"Ah, youth is the ti to enjoy life, otherwise you’ll be too tired when you’re old. Back when I was young, I could use a whole box of condoms in one night without a sweat. Fast forward ten years, and I can’t even use a box in a month. But Mr. Cheney surely is a seasoned veteran; I need to learn so tricks from him."
"Jesse Rowan, sign the papers!"
With a "bang," Sylvan Cheney slapped the contract in front of him and threw a pen at him.
Sylvan Cheney’s face remained emotionless, with not a trace of fluctuation even in his eyes.
Jesse Rowan paused and clicked his tongue twice, thinking: an insensitive old man.
He lowered his head, holding a cigarette in one hand and the pen in the other, signing where needed.
He didn’t bother with the terms and conditions—recent financial matters had left him overwheld, and he hadn’t gone out drinking or clubbing for days.
He’d never suffered like this before—early starts and long overti hours every day.
Charles Mcintosh brought over another stack of printed docunts: "Mr. Rowan, please sign."
Jesse Rowan looked at the pile of files, rubbed his forehead, and sighed, "Can I not sign them?"
"No," Charles replied firmly.
"Can I let Liamly Finley sign instead? My hand’s gonna break from all this signing," Jesse lanted.
"Mr. Rowan, the sooner you finish, the sooner you can go to the massage room," Charles said flatly, with no emotion in his tone.
Jesse’s face was a picture of suffering.
anwhile, Sylvan Cheney showed no expression as he picked up the pen and signed his na on each required line.
Every stroke carried significant weight.
Each completed docunt ant giving up part of the Cheney Family.
Still unwilling, Jesse could only stub out his cigarette and bury his head in signing.
"Jealous of n who don’t have to work at night—they’re just so full of energy," Jesse grumbled on, quite unhappy, "I just can’t manage these past few days, feeling so weak. Eh, even if I told Mr. Cheney, he wouldn’t understand. Mr. Cheney has surely never experienced the thrill of juggling several won in one night."
"Need to send you so dicine, Mr. Rowan?" Sylvan asked, head down, casually.
"Does this young master look like soone who needs dicine? Two or three won are nothing to ."
"Then why are you whining?"
"..." Jesse sucked in a breath.
Charles and Liamly continued discussing project details, like construction progress and personnel managent...
Sunlight stread in from the eting room window, and the atmosphere suddenly felt a bit cold.
Jesse stopped chatting with Sylvan, realizing older n have little in common with him.
Yet, whenever he raised his head and saw Sylvan’s sharply chiseled, deeply defined face, he’d secretly grit his teeth—what’s so appealing about this kind of man?
With Jesse keeping quiet, the eting room was much quieter.
After signing a few docunts, Jesse impatiently lit another cigarette.
The chair gently swiveled, and he massaged his brow.
This private eting lasted a full four hours.
By the end of the eting, it was pitch black outside.
As night fell, streetlights outside the corporate building gradually flicked on, the wide road filled with twinkling car lights.
Vehicles shuttled back and forth, and the conference room window offered a view of the bustling cityscape.
The wind was blowing outside, the spring chill sharp—the temperature was dropping.
The crystal lights in the eting room shone brightly, casting white reflections off the chairs and onto the floor.
Jesse’s hand was sore from signing so many papers; after finishing, he exhaled with relief and tossed the pen aside.
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