Chapter 2 The Uncle is Mr. Kingsley
Because they needed to make enough fried chickens to sell for the whole day, the workload was heavy. Amelia worked with her parents without eating until after eleven o'clock.
Judy shouted, "Alright, you go deliver the goods on your electric scooter. Your dad and I will take care of the rest."
Amelia received the command and took off her apron, washing her hands clean. Unable to resist, she looked down at her belly, which was still flat and showed no signs. However, the immense hunger reminded her that her baby was hungry.
While her father was loading the fried chicken barrels onto the car, she ran into the nearby restaurant and bought two sandwiches. She devoured them greedily inside the restaurant.
She didn't dare take them home; last time when she bought food to eat with her parents, her mother scolded her for a long time, accusing her of having a big appetite and wasting money.
Swallowing the last of the sandwich, she returned to her shop. David glanced at her, probably smelling the sandwich on her, but he didn't say anything, only reminding her to be careful on the road.
Amelia nodded, riding on her electric scooter with six large barrels of fried chicken in tow.
She didn't expect the delivery destination to be a high-end hotel in the busiest area, a prime location where only well-dressed wealthy people came and went.
Wearing a sunhat, a white T-shirt, and sunscreen sleeves, she rode her electric scooter to the small door of the kitchen.
The kitchen manager was slightly surprised to see a delicate little girl delivering the goods, but he didn't say anything, only instructing Amelia to bring the goods inside.
Amelia quickly agreed.
As she struggled to lift the heavy barrels weighing about 60-70 kilograms each, the kitchen manager furrowed his brow slightly.
"Are your parents too busy? Why did they send a child like you for the delivery?"
Amelia smiled obediently. "Yeah, my parents are pretty busy at the shop. Don't worry, I'll help you bring them in."
Carrying the heavy fried chicken barrels, Amelia felt the pulling sensation in her belly. She hoped the baby would miscarry so she wouldn't have to go to the hospital, as she had no money for medical expenses and couldn't tell her parents.
As she exerted herself to bring the barrels of fried chicken into the kitchen, a black Bentley parked by the roadside.
"Damien, why did you stop?"
Following Damien's gaze, his good friend looked over, slightly surprised.
"Isn't that the kid you saved at the bar that day?"
Damien looked at Amelia, who was struggling to carry a large bucket in front of her. His expression was constantly changing, even though he didn't want to meddle in other people's business anymore. After all, he had already meddled once and lost his virginity that he had saved for thirty years.
However, when he saw her frail body and the sweat dripping down her face, he suddenly remembered the scene of her sweetly calling him "uncle" that day, and the fragrance of her body.
He quickly took a deep breath and cursed himself internally for being a beast. It wasn't enough that he had slept with her without controlling himself before, but now he was even having improper thoughts when he saw her. It was truly shameful.
He opened the car door and walked over.
"Damien."
Amelia had already put three large buckets inside and still had three more to go. She wiped the sweat off her face and prepared to gather her strength to carry them all inside. There was a pulling sensation in her stomach, but it wasn't painful. She had to exert a bit more force, maybe the baby would be gone.
Thinking that she would have to kill the baby with her own hands, she suddenly felt extremely upset, and tears mixed with sweat streamed down her face.
Through tear-filled eyes, she saw a hand reaching out, and then the barrel of fried chicken was taken away.
Amelia lifted her head and met the gaze of those familiar and deep eyes.
She widened her eyes in shock.
"You...Uncle?"
Damien saw her teary eyes and furrowed his brows slightly.
"Tired? If you're tired, then don't do it. Why are you crying?"
Amelia sniffed and shook her head.
"I'm not crying, just sweating."
"Then wipe it off. Do you have to carry all of these inside?"
Amelia nodded.
"Yes, they were all ordered by the hotel."
Damien took two barrels in his hands and walked inside. Amelia was taken aback for a moment and quickly tried to grab them.
"Uncle, you don't need to do this, I can carry them myself."
Damien glanced at her with his deep gaze, and Amelia instinctively felt a bit scared, so she quietly let go.
Damien put the two barrels in the kitchen.
"Is this where they go?"
The manager was busy inspecting the items purchased today and didn't even raise his head.
"Yes, just put them there."
After saying that, he suddenly realized that it was a man's voice and looked up. Immediately, his face changed completely.
He hurriedly closed his notebook and walked towards Damien with a smile on his face.
"Mr. Kingsley, you...why are you here? How can someone of your status come to the kitchen with such heavy smoke?"
Damien ignored him and went outside to bring in another barrel of fried chicken.
"Is everything okay now? Settle the bill for her."
The manager saw Amelia standing at the door and was filled with surprise. Could this overly young girl actually know Mr. Kingsley? And she had Mr. Kingsley, someone with such high status, carry the barrel of fried chicken for her?
Not to mention him, even the entire high society circle of Atlanta couldn't imagine Damien Kingsley doing such work as carrying barrels of fried chicken. The Kinsleys’ were a true aristocratic family, accumulated over several generations. But they are different from the other proud and snobbish aristocratic families.
Damien is the only child of the Kingsleys’ generation, a top-notch figure in Atlanta's aristocratic social and business circle. He is a true scion of a wealthy family, taking over the conglomerate at the age of twenty-two and managing it impeccably. The company expanded during these eight years, adding more glory to the Kingsleys’ prestigious family.
How could this girl who sells fried chicken know him? And she even asked him to help her carry the chicken barrels!
He quickly took his purchasing notebook and walked up to Amelia.
"Little girl, why didn't you say earlier that you know Mr. Kingsley? You don't need to personally deliver anymore. We will send someone to your shop. The agreed price was eighty dollars per chicken, but I can increase it a bit. Would one hundred and twenty dollars per chicken be acceptable to you?"
After giving the price, the manager cautiously sought Amelia's opinion.
Amelia was stupefied. She thought eighty dollars per chicken was already not cheap. Yet, this manager suddenly increased it by forty dollars. How much money could she make from this?
She quickly bowed to the manager gratefully.
"This price is very good, Sir. Thank you so much."
The manager's attitude towards her improved significantly and he waved his hand.
"No need to thank me, it's only right," he discreetly glanced at Damien, as if Mr. Kingsley's expression wasn't favorable.
He didn't dare to say much to Amelia anymore and quickly paid her the money before rushing off to attend to his duties.
With tens of thousands of dollars in her bag, Amelia left the kitchen, calculating whether she could use the eighty dollars per chicken to settle her parents' debts. If there was any money left, could she use it to get the abortion done at the hospital? Even if her parents checked their accounts in the future, that money would be spent. She would stubbornly refuse to speak up, enduring a beating and a few days of hunger at most.