Chapter 40

At this moment, Winnie wasn't sure if she was drunk. All she knew was that she had slowed her breathing, and when she heard Van's voice, the strong red wine she had made in the backyard started to rise up her face, making it feel hot all over, and the warmth spread to her cheeks, leaving her eyes burning. "How did you know?" she held her breath. Van casually replied, "My ears aren't deaf." "That's impressive." Van could tell she was quite drunk. His voice unconsciously softened, "Feeling bad?" Winnie, caught out, gave a heavy, nasal "Mm." Van gave a soft, almost inaudible chuckle, "You're more honest when you're drunk than when you're sober." Winnie didn't catch his sarcasm, and without much thought, she asked, "Mr. Marlowe, how many pounds of girl do you think you could carry?" Van was taken aback by her question, his thoughts unable to follow her sudden shift in topic. The image did briefly cross his mind, but it was fleeting and blurry, vanishing before he could process it. He composed himself and chose not to answer directly. Instead, he subtly avoided her question, "You're drunk. You should go get some sleep." "Have I ever told you that I'm really good at dancing?" She shifted the subject again. It was finally their turn at the window. The senior executives all deferred to him, and Van, holding his phone in one hand, raised the other hand in a silent, casual gesture to ask them to go ahead. He then stepped aside and replied, "No." "The last girl you danced with, do you remember her? She said you taught her two dances." "I don't remember," Van replied coldly. "Her name is Mia. She's a junior at my company." "What? Are you trying to introduce her to me?" The executives took their meals and filed out one by one, all wearing smiles, though in their hearts, they were puzzled. Their boss appeared indifferent, looking somewhat disinterested, but the fact that he was willing to waste time chatting was, in itself, a form of gentleness. Winnie pursed her lips and said, "No need. If you like her, you'll go get to know her yourself." It was Van's turn now. He was the last in line, and there was nothing left to give. Winnie waited for him to respond, but instead, all she heard was the sound of the call disconnecting. The call ended. She blinked in confusion. Had she upset him again? As expected of the young master, a ring worth nearly 10 million was given just like that, and a phone call he was unhappy with was hung up whenever he pleased. The wind blew and a few red leaves fell from the tree Winnie was leaning on. She reached out to catch them, but the leaves, having lost their moisture, had become dry, brittle, and fragile. Winnie thought they were like Ruby—beautiful, but fragile. A minute later, Van called again. "Sorry, I accidentally broke the call,"he explained politely, holding his plate in one hand and his phone in the other, walking calmly as he spoke. Yet, every employee in the cafeteria seemed to be watching him. "And-" he paused lazily. Now that no one was around, he said her name in a low, almost intimate tone, "Winnie." "Yes?" Winnie bent her knees and hugged herself, waiting for him to continue, still confused. "You asked me how many pounds of girl I could carry and about dancing. What exactly do you want?" Drunkenness always brings on drowsiness. Winnie slept deeply, and only when she heard the crisp chirping of birds outside did she slowly open her eyes. The sweet wine Ruby made gave her a very comfortable kind of drunkenness; when she woke up, she didn't have a headache. Instead, she felt like she'd had a long, peaceful, and sweet sleep. She checked her phone—it was 4:30 p.m.. Yulia must have heard her move, as she knocked on the door. After getting permission, she pushed it open and entered. "Would you like some tea? Ruby just made a pot of black tea and asked me to wake you up." "When did I fall asleep?" Winnie rubbed her face and took the tea Yulia handed her. It wasn't black tea, though. It was Ruby's cold-brewed oolong tea she made the night before, with fresh fruit added. It was what Winnie was used to drinking, a remedy for reducing bloating and waking up her senses. "I don't know. You were already asleep when I came to look for you," Yulia said as she opened the curtains and pushed the window wide. "You were slouched on the steps. I was afraid you'd catch a chill." Before she could finish her sentence, Winnie suddenly made a sound, "Pff!" Winnie had sprayed the entire cup of tea onto the bedspread. She was holding the cup with one hand, her phone in the other, her eyes wide with panic and confusion. "What did I do? Why do I have his SnapChat? Wait… why did I send him a voice message?" Yulia hesitated before asking, "Who?" Winnie didn't have time to answer. Her face was grim as she clicked on the voice message, then gingerly pressed the phone to her ear. The voice that came through was drunken and coquettish. "Good afternoon, Mr. Marlowe." The phone flew out of her hand like a projectile as she screamed. It landed in Yulia's hand, leaving her frozen in place. Winnie curled up tightly in the blanket, clutching it around her knees and burying her face with a thud. "Ugh." Yulia blinked, her mouth slightly open. "When I went to find you, the call hadn't ended. Mr. Marlowe was still on the line." Winnie shot up, her face filled with disbelief. "What? I… talked to him?"