The financial district at night is vastly different from the day, shrouded in a layer of deep black, making everything appear especially serene.
This kind of night isn’t considered cold; the wind rustles through the tree trunks, and the leaves make a "rustle" sound.
The streetlights cast onto the ground as Jasmine Yale quietly walks along the roadside towards the Jas Group building.
The Jas Group building is the tallest here, luxuriously flamboyant, with a decor style that resembles the handiwork of Erin Janus.
It’s already past ten o’clock at night.
She just can’t understand how Sylvan Cheney can command a pregnant woman to deliver food without even blushing or feeling the slightest bit of sha, as if his skin was thick beyond asure.
That’s all because she’s spoiled him.
The lighting is cold and gentle, the soft yellow resembling willow branches just budding in spring.
Jasmine Yale is wearing a plain gray cotton long skirt, without makeup, appearing simple yet elegant.
Her eyes show a calm expression, as she walks steadily along the sidewalk towards the building.
The place is conveniently connected, not too difficult to navigate, the roads aren’t winding.
Not far from the building, she looks up; sure enough, the light in the executive office is on.
Jasmine Yale tightens the bag in her hand, feeling sowhat angry inside.
However, what’s the use of anger?
She walks up the steps towards the building, everywhere is empty; she can even hear her own footsteps and heartbeat.
Just as she enters the lobby, suddenly, she sees a tall, familiar silhouette under the light at the corner!
Jasmine Yale is startled, upon closer look, the figure is indeed familiar!
Is it Sylvan Cheney?
She quickens her pace and walks over, yes, it’s Sylvan Cheney.
He’s leaning against the corner, legs crossed, eyes slightly closed, motionless.
Approaching him, she catches a whiff of the aroma of red wine on him.
"President." Jasmine Yale calls out, her intense gaze falling on him.
The lighting softly illuminates her bright eyes with a pale yellow glow.
"Why are you only arriving now?" Sylvan Cheney opens his eyes, a vague sheen within them, showing a slight fatigue but not too obvious. His tone carries a trace of dissatisfaction, unhappy with her late arrival.
In the dark, narrow corner, Jasmine Yale’s breath pauses.
"It’s just how it is with pregnant won, slow in doing things," Jasmine replies grumpily. "Since you’re here, here’s your stuff, I’m going ho."
Jasmine Yale lowers her head, intending to hand him the bags she’s holding.
"Follow upstairs, help with the summary for the Conada forum summit." Sylvan Cheney looks into her eyes, "The forum minutes are on my desk."
"Why should I? I need to go ho and rest!"
"I can’t do it anymore." Sylvan Cheney looks at her, face full of innocence and grievance.
"If you can’t do it, do it tomorrow. Why don’t you know how to manage your ti properly, if you can’t do it..."
"If I can’t do it, shouldn’t you be the one to do it?" Sylvan Cheney grabs the bag from her hand and heads towards the staircase.
Jasmine Yale is initially stunned, then her face burns like fire.
Damn it.
Talking dirty.
The executive office is on the top floor.
Reaching the door, Sylvan Cheney uses a keycard to open it, carrying the tote bags inside.
His dark shirt is draped under the lighting, tall and slender.
His desk is covered with docunts, draft papers, all sorts of materials, piled everywhere.
With the curtains drawn, the large office is particularly silent.
"This one, this one, and this one, help write them." Sylvan Cheney casually tosses the docunts to her, "I’ll send you a red envelope."
Jasmine Yale grits her teeth, "Who needs your red envelope!"
User Comments
0 comments from readers