As the car turned back, a black Maybach gradually pulled up alongside us. The rear window was half-open, revealing a sharply defined profile.
Lin Xuyan was still chattering away, trying to cozy up to me: "Miss Nan Zhi, do you live around here?"
"No, I was actually visiting a friend who lives in this area, but he had to cancel last minute," I replied softly. "By the way, Mr. Lin, what do you do for work?"
"Just dabbling in investments," he said with false modesty, though his tone dripped with pride. "Recently, I've been looking to break into the new media industry. Do you have any advice, Miss Nan Zhi?"
"It's a cutthroat business, but—" Just then, the Maybach suddenly accelerated, cutting sharply in front of us with a smooth drift, forcing Lin Xuyan to slam on the brakes. We lurched forward violently.
"What the hell?!" He angrily honked the horn.
The Maybach's door swung open, and Fang Yichen stepped out, his tall frame imposing. Dressed in a flawlessly tailored black suit, his tie perfectly knotted, he exuded an aura of quiet authority.
"Miss Nan Zhi," he said, completely ignoring Lin Xuyan as he approached my window. "I thought you were recuperating. Seems you've recovered ahead of schedule. In that case, shouldn't you be returning to work?"
I feigned confusion. "Mr. Fang, with how busy you are, you still have time to monitor my sick leave?" I turned to a stunned Lin Xuyan. "Mr. Lin, this is Mr. Fang,CEO of Xingyue Entertainment. I'm afraid we'll have to continue our chat another time."
Lin Xuyan glanced at Mr. Fang, stammering, "O-of course, Miss Nan Zhi. Don't let me keep you."
As Lin Xuyan got out, Mr. Fang motioned for me to slide over, then took the passenger seat himsel
"Mr. Fang?" I stared at him in surprise. His usually unreadable eyes were fixed ahead, his jawline taut.
He turned, his gaze as cold as Siberian permafrost. "If you're well enough to be out, you're well enough to work." His long fingers tapped the leather seat. "Drive. To the company."
My grip on the steering wheel tightened. What's his problem? He was the one who approved my sick leave—now he's suddenly revoking it?
"Mr. Fang," I kept my voice steady, "you were the one who told me to rest."
"I told you to rest to recover," he snapped, his sharp eyes raking over me from head to toe, "not to pick up men."
I nearly choked on my own saliva. Pick up men?!
"You've misunderstood," I hurried to explain. "That guy was just a friend of a friend. We literally met today—there's nothing between us." At least, not in this lifetime.
"Nothing between you?" His voice was so low it seemed to vibrate from his chest. "You let a man you just met into your car for 'nothing'?" Suddenly, he leaned in, the faint scent of cedar enveloping me. "Then if there were something, what exactly would you be doing?"
The upward lilt of his final words sent heat rushing to my ears. Too close—I could see the shadows cast by his lashes, smell the crisp aftershave on his skin, even feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath
This distance was far beyond socially acceptable.
"I—" My brain short-circuited. Mr. Fang was acting so out of character that I wondered if he'd been possessed.
He seemed to realize his lapse too, abruptly pulling back and reassuming his icy demeanor.
But I hadn't imagined it—the tips of his ears were tinged with the faintest blush.
"Um… could I maybe have a few more days off? The doctor said I need—"
"Tomorrow." His tone brooked no argument as he reached for the door handle. "Nine AM. "
Before I could respond, he was already striding back to the Maybach. The luxury car roared to life and sped off in a cloud of dust.
"Control freak…" I muttered under my breath.
Mr. Fang practically collapsed into the backseat of the Maybach, his long fingers yanking at his tie to loosen it. In the enclosed space, the lingering trace of gardenia perfume still teased his senses, making his temples throb.
"Roll down the windows," he ordered hoarsely, an uncharacteristic urgency in his voice.
The driver, Tang, immediately hit the controls. All four windows slid down, and the early summer wind, heavy with the scent of street trees, rushed in, diluting the floral notes. Mr. Fang leaned back against the leather seat, his Adam's apple bobbing with effort.
"Mr. Fang, another allergic reaction?" Tang asked worriedly, eyeing his boss's flushed ears and neck in the rearview mirror. "Should we go to the hosp—"
"No." Mr. Fang cut him off.
Tang hesitated. "But… there aren't even gardenias around here."
"Just drive." Mr. Fang closed his eyes, unwilling to elaborate.
Ten years. Ever since his mother's death, he'd occasionally experienced mild allergic reactions—but never anything this severe.
The doctors had called it psychosomatic.
Yet today, in her car, he'd somehow relived that suffocating sensation.
And the most absurd part?
Even knowing the risk, he'd still climbed into the passenger seat like a man possessed.