Chapter 288: Help Me, Quentin Blackwood
It didn’t hurt, but it was incredibly itchy.
It was as if tiny insects were biting her, or a cat was scratching her with its paw.
"It tickles~" Ivy Sherwood reached out, wanting to shoo away this big, mischievous bug.
But Quentin Blackwood caught Ivy Sherwood’s hand and pressed another kiss to her palm, so hot it made her fingers curl.
He loved Ivy’s reactions. Just as Quentin was about to continue, his phone started ringing.
The ringtone shattered the intimate atmosphere, completely ruining the mood.
Quentin didn’t want to answer it, but Ivy pushed at him with her pale, slender arm. "Your phone..."
"Ignore it." Quentin couldn’t be bothered with it right now.
Anyone with a bit of sense would know to hang up and stop calling.
But the phone kept ringing nonstop, the caller seemingly having no intention of giving up.
It finally went silent, only to start ringing again a few seconds later.
Ivy pushed him again, trying to sit up. "Go on, see who it is. What if it’s something important?"
Only then did Quentin shift, rising slightly to fish the phone out of his clothes.
’If that’s Julian Grant, he’s dead!’
Quentin pulled it out and looked at the screen. The caller ID was, indeed, Julian Grant.
He nearly blacked out. How many times had Julian Grant ruined a good moment for him?
Still, Quentin answered, his tone anything but pleasant. "This had better be a matter of life and death!"
’Otherwise, I might just go over there with a knife and take care of him myself.’
"Help me, Quentin! It really is a matter of life and death! Come save me!" Julian Grant’s howl was so loud that Ivy could hear it even without the speakerphone on.
"What is it?" Quentin’s brow furrowed tightly.
’Didn’t Julian Grant go out to have some fun? He said he was just going to the billiards hall. How did he manage to get his life on the line?’
"It’s a long story, I can’t explain it in just a few words. You’ll understand when you get here. I’m at the billiards hall right now. Hurry, Quentin! My life is in your hands."
The call ended. Under the circumstances, Quentin couldn’t just ignore Julian Grant, and Ivy had lost the passion of the moment.
Seeing the grim look on Quentin’s face, she reached out, wrapped her arms around his neck, and gave him a firm kiss on the lips.
"Go on, Mr. Blackwood. Go rescue your good friend."
Ivy’s clothes were now in disarray, nearly torn by Quentin.
"I’ll go check it out. You should stay here."
Ivy did want some time to calm down. She nodded. "Then I’ll take a shower and wait for you to come back."
"Okay," Quentin said, his voice hoarse. He held Ivy for another moment before finally letting her go.
Grabbing his jacket, Quentin headed out.
’Julian Grant had better be in real trouble. Otherwise, I’ll take care of him on the spot!’
The billiards hall was some distance from Quentin’s suite. The resort was well-designed, with the residential and entertainment areas kept separate.
Besides billiards, the entertainment area offered many other activities, like foosball and more.
When Quentin arrived, he saw Graham Sherwood at the door and asked, "Where’s Julian Grant?"
Graham Sherwood pointed. "Inside."
An attendant opened the door, and Julian Grant looked as if he’d just seen his savior. "Oh, thank god, Quentin! You’re finally here!"
"What happened?" Quentin asked, his gaze sweeping into the room, where he spotted a familiar face.
The man was around thirty, lounging lazily on a sofa, a cigar held between his fingers.
When he saw Quentin, a mocking smile touched his lips. "Long time no see, Quentin."
"Mr. Hawthorne. What a surprise." Seeing him here didn’t surprise Quentin at all.
Zane Linton had told him two days ago that he was in Lustre.
"Is it so strange? I was just curious what Magic Power this Lustre has to make President Blackwood stay so long, so I came to have a look for myself."
The moment their eyes met, the atmosphere in the room shifted, crackling with an unseen energy, like sparks flying.
"You’re Elijah Hawthorne?"
Hearing Quentin call him Mr. Hawthorne, Julian Grant finally recognized the man. He’d been thinking he looked familiar—it turned out to be Quentin’s mortal enemy.
The Hawthorne Family was vast and powerful. Elijah Hawthorne’s path had been different from Quentin’s; you could say he was born at a finish line most people could never reach.
But great families are rife with conflict, and the position of heir is comparable to that of a crown prince. He was the sole victor of a power struggle, though rumor had it that Elijah Hawthorne was a madman whose methods were exceptionally cruel. All of his many brothers had fallen at his hands.
Due to overlapping business interests, the two were inevitably compared to each other. They were constantly competing in business and were, it could be said, as incompatible as fire and water.
No one knew how Quentin had gotten on the guy’s bad side, but the word was that whatever Quentin set his sights on, be it a project or anything else, Elijah Hawthorne would try to snatch it away.
No wonder this guy was giving him a hard time. Julian Grant finally understood—he had been looking for trouble from the very beginning.
When he had first arrived, he’d mentioned Quentin to Graham Sherwood. That cunning old fox must have overheard and then started setting a trap for him.
"So you did this on purpose!" Julian Grant glared at him.
Elijah Hawthorne just took a drag from his cigar and said scornfully, "I never thought Quentin would have a friend as stupid as you."
"You!" Julian Grant was shocked by the man’s arrogance.
Knowing he was outmatched, he could only look to Quentin. "I was just playing pool over there, and who knew he’d insist on challenging me."
Just then, Elijah Hawthorne spoke up, his sneer obvious. "He lost badly. Almost lost his underwear."
"He provoked me on purpose! And he bet my hand—whoever loses has to chop off a hand! Quentin, I’m your man! I still have to serve you hand and foot. If my hand is gone, how am I supposed to serve you tea? You have to win it back for me," Julian Grant wailed, his eyes welling up with tears.
He never thought the man would be so good at pool. He had lost, and now this guy really intended to chop off his hand.
Elijah Hawthorne stubbed out his cigar and stood up. "Since he’s your underling, I suppose I can give you a chance. Quentin, care for a game? If you win, you take your man and go. If you lose, that plot of land in Eastcroft is mine. How about it?"
Julian Grant didn’t know which plot of land he meant, but if it had caught Elijah Hawthorne’s eye, it must be a prime piece of real estate.
Julian Grant tugged on Quentin’s sleeve. "Which Eastcroft? What plot of land?"
Quentin just gave him a cool glance without saying anything.
It was Elijah Hawthorne who kindly explained for him, "The Eastcroft in City S."
City S was an economic hub on par with Aethelgard, one of the country’s top-tier megacities where land and property values were astronomical.
Although Julian Grant didn’t know the specifics of the project, that land had to be worth at least ten billion.
If Quentin lost, he’d be out tens of billions. But if Quentin won, all he’d get back was Julian’s hand. No matter how he looked at it, Julian felt that the stakes weren’t even remotely comparable!
So from the very beginning, Elijah Hawthorne had been targeting Quentin and had deliberately set him up. It made his blood boil!
"Quentin, whatever you do, don’t act on impulse. Let’s not play against him. He’s the one who started this mess, and this is our turf. What’s there to be afraid of?"
Elijah Hawthorne’s gaze fell on him, his eyes filled with killing intent. "Your little follower here doesn’t seem to know me very well. When something becomes Elijah Hawthorne’s prize, there’s no taking it back."