"Miss Vaughn, are you inside?"
Mark Joyce’s voice ca from outside the door, interrupting Ann Vaughn’s thoughts.
Ann Vaughn ca back to her senses, responded to Mark Joyce, and then placed the amulet in a more noticeable spot.
If that person finds such an important thing missing, they’ll definitely co back looking for it.
Outside the screening room, Ann Vaughn saw that only Mark Joyce was there and felt a bit puzzled, "Special Assistant Joyce, where’s Cyrus Hawthorne?"
Mark Joyce smiled apologetically, "Miss Vaughn, the recent new projects at the branch are quite complicated, it might not finish so quickly."
Ann Vaughn nodded slightly, recalling the earlier matters, her clear eyes flickered, and then she asked, "Special Assistant Joyce, you’ve been with Cyrus Hawthorne for a long ti, right?"
"Yes, it’s been eleven years now."
"Then you should know quite a lot about the Hawthorne Family, right?"
"Naturally."
"So, do you know if there’s soone nad Elias Hawthorne within the Hawthorne Family?"
Mark Joyce’s smile froze almost imperceptibly, then he responded flawlessly, "No, there’s no such person in the Hawthorne Family Tree."
Hearing this answer, Ann Vaughn wasn’t surprised, but still...
"Special Assistant Joyce, being Cyrus’s assistant and even morizing the Hawthorne Family Tree is too tough, right? How about considering a job change? My studio happens to be lacking a versatile elite like you." Ann Vaughn asked with a smile.
"President Hawthorne has been a great ntor and friend to , and Miss Vaughn, you are the wife of President Hawthorne, regardless of whom I follow, it’s the sa."
Mark Joyce was almost breaking into a sweat; he didn’t want to be poached by Miss Vaughn and then have President Hawthorne dig his grave afterward.
Recalling what Cyrus instructed, Mark Joyce continued, "The eting can’t end quickly, so President Hawthorne asked to take you to a beforehand reserved restaurant for dinner."
Ann Vaughn shook her head, "No need, I’ll wait for him."
But this wait lasted until half-past one in the afternoon.
The executives in the eting room were tortured to the point of looking completely lifeless, leaving the eting room with plans sent back for revisions.
Cyrus Hawthorne sat at the head of the table, his cold visage seed to have a layer of ice, his narrow eyes deeply contemplating the data reports on his computer, with piles of docunts waiting for review forming a small mountain beside him.
Mark Joyce was aware of this new project, the biggest problem wasn’t governntal but with the Sheridan Family.
After all, Marinia was the territory of the Sheridan Family, and with a recent feud, if the Sheridan Family wanted to do sothing, it wouldn’t be difficult.
"President Hawthorne, over on the Sheridan side..."
"They wouldn’t dare." Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes didn’t lift, his voice indifferent like water, "Though the Sheridan Family is the dominant force in Marinia, they have quite a few industries in The Imperial Capital and other regions."
Pull one hair and affect the whole body, the Sheridan Family wouldn’t be foolish enough.
Mark Joyce thought it through and understood the key points, but there was still one thing he couldn’t quite figure out, "Since the Sheridan Family isn’t a problem, are you waiting for so kind of timing?"
"Annie wouldn’t like their new city design plan." Cyrus Hawthorne frowned slightly, responding with effortless calm.
For a mont, Mark Joyce felt as if an arrow shot through his heart.
He didn’t even know whether to sympathize with those managent mbers who had been on standby, devising planning and design sches or to feel envious that such an important new city project was actually a gift from President Hawthorne to please Miss Vaughn...
How can the gap between people be so vast?
Just as Mark Joyce was starting to doubt his life, he suddenly rembered Ann Vaughn was still waiting in the lounge, hurriedly reminded, "President Hawthorne, Miss Vaughn said she wanted to wait for you to dine together and is still in the lounge."
"Why didn’t you say earlier?" Cyrus Hawthorne’s gaze froze, his expression a bit cold as he furrowed his brow, then closed his computer, not even glancing at the docunts he originally intended to promptly handle, and walked outside.
Mark Joyce: I feel wronged, but I dare not speak.
Inside the lounge.
As soon as Cyrus Hawthorne entered, he saw Ann Vaughn asleep, hugging a carrot pillow, her cheeks rosy, looking extrely endearing.
His Adam’s apple moved slightly, then he took out his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of Ann Vaughn in this state.
"Ahem." After doing this, Cyrus Hawthorne cleared his throat sowhat awkwardly, put away his phone, and leaned over to pick Ann Vaughn up from the sofa.
Mark Joyce, having witnessed the entire process from behind: ... So this is the kind of boss you are!
Private room at the restaurant.
Ann Vaughn just wanted to turn over but discovered that what she was holding felt off, she nudged it a few tis, not only wasn’t it soft, but quite hard.
She opened her eyes and stared dazedly at the arm she was hugging, before finally lifting her head.
"You finished the eting?"
Her voice was slightly soft from just waking up, like there was a hook at the end of her words, especially alluring.
"Mm, do you want so water?" Cyrus Hawthorne was replying to work ssages on his phone with his right hand, seeing her awake, he put down his phone and took a bottle of milk from the table, "Drink it when it’s no longer cold."
After speaking, he glanced at his arm still being held by Ann Vaughn, his thin lips pressed slightly, "Hand."
She had the habit of sleeping with sothing in her arms, and once he got her into the car, she replaced her carrot pillow with his arm, holding it tightly, refusing to let go.
She was sleeping pretty sweetly.
While he, despite not moving his left hand, could clearly feel with each tightening the perfect curvature of the soft sensation brushing lightly against his arm’s outline.
And so people were simply restless, constantly wriggling at him, and in just a few movents, they could stir up the heat within him, bringing it rushing to his lower abdon.
If one could still endure at this critical ti...
"Hand?" Ann Vaughn lifted her hand to look at it, habitually pursed her small mouth, and the next mont she suddenly cried out, "Hurts, hurts, hurts..."
Why does her mouth hurt so much?
She reached out to touch her lips to see if they were injured, only to have Cyrus Hawthorne grab her wrist, "Don’t use your hand, germs."
Thinking so, Ann Vaughn didn’t use her hand to touch, having just woken up not feeling it, but now she felt a burning pain on her lips.
"What happened to my mouth? Is it hurt?" Without a mirror nearby, Ann Vaughn could only let Cyrus Hawthorne check.
She slightly pouted her mouth, already vibrantly red, seed coated with a layer of gloss, invitingly alluring like a flower ripe for picking.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s previously cald restless fire surged back up, his deep-set narrow eyes locked onto her rosy lips, his Adam’s apple moved slightly.
"Does it hurt?" His voice was deeply hoarse.
"Of course it hurts, like sothing bit..." Ann Vaughn couldn’t resist licking her lips to ease the pain, murmuring a complaint, a white flash suddenly crossed her mind.
Bit by what?!
"Cyrus..." Ann Vaughn’s face showed a hint of annoyance, just as she tried to sit up and confront him, she saw a shadow cast over.
Before she could react, her small mouth was sealed by his cool lips, taking advantage of her opening mouth, he barged in aggressively!
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