Clive strode over, blowing past everyone without a glance, and bent down to help Paisley off the ground.
Tiffany stood nearby, watching everything unfold. The crowd instantly jumped in, trying to spin the story in their favor.
"Tiffany, Mr. Harrington, she hit us first," one of them quickly blurted. The rest eagerly chimed in to back him up.
"Yeah, seriously! It wasn't that deep, just a disagreement - and she straight-up slapped us."
They still had no clue what kind of trouble they were in, grinning like they'd just won something.
Paisley felt a tinge of guilt as Clive helped her up, his reaction way faster than she expected. She actually had thrown the first punch, and now her eyes darted nervously to him, not knowing what to say.
"Did you get hurt anywhere?" Clive sounded genuinely worried, scanning her up and down in a panic as if she'd just taken a bullet.
But the truth? All she did was trip and fall at the end. Meanwhile, the ones she went after looked like they just got out of a bar brawl.
Paisley had handed out a few slaps herself, so her fall wasn't even that serious by comparison.
"My butt hurts," Paisley admitted honestly. She'd landed pretty hard, and yeah, that hurt - but not enough to need to be carried around.
But guess what?
Clive scooped her up without a second thought and headed for the door. Right before stepping out, he said, "The rest of you - go to HR and hand in your resignations."
One of them, clearly not afraid to die, called out, "Mr. Harrington, why should we? She started it. We were just defending ourselves."
Clive stopped, turned back with a glare, and said, "Defending? That's where you went wrong."
When the group looked like they wanted to argue more, someone whispered urgently, "Seriously, shut up and do it - that's Mrs. Harrington."
Mrs. Harrington?
Now they got it. They'd talked trash about her, even said Clive and Tiffany were a perfect match - right in front of his wife. That was like stepping on a landmine in steel boots.
Paisley didn't say a word the entire way; Clive carried her all the way back to his office, then gently set her down on the couch. He left the room briefly and came back moments later.
Paisley, trying to get ahead of whatever lecture was coming, blurted, "Don't you look at me like that. If you dare scold me, I swear I'll tell Grandpa you're keeping a mistress at work."
She needed leverage - no way was she letting him get away with snapping at her.
But as she glared at him, Clive suddenly knelt down, slipped off her shoes and socks, then carefully placed her feet on his lap.
Arnica gel was already beside him - he'd noticed the slight redness around her knees from the fall.
"Hold still. I'm putting this on, or it's gonna get worse tomorrow," he said softly, dabbing the ointment on her skin with such care it almost didn't feel real.
Paisley sat there a little dazed. Her mind tugged back to a hazy memory - had he done something like this before, in that other life? She couldn't be sure, but something about it felt familiar.
No one had ever treated her like this - not her cold, distant dad, not the mom who only saw her as some kind of ATM. Only her grandpa ever truly loved her. He even gave up part of his shares in the family business just so she could have a spot in the Hughes household.
Her nose tingled, chest tightening. And just like that, the tears started falling, one after another.
