Revenge Of The Richest Ex-Husband

Jamole Craves Twenty Billion Dollars

Jamole was perched at the window when Susan Pablo drove into the compound, amidst screeching of tyres. When she was assisted into her wheel chair, he could see her face had gone crimson despite the dark hour of the night. He knew someone had rattled her cage; definitely it could be McDonald who pissed her off.

The moment her security rode her into the sitting room, he hastened to her side to know what the problem was.

“Good evening boss,” the security greeted and bowed to Jamole.

“What happened to you sweetie?” he squatted to her and locked his palms into hers, “You don’t look excited. It is obvious you had a bad day at the Spanish café.”

She swallowed hard and her lips curved in wrath. She excused herself by riding to the window so she could look out to the beauty of the night.

Jamole followed her still hounding her with questions; he perceived he wasn’t the problem, but if indeed he was, she could at least talk to him.

As though to infuse words into her mouth, he asked emphatically.