The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 582

Honestly, Tamara didn't even need Clive's reply to know where they stood.

The fact that he had initiated a money transfer meant his anger had likely subsided. She just had to wait for him to finish whatever he was doing before he messaged her again.

...

While Tamara had been calling, Clive was busy flirting with his new wealthy patron.

Half-leaning against a leather sofa, Clive gently swirled the red wine in his crystal glass with his slender fingers, a lazy, seductive smile playing on his lips.

Sitting across from him was the new financial backer Winifred had recently introduced him to. A well-maintained woman in her early forties. She traced her scarlet nails across the back of his hand in a deliberately suggestive gesture.

"Clive, I've thought about that project you mentioned last time..." The woman's voice was low and sultry, a meaningful glimmer in her eyes. "Perhaps we could discuss it a bit more... in depth?"

Clive chuckled softly. His fingertips seamlessly flipped to gently pin her wrist. "However you want to discuss it, I'm at your service," he murmured, his voice rich and deep.

The woman’s heart fluttered at his teasing tone. Just as she leaned in closer—

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

Clive’s phone, resting on the table, vibrated abruptly. The name 'Tamara' flashed across the screen.

The woman cast a dismissive glance at the phone and pouted in displeasure, looking up at Clive. "Who is that?"

They had been just inches away from a kiss. Who was blind enough to call and ruin the mood?

A flash of impatience crossed Clive’s eyes, but he kept his outward composure. He casually muted the call and placed the phone face down on the table.

Sure enough, after the transfer went through, the phone stayed quiet.

Clive scoffed, tossing the phone aside. When he turned back to the woman, the coldness in his eyes was instantly replaced by practiced tenderness. "I apologize for wasting your time."

He hadn't hidden the act of transferring the money, nor had the woman missed the fleeting irritation on his face. She privately surmised that the caller really was his sister. Otherwise, with an attitude like that, if the caller had been another sugar mama, there would have been a massive tantrum.

Thinking of this, her red lips curled upward. "You're certainly generous with your sister."

Clive laughed dismissively. "Just a little pocket money. It's not worth mentioning."

He reached out, wrapping an arm around the woman's waist and pulling her flush against him. "Compared to that," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, "I'm much more interested in finding out how you plan to 'help' me."

The woman’s heart raced under his direct, hungry gaze, a flash of infatuation swimming in her eyes.