Chapter 62

Winnie was both embarrassed and angry, but on second thought, there are many types of dysfunction—perhaps he wasn't impotent but suffered from premature. However, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't associate this man's sexually charged aura with the word "premature." She complied, no longer making rash moves, carefully maintaining a subtle distance from him. After two minutes of silence, she heard a cold, deep voice from above her, "Okay now." Winnie, with her head down and her body stiff, withdrew from his embrace, "I-I'll move over there." Even though the back seat of the Maybach was a continuous piece with a central console, she could only half-step over, which might not have looked very elegant. But she couldn't stay near this man for another second. "Sit just like this." Van pulled her waist back, embracing her shoulders. "Ah!" Van looked down at her with a hint of helplessness, "Let me hold you for a while." It seemed like he needed her. For some reason, thinking about this made her suddenly soften. The stiffness, awkwardness, and the restless, burning anxiety she had just felt all seemed to settle down like dust that had been raised, now peacefully settling back into place. "Mr. Marlowe, are you very tired?" she asked softly. Van closed his eyes. "Yeah." Winnie didn't say anything more, letting Van hold her. The car had stayed parked in a quiet corner of the lot the entire time, and she wasn't even sure if Eric was still in the car. Naturally, Eric was not there. He had already gotten out, holding a cigarette between his fingers, smoking one after another. He couldn't imagine what had been going on in the car to take so long. But, frankly speaking, the car hadn't even moved; it hadn't even rocked. He couldn't think about it any longer. He coughed twice, purely to himself. His young master wasn't the kind of person to mess around with a female star in the car. It didn't match his status, and it would tarnish his style—he would never do something like that. Winnie was held steadily by Van for a few seconds before hearing him ask, "Is the hug charged?" Good or bad, was it intentional? "Yes, 10 million for half an hour." "Have Eric transfer the money to you." "What about kissing?" Winnie asked, her brain feeling oxygen-deprived. Van paused, letting out a light, amused laugh. "You want me to continue?" Winnie's face turned faintly pink, but she spoke casually, "Why not make a profit if there's money to be made?" "Hmm, this seems like it could make money faster than earning a billion after sleeping." Van's tone was laced with meaning. "After all, a night's sleep isn't something you can resolve in just ten minutes." Winnie was caught off guard by his words. She lowered her head, embarrassed, and softly pleaded, "Please don't bring that up again." Van smiled. It was strange—he genuinely felt less tired than before. The weight in his arms felt real, and he could feel a lazy comfort seeping through his bones. "When you got in the car earlier, why did you say you were upset?" He looked at the woman in his arms. It wasn't really concern, more of a reward, perhaps. Winnie could tell. Because she made him feel pleasant, he rewarded her by asking about her feelings and troubles, lowering himself to inquire. She smiled and replied, "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Marlowe, but I'm not upset anymore." The crease between Van's brows quickly faded, and he spoke in a calm tone, "Winnie, the first lesson I learned growing up was respect. Whether it's personal or professional, happy or sad, I'll only ask once. If you choose not to answer, I'll assume you don't want to tell me. I'll respect that, and I won't ask again or investigate privately. I hope you understand." "Mr. Marlowe, are you teaching me not to play hard to get or say one thing while thinking another?" Winnie's pride flared up again. She smiled and pursed her lips. "Then I'll thank you for your respect." Van let go of her, his face showing impatience. "Get off." Winnie opened the car door, her high heels clicking steadily on the ground. Without looking back, she slammed the door shut with a bang. She had done it too forcefully, it was rude. She quickly turned around, reopened the door, and in an instant, her proud demeanor shifted to one of meekness. "Sorry, I didn't mean to. Did I scare you?" Not far off, Eric watched the entire scene unfold in silence. Van had one hand on his forehead, his eyes closed, and his brows furrowed in a displeased expression. After a heavy sigh, he impatiently muttered, "I told you to get off me, not to get out of the car." Eric walked over and patted Winnie on the shoulder, kindly rescuing her. "Just get back in." Winnie frowned, casting a cautious glance at Van. "Can I?" Eric glanced at Van and said, "It's fine, he won't be mad at you." Van impatiently tapped his fingers on the center console and coldly asked, "How much longer do you plan to stand here and talk?"