the living room, Grace sat on the sofa, her posture composed.
The butler set down a tray of refreshments. "The young master is showering and changing. Please enjoy some fruit while you wait."
Grace typically avoided high-calorie foods in the evening, but she nodded politely. "Thank you."
She glanced at the selection—cherry tomatoes, kiwis, and carambolas, alongside delicate whole-wheat pastries and zero-calorie drinks.
"The pastries are sugar-free," the butler explained, noticing her hesitation.
She picked up a glass of lemonade and took a sip, its tangy sweetness refreshing her throat. "Aside from discussing Jimmy's school life, I'd also like to understand his home environment. Since Mr. Amster is often away, I assume you handle most of his care?"
The butler smiled. "Mr. Amster used to travel frequently, but he'll be home more from now on. Don't worry, Miss Quinn."
Her brow furrowed slightly. "Worry? What should I be worried about?"
The butler hesitated, then changed the subject. "Children need parental care. Jimmy is a bit withdrawn. When Mr. Amster is away, does Mrs. Amster spend much time with him?"
Grace asked cautiously. She knew how complicated wealthy families could be.
"Miss Quinn, allow me to clarify—Mr. Amster isn't married. There is no Mrs. Amster."
Grace stiffened.
Not married? Then… was Jimmy the result of an unwed pregnancy?
Scumbag.
Still, at least he hadn't lied about being single.
The butler opened his mouth to explain further, but before he could, a deep voice interrupted from the stairs.
"If Miss Quinn has questions, she should ask me directly."
John stood at the top of the staircase, dressed in black silk pajamas that shimmered under the chandelier's glow. He looked completely different from the sweaty boxer she'd seen earlier—calm, poised, every inch the wealthy heir.
He descended the stairs, crossing the room with unhurried ease before settling into the seat across from her.
The butler silently excused himself.
Grace, however, felt an instant wave of displeasure.
"Mr. Amster, do you always receive guests in your pajamas?" she asked, her tone edged with irritation.
He tilted his head, studying her. "What, not decent enough? After all, we don't wear much when we're together. Why not come to my room? I'll try on clothes until you're satisfied."