Chapter 60

Winnie finally fastened that men's watch around her own wrist. But her wrist was so slender that the watch face covered her entire wrist; even with the strap adjusted to the last notch, the watch was still loose and wobbly. Both assistants watched her leave. She opened the door, her high heels hitting the ground firmly, turned right for about 30 ft, and the elevator was perfectly stopped on the fifth floor, waiting for her arrival. With a ding, the doors slowly opened, and the scent of perfume mixed with the cool air made Winnie shiver slightly. She stood tall and entered without hesitation. Winnie came out of the elevator hall, waited a moment at the entrance, heard the sound of a car going over speed bumps, then saw the Maybach. Eric didn't even recognize her; he lightly tapped the brakes, bringing the Maybach to a gentle stop while saying, "Miss Loxley doesn't seem to have arrived yet." Van opened his eyes, his gaze scanning Winnie from bottom to top. "She's standing right in front of you." Eric didn't know how he recognized her. The woman in front of him was wearing a very ordinary suit and had a mask on. Her calves and Achilles tendons were slender and straight, but not particularly distinctive. If one had to point something out, it would be her remarkable waist-to-hip ratio, a heavenly, hourglass figure that was hard to replicate. However, Winnie didn't go around to the other side to open the car door; instead, she opened it on Van's side. Van looked up, though he didn't understand her intention, his presence was still composed and compelling. Winnie leaned against the car door, her face under the mask turning slightly red, but her voice was extremely serious, "Mr. Marlowe, I'm feeling upset right now. Can I sit with you?" Van, with his hands clasped on his lap in a very lazy manner, his voice carrying a subtle, restrained interest as he asked, "How would you like to sit?'" This man was always like this, handling things with ease, and Winnie really wanted to see him lose control like he did yesterday. She knelt on the edge of the leather seat with one knee, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the back of the seat, and in the meeting of their gazes, she sat on his lap, over his black suit trousers. From outside the Maybach, if any passersby went by, they would only see two slender legs under the pencil skirt, one bent back, the other straight and pointed, the pointed high heels flashing briefly in the dim light of the underground parking. With a thud, the car door closed, blocking the scene inside. Eric didn't know whether to drive away; his foot on the accelerator couldn't press down. First, in all his years, he had never seen such a scene. Second, he had known Van for thirty-six years, but he had never seen such a scene with him. Just after he had finished a serious business meeting, dressed in a suit and tie, this scene actually unfolded in the Maybach—a car that was only ever used for office duties and to welcome or send off dignitaries. The old man had no idea whether the young master liked it or not. He didn't dare to glance at Van's expression in the rearview mirror either. Van's face was indeed dark, his hands gentlemanly and restrained, only supporting Winnie and staying where they should. He didn't look at or touch any of her curves, until his gaze fell on the watch loosely fastened to her wrist, which slid down as she lifted her arm to hook around his neck. Van swallowed, his eyes darkening, and when he spoke again, his voice was deep and hoarse, "Have you received the 1 million?" He asked slowly, his lowered eyes slightly squinted, a cloud of mist in them. Winnie's heart tightened, and she gave a very soft "Yes." 1 million, 1 minute. He always spoke with such ease, deep and enigmatic, but Winnie understood. His breath was exactly like when he kissed her last night. Finally, Eric heard his young master's command, which had been pending. "Eric," he said steadily, "raise the partition."