Nathalie Quinlan looked at the incessant incoming calls on her phone, lowered her eyelids, and ruthlessly hung up on him.
Sadam Vinson’s personality was clearly not the type to give up easily. When he couldn’t get through the first ti, he imdiately called again.
Nathalie ruthlessly ended the call once more.
After she hung up,
ssages from Sadam Vinson’s WhatsApp began to co through.
[Nathalie, is the signal bad on your end? Just left the airport?]
Nathalie sat with her legs bent, in a rather slouched posture, lazily watching her eyelashes as she read his ssage without responding, when suddenly she heard Mario Cagwin’s dry voice.
She lifted her eyelids slightly, and her dark pupils caught sight of the face of a woman tampering with a USB flash drive, projected onto the screen by Xavier Rabenstein’s operation of the projector.
She raised her eyebrows, visibly agitated.
It seed neither unexpected nor a matter of concern to her.
She only glanced at it briefly before lowering her head again, her gaze landing on her phone screen as her pale fingertips tapped on the keyboard.
[QN: No, it’s not convenient to talk.]
Sadam Vinson was always quick to reply, and sure enough, the next ssage arrived in a flash.
[????]
A series of question marks as if to say, what do you an no bad signal and yet you hang up my call.
Nathalie narrowed her eyes and replied to him again.
[QN: I’m occupied.]
[Christmas is coming, are you going to celebrate in Beijing with your brothers? If you’re coming, I’ll call Govert Griffin and the others, we can all hang out and have so fun.]
Christmas?
Nathalie was unconsciously cued by these three words, briefly losing her train of thought as she rembered soone who had asked her out in advance, saying he wanted to treat her to dinner that day.
When she snapped back to reality, she decisively declined Sadam Vinson’s invitation.
[QN: I won’t be going, I already have plans.]
She had just replied to Sadam Vinson’s ssage when Candice Yancey’s ssage ca through, just like Sadam’s, it was an invitation to dinner.
[Nathalie, I heard from my stinker that you’re in Beijing, and it’s the holiday season, do you have ti to have a al together?]
While her response to Sadam Vinson’s ssage was quite casual, she was much more polite and courteous in declining Candice Yancey’s invitation.
Candice Yancey didn’t say much, only telling her to go about her business and expressing regret that they should schedule another ti.
Apart from Candice Yancey, Jhovany Sullivan also sent her a ssage. Nathalie opened it, expecting it to be about class matters or questions.
But it turned out to be about Ghania Quinlan.
Jhovany Sullivan said that in the more than half a month that Nathalie had been on leave, Ghania revelled in success, apparently taken in by an internationally renowned piano master as a disciple, becoming the talk of the mont.
Nathalie was not interested in these matters and, after a cursory glance, she put her phone away and said to the man still dealing with internal theft, "Take your ti with this; I’m off to give Master Cadmus his acupuncture session."
Amadeus Yancey caught sight of her leaving and called out to her softly, "Wait a mont."
Nathalie Quinlan, clearly impatient with getting involved in such issues, stopped in her tracks, frowned, and watched as he returned to his seat in the conference room.
He picked up a bag from there.
Amadeus Yancey pulled out a red scarf from the bag, approached her, and naturally, with his head slightly lowered, wrapped the scarf around the girl’s neck, coupling her porcelain-white face snugly. He then stepped back and, with a smile in his eyes, said, "It’s cold outside; don’t catch a cold."
Several pairs of eyes fell on her. Nathalie Quinlan didn’t utter a word, her fair hand pulling at the scarf around her neck, her lips pressed together as her voice ca out cool, "I’m off."
"Go ahead, I’ll co over later to see you," Amadeus Yancey glanced at her and smiled, but his expression was excessively provocative.
Once Nathalie Quinlan had left,
he turned around lazily, his eyes slightly narrowed exuding an air of nobility throughout, every bit the entitled young master, idly twirling the Buddhist beads on his wrist, while a chilling hint of red creeped into the corners of his eyes.
"Go on, call Phoebe Hoffman over here."
A single, casually delivered sentence carried an imnse weight.
User Comments
0 comments from readers