Chapter 45:
“I’m just afraid that sometimes I’ll be too busy late at night, and it won’t be convenient.”
Actually, not at all. Meng Shuyou just felt that she still needed her own small space and couldn’t rely on him for everything, otherwise if they quarreled one day and she was swept out the door, she wouldn’t even have a place to go.
Pei Yuzhou gazed into her eyes. “What’s inconvenient about a half-hour drive.”
“Then I need somewhere to put all my painting materials. Renting a house next to the art gallery is more convenient.”
“Fine.” He relented. “Tomorrow I’ll have the driver take you there.”
“Thank you, Mister Pei.” Meng Shuyou’s eyes curved slightly at the corners. “Then I’ll go to sleep.”
Just as she turned, he pulled her waist toward him. “Where are you running off to.”
Pei Yuzhou smoothly pressed her against the wall, his large palm covering her lower back, the veins on the back of his hand prominent like a mountain range.
His palm was warm, burning her skin slightly through the pajamas fabric.
Their eyes met, the lamplight casting shadows on their faces, light and dark varying.
He lowered his head, his thin lips pressing down.
A clear, pleasant male scent filled her nose.
Meng Shuyou’s long lashes trembled as she quickly covered her mouth with her hand and said softly, “I have a cold. It’ll be contagious to you.”
Pei Yuzhou smirked. “You think your little cold can infect me?”
Meng Shuyou warned him in advance. “If you get infected, don’t blame me.”
She added, “You can’t bite me.”
“Don’t dodge, and I won’t bite.”
That was her instinctive reaction, wasn’t it.
Pei Yuzhou pulled her hand away and kissed her deeply.
Meng Shuyou parted her lips, letting him invade.
Her fingertips gripped his shirt tightly.
Their breaths mingled, entwined.
The corridor was quiet, amplifying every tiny sound.
The kissing sounds lingered in her ears.
The suit jacket on his arm slipped off.
Meng Shuyou was almost out of oxygen, her cheeks and ears flushed red.
He pulled away briefly, murmuring against her lip corner, “Breathe.”
Meng Shuyou gasped for air, her heartbeat erratic.
As the distance widened, Pei Yuzhou’s fingertip brushed her moist eye corner, admiring the girl’s raw, shy expression.
Meng Shuyou averted her gaze, not daring to look at him, and pushed lightly at his chest. As soon as she spoke, her voice was soft and soft, “I’m sleepy. I’m going to bed.”
Pei Yuzhou released her.
Meng Shuyou stumbled dizzily back to her room.
“Wrong way.” Pei Yuzhou bent down to pick up the clothes from the floor, his low magnetic voice casual. “Or do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?”
Meng Shuyou quickly turned around and retorted softly, “No.”
With that, she hurried into the room and locked the door.
She leaned against the door, patting her chest to calm her breathing.
The flush on her face lingered for a long time.
She touched her lips—they seemed a bit swollen from the sucking.
How could he kiss for so long.
–
The next day, Meng Shuyou woke very early.
She got up, washed up, changed clothes, and went downstairs.
Someone had woken even earlier and was already eating breakfast at the dining table.
Thinking of that intense kiss last night, Meng Shuyou still felt uneasy and walked over pretending to be calm. “Good morning, Mister Pei.”
“Morning.” Pei Yuzhou took a sip of coffee, eyes not lifting, and picked up the New York Times beside him to read.
Meng Shuyou pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, sneaking a glance at him with her peripheral vision.
He wore a white shirt that was impeccably ironed, luxurious in texture, with buttons and tie fastened meticulously—extremely abstinent. It was hard to connect him to last night’s scene.
“Miss, would you like Chinese or American breakfast?” the servant asked.
Meng Shuyou replied, “I’ll have Chinese, thank you.”
“Alright.”
The servant brought out a steamer of steamed buns, a small plate of crystal shrimp dumplings, two pieces of steamed cake, and a cup of hot milk.
Meng Shuyou rarely had authentic Chinese food here, and it suited her taste perfectly.
“Is the chef Chinese too?” she asked.
The servant nodded. “Yes.”
Meng Shuyou’s brows and eyes curved. “No wonder it tastes so good.”
The servant said, “You can tell us directly if there’s anything you’d like to eat.”
Meng Shuyou thought for a moment. “I’d like braised pork ribs and tomato potato beef brisket. Can you make that?”
“Of course.”
His ears not clearing up, Pei Yuzhou set down the newspaper and glanced sideways.
The girl wore an apricot-colored retro top with a denim half-skirt, her hair in a side three-strand braid with a lace hair tie at the end—face bare, fair and flawless, even more pure.
Meng Shuyou noticed his gaze and met his eyes, just having stuffed half a shrimp dumpling in her mouth, cheeks slightly puffed. “Sorry, I won’t talk anymore.”
Pei Yuzhou withdrew his gaze, raised his hand to check his wristwatch, and stood up calmly. “I’m going to the company. There’s a driver at home—tell him where you’re going.”
“Okay.” Meng Shuyou swallowed what was in her mouth. “Will you come back for dinner tonight?”
Pei Yuzhou countered, “Do you want me to come back for dinner?”
Meng Shuyou blinked. “If I want you to, will you?”
“I’ll consider it.” He picked up the suit jacket from the back of the chair, draping it over his arm, and walked out.
Actually, Meng Shuyou had just asked casually—it didn’t matter if he came back or not.
After breakfast, she had the driver take her to the R&C art gallery.
The Brooklyn Bridge spanned the East River, connecting Manhattan and Brooklyn District—not far apart.
The car drove through bustling streets into an art district, lined with distinctive buildings and graffiti designs everywhere.
The R&C art gallery was tucked in an unassuming corner—a very low-key building without even a sign, just a freestanding directional sign.
It fit Madam Kasa’s image perfectly. She didn’t like being disturbed, was used to being free-spirited and zen-like in management.
Meng Shuyou got out of the car and followed the arrow sign inside.
Passing a small courtyard with lush trees blocking the glaring sunlight.
The tempered glass door was half-open. Entering, a faint paint scent hit her nose.
Transparent display cases held artworks from various periods, styles diverse.
By the French floor-to-ceiling window, a middle-aged woman lounged in a chaise reading. Hearing movement, she didn’t look up. “Sorry, we’re not open today.”
Meng Shuyou said politely, “Hello, Teacher. I’m Elara, here for the summer internship.”
Hearing this, Madam Kasa immediately set down her book and stood. “It’s you.”
She sized up the young girl—indeed lively and beautiful; no wonder even Kerwin couldn’t resist her charm. “Didn’t your professor say you had something come up and would be a week or two late?”
Meng Shuyou apologized. “It’s been resolved. Really sorry.”
“No problem.” Madam Kasa got her a bottle of water and gestured to the sofa.
Meng Shuyou thanked her.
“My assistant is on vacation for these two months, so you’ll need to help mind the art gallery.” Madam Kasa explained the situation. “We’re open fixed three days a week. You’ll handle receiving clients usually. If someone wants to buy painting, introduce it to them. Contact me anytime if you can’t handle it. Can you accept that?”
Meng Shuyou nodded. “No problem. I don’t have much experience, but I’ve seen many of your artworks.”
Madam Kasa asked, “Which of my paintings do you like most?”
Meng Shuyou didn’t hesitate. “Looking Back. The portrayal of the figure’s expression is so good—there’s a bright sorrow.”
“That’s my favorite too.” Madam Kasa smiled helplessly. “Too bad it’s sold. I was actually quite reluctant.”
“If you were reluctant, why sell it?”
“Kerwin didn’t tell you?”
Meng Shuyou was stunned. “You know Mister Kerwin and I know each other?”
She quickly realized. “Did Mister Kerwin introduce me to you?”
