Chapter 21

Van had just finished a round of golf with the chairman of TRENDEE, Kingswell. The autumn afternoon sun was intense, but not as blinding as in the summer. The two of them returned to the shade of the canopy to rest, while their subordinates and the caddies put away their umbrellas and stood off at a distance. "I was in Las Vegas last month and had a rare chance to catch up with your father. From what he said, it seems he's still reluctant to let you come to L.A. and expand your business here," Kingswell chatted casually. "Please don't mind," Van gave a small smile. "In the past couple of years, my father and I have grown to be somewhat at odds. Now that I'm in LA, he's probably breathing a sigh of relief." Kingswell chuckled warmly. "I remember how your father was really struggling with your marriage situation. So, how about it? Any new ladies in the picture?" When an elder asks about marriage and relationships, it's usually a sign of further inquiries. Van knew exactly where the conversation was headed but didn't give him an opening, speaking in a measured tone, "Not yet, but I'm not planning anything for the time being." "You're too picky," Kingswell teased. "I was actually thinking of introducing you to a lovely young lady—my niece. She just returned from the UK, has a master's in biology, and she's quite charming. You two would probably have plenty to talk about." Upon hearing this, Van immediately realized the girl was quite young. He smiled and politely declined, "She's too young; it wouldn't be fair to her." Kingswell turned his face to look at him. He was well-acquainted with the merchants, so he knew very well Van's character and abilities, and how many people, both openly and secretly, tried to send women his way, hoping to catch his eye and ride his coattails to success. But Van had never been interested. Except for that engagement party a year ago, which few knew about and was abruptly called off, and the woman who, according to rumors, left him. He looked out at the vast, undulating green field, squinting. "Looks like your father was right; you're not ready for the next round yet." Van didn't respond, just gave a slight smile. After a while, the older man, sensing he had killed the mood, made an excuse to go to the bathroom. Van watched him leave, then asked Eric to hand him his private phone. "I thought Mr. Marlowe only does things based on his own mood." That was indeed an out-of-line comment, considering the commotion earlier that morning. It felt neither like a tease nor a complaint, but somewhere in between. Van sat back in the outdoor chair, his leg crossed, his eyes hidden in the shadow of the eaves, his emotions unreadable. A few seconds later, he dialed the number. Winnie was washing dishes, her hands covered in foam. She turned down the water, tucking the phone between her neck and ear, and tilted her head back. Winnie silently mouthed to Yulia, asking who it was. Yulia exaggerated her lips, and Winnie read it: Mr. Marlowe! Winnie's eyes widened in surprise. Panicking, she shook both hands, signaling her refusal to pick up. It was too late. Yulia had already swiped to answer the call and handed her the phone. Winnie reluctantly answered, tilting her head. "Hello, Mr. Marlowe." Van listened for a couple of seconds before asking, "Is it raining?" "No." Winnie reflexively turned off the faucet. The sound of water stopped, and her breathing became clearer in the quiet space. Van understood, paused for a few seconds, and then said, "Next time you're taking a shower, you don't have to answer the phone." The golf course's sunshade might have been old, and he felt it wasn't quite enough. Even though the autumn breeze was blowing, he was still feeling overheated under the sun. "It was my assistant who answered the phone. She offended you today and didn't dare to be rude," Winnie explained. Van smiled faintly, "Are you talking about her, or are you talking about yourself?" "Have I not offended you enough yet?" Winnie fell silent for a moment, then added, "Also, Mr. Marlowe, I... wasn't taking a shower." He suddenly felt a rush of blood to his face, but his voice remained calm. "Sorry, it's my fault. If I don't joke around, you'll always be like a startled bird." Winnie froze. In front of him, she truly felt transparent. "You said earlier that you thought I only did things based on my own mood." Van continued, nonchalantly, "That wasn't exactly wrong." Winnie's heartbeat stopped, and she held her breath lightly. "So, what would make you happy?" She asked the question herself, and Van saw no reason to refuse.