Half an hour later, the car ca to a steady stop outside the Imperial Hotel.
Ghania Quinlan got out of the car, earphones plugged in, looking rather restless, but once she stood there, she was quite eye-catching. Many people glanced her way; her eyes, shadowed by her lashes, were extrely dark.
"Ms. Quinlan, after you finish eating, just let know a bit beforehand, and I’ll co pick you up," Alfred Garland said to her as he rolled down the car window.
Just then, Nathalie’s phone rang. She took out her phone to look, and it was another call from Winston Sullivan, probably to ask if she had arrived.
She gave a faint "Hmm" to Alfred Garland and walked towards the Imperial Hotel.
...
Winston Sullivan told her that they were eating on the second floor, in a private room, with not many guests, all friends of Mr. Avalon.
There were a few from dical organizations as well.
Today, Nathalie Quinlan didn’t wear a hat, just a white sweater and black pants that outlined her long, shapely legs. Her exquisite face was visible, and she exuded a strong aura of staunch authority, with an undertone of aloofness and unwelconess.
Although there were people who looked at her along the way, hardly anyone ca up to start a conversation.
Outside the second floor.
Nathalie received another call from Winston Sullivan.
Her eyes held a cold irritation; with only two hours of sleep, they darkened, but she still patiently swiped to answer the call.
"Hello, Mr. Sullivan."
The girl’s voice was low and husky, not particularly girlish, yet very pleasant to the ears with a distinct laziness.
Not knowing what was said from the other end of the phone, Nathalie looked up, scanned the nas of the private rooms, and as she walked into the corridor, she said, "Mmm, I have arrived... No, you don’t need to co and get , I’ve already co up."
"I’m on the second floor. Is the private room nad Fauna Kitchen?"
Keeping her gaze up, she walked and talked on the phone simultaneously, attempting to locate the room, thus failing to notice the person who brushed past her.
Until... Myles Sullivan’s voice of surprise rose by her side: "Nathalie?"
It was then that Nathalie noticed soone had passed by her side, and there were a few acquaintances.
"What are you doing here?" Myles Sullivan hadn’t expected to bump into Nathalie here and asked her reflexively, his brow furrowing.
Both Ivy Wilmar and Ghania Quinlan looked less than pleased; upon seeing Nathalie, they both pursed their lips tightly.
Ivy Wilmar turned her head away, not even bothering to save face.
Ghania Quinlan fared slightly better; although her fair face was pale and distressed and her fingers reflexively clenched, she did not avoid confrontation. eting Nathalie’s impatient gaze, Ghania managed to muster a forced and hardly convincing smile, saying, "Sis, you’re here for dinner?"
She knew that Nathalie had gotten close to the Yancey Family.
Before leaving McKinney, when she was limited to seeing only a sliver of sky, she had no concept of the Yancey Family. But after arriving in Beijing, she gradually ca to understand who the man often by Nathalie’s side was – a mber of the Yancey Family.
The Yancey Family was even more influential in Beijing than the Sullivan or Wilmar Families, located at the very top of the city’s hierarchical pyramid. She wasn’t clear about who exactly was in the Yancey Family, and whether the man always beside Nathalie was a peripheral mber or a direct-line descendant.
But having spent quite so ti in Beijing under Ivy Wilmar’s influence, she understood that anyone with the Yancey na had so sort of clout.
Regardless of whether the young man with Nathalie was a direct-line descendant or an offshoot of the Yancey family, his background was much stronger than Zayn Fisher’s, at least a notable figure within the circles of Beijing.
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