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Derek wasted no time after Ethan left. His hands trembled as he grabbed his phone from the desk, dialing the Henleys' company. He needed answers—how they had the audacity to hand his contract to that slimy bastard, Allvar.

The phone rang twice before a cheerful voice greeted him, “Good afternoon, Henleys Corporation. How may I direct your call?”

Derek clenched his jaw. “This is Derek Hawthorne. Put me through to Mr. Henley. Now.”

There was a brief pause, the voice on the other end adopting a slightly cautious tone. “I’m afraid Mr. Henley is unavailable at the moment. Can I take a message?”

Derek’s temper flared instantly. “A message? Do you even know who you're talking to? I don’t leave messages. I speak directly to Mr. Henley, or heads will roll.”

The secretary hesitated, her tone still polite but firm. “I understand your urgency, Mr. Hawthorne, but Mr. Henley is currently in a meeting. I’m happy to let him know you called, and he can—”

“You’re not listening to me,” Derek snapped,
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