Ye Cheng: "..."
Zimei: "Need me to call you again? Ye Xiaozheng, Ye Xiaozheng... mm mm mm..."
She was dragged away by Ye Cheng with her mouth covered.
Director's office, the atmosphere was frighteningly oppressive.
Because of Zimei's repeated calls of Ye Xiaozheng, the man's expression was indescribably ugly.
"Zimei, are you a three-year-old child? Must you make such a fuss?" Ye Cheng was genuinely angry, reprimanding in an unusually harsh tone.
Zimei quietly looked at him for a while, her expression suddenly turning cold and glamorous. She leaned against the door, suddenly reached out to him, palm up, and asked, "Got a cigarette?"
Ye Cheng harbored anger in his chest, coldly staring at the woman's hand, his thin lips pressed tightly.
Her fingers were fair and slender, with neatly trimmed and attractive nails painted in bright red. It was a pair of alluring, beguiling hands.
Once, he had held them, kissed them...
