CHAPTER 277: 276 "IN THE HOT SPRING POOL" _1

Shen Jing then realized he was in the conference room and had temporarily paused the meeting to video call her.

She seldom saw Zhou Luchen in his domineering CEO mode. In that mode, his orders were supreme, his power immense, his position unrivaled, and women always came second. Perhaps this meeting was just a simple report, nothing important.

Too bad.

Chairman Zhou didn’t show his face again; the camera now focused on the executives sitting silently on either side.

The petty, proud CEO wouldn’t even let her admire his good looks—so handsome, yet he kept his face hidden.

Shen Jing lowered her eyes, took a sip of coffee, and switched the phone to her other hand. "I thought without me, you’d be drowning your days in alcohol."

Would the esteemed Second Young Master Zhou really do something so degenerate?

Unlikely.

His hoarse voice came from the other end of the phone. "Lift your head."

"Look at me," he commanded.

Shen Jing pouted but complied, lifting her chin towards the camera.

"Alright, look then."

She was meeting a client today and was dressed demurely, wearing light-colored lipstick.

Zhou Luchen chuckled calmly, once again suppressing a cough, making no sound.

She suddenly asked, "Do I look pretty?"

Zhou Luchen, sitting at the head of the long conference table, remained deliberately silent for a few seconds before saying in a frivolous tone, "Average."

His flippant remark made Shen Jing decisively move the camera away, showing Zhou Luchen the café’s decor instead. "Well, I’m busy now. No time for you."

Hmph, he’s made me angry.

"Hmm."

His throat started itching again, and Zhou Luchen’s "Hmm" was subdued, soft and refined.

Both were busy, so they ended the video call.

Zhou Luchen was still in a fairly good mood, not wanting to disturb her work. He had also gradually become less insistent on chatting with her frequently. However, the thought of Shen Jing being so busy she could brush him off so casually soured his mood again. He really didn’t know how much distance she needed before they could reconcile completely.

Just one woman, and she’d sent his mood swinging wildly countless times.

It was quite ridiculous, but Zhou Luchen himself hadn’t noticed. He, too, was busy—busy with meetings. Once he got busy, his strong self-control would suppress any emotional fluctuations under the weight of work.

Besides, he thought, it’s already a good thing Shen Jing hasn’t fled back to her home country.

"Continue the meeting."

He tossed the phone aside with a CLACK. Picking up a white lens cloth, he leisurely wiped his glasses before putting them back on.

Seen like this, with his glasses back on, the CEO’s aura became even more imposing.

Recently, United Bank and the financial authorities had begun piloting token trading. Consequently, the stock market was closing late, and the President of United Bank was finishing work even later.

Since Zhou Luchen took office, he had expedited the five-year performance efficiency targets initially set by Zhou Zhengliang to be completed within one year. This posed a great challenge to the new president. The stock price had been soaring, and he had no room for error.

The assistant had noticed a slight fatigue about Zhou Luchen, who was drinking bottled water more frequently. At first, the assistant thought the CEO’s tiredness was due to overwork, as he had long meetings and back-to-back appointments with streams of regional officials and investment companies.

His imposing, handsome figure was settled in the center of the sofa; he didn’t look sick, which reassured the assistant.

The next day, after the meetings finished and as the assistant was about to leave, he inadvertently saw Zhou Luchen bending over to search for medicine in a drawer. He found a box of cold medicine but seemed reluctant to touch it.

The assistant noticed something was amiss. He must be sick.

But Zhou Luchen didn’t look sick, so the assistant turned back to ask, "Do you want to see a doctor? I can call one to come over."

"It’s nothing," Zhou Luchen said, tossing the capsules back into the drawer. "Just tired. Go make some tea."

"Okay."

Tea revitalizes the spirit; it’s part of Eastern tea culture. The assistant, being a Westerner, thought along these lines and proceeded to follow the president’s instructions.

Xiaosong had always been so reliable, the assistant mused. Xiaosong was particularly adept at taking care of the president. In the past, Secretary Xiaosong could handle the president’s personal affairs with a single move. Unfortunately, the old chairman had taken Secretary Xiaosong to Washington. Secretary Xiaosong was highly competent; the reason for his transfer remained a mystery.

When the assistant returned with a cup of tea, Zhou Luchen was already submerged in the pool, cooling off.

Perhaps accustomed to ice-water showers, Zhou Luchen lingered in the pool, reluctant to get out. He leaned against the edge, eyes closed in rest, his well-defined arms propped on the rim.

He exuded such potent masculinity that a faint scent of citrus and bergamot from his shampoo seemed to permeate the nearly 500-square-meter presidential office.

But looking at him, with his eyes closed, his eyebrows were knitted together uncomfortably.

The assistant urged the few female secretaries who had come in with a contract, "Go out first. Haven’t you seen the boss’s girlfriend? Stop hanging around in the CEO’s office and staring. His girlfriend is not to be trifled with. She wasn’t even afraid of the old chairman last time."

Naturally, they had all seen Shen Jing; she had been coming to headquarters frequently in recent times.

After a brief exchange in English, one asked, "That contract... who signs it?"

"Are you confused? Of course, the CEO signs it," the assistant replied, then reconsidered. "Send it in tomorrow when he comes to work."

The female secretary timidly whispered, "The CEO said it must be done today. The financial authorities are coming to meet with him tomorrow morning."

Just then, Zhou Luchen, who was leisurely resting in the pool, spoke lazily, "Enzo, bring the contract over."

The sound of their conversation had likely disturbed his rest.

Assistant Enzo, ever considerate, took the contract and pen from the female secretary.

Zhou Luchen picked up a towel from the edge of the pool, dried his slightly damp fingers, and then took the pen to sign. He did all this while sitting in the pool, without turning around.

As he wrote, his bare, broad back muscles flexed, their solid, hard lines resembling a double-door wardrobe.

Where had his girlfriend gone,

Enzo wondered, leaving him here, buried in work?

The female secretary was a Westerner and not particularly shy, but... FUCK! What kind of boss signs contracts while lounging lazily in a pool? Every gesture reeked of arrogance, and he wouldn’t even deign to look at them!

The boss is either burning with desire or he’s sick; the veins on his neck are alarmingly prominent and red.

The assistant squatted down and dipped a hand into the water to test its temperature. It was ice cold.

It was the middle of a scorching summer, so this wasn’t entirely unusual, but Zhou Luchen’s forehead was covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

The CEO is definitely sick, Enzo concluded.

Assistant Enzo took the contract and left with the female secretaries.

He specifically called a doctor to the CEO’s office. However, when Enzo returned with the doctor and pushed open the door to the presidential office...

Zhou Luchen was gone. The pool in the rest area was empty. A white bathrobe lay casually draped over the leather sofa by the edge, along with a belt.

Enzo asked the secretarial department, "Where’s the CEO?"

"He’s already left."

The nightscape of Manhattan was stunningly vibrant.

A white Bentley sped to a stop near Times Square. Its windows were rolled down, and a faint whiff of nicotine drifted out.

Passersby would occasionally stop to gaze at the low-key but elegant Bentley, but they couldn’t clearly see who the distinguished man was, visible only in partial profile.

The man, like the other passersby, was watching a marriage proposal unfolding in Times Square.

This wasn’t the first time.

Zhou Luchen sat quietly in the car, drawing on his cigarette, watching the man propose.

He had parked to watch the moment he noticed it. He’d initially thought it was just two people, but it turned out to be one man and two women.

Listening to the chatter of passersby, he learned the story was pure melodrama: the man wasn’t proposing to his girlfriend but to her best friend—and the girlfriend had just found out.

With the cigarette between his lips, Zhou Luchen’s mouth curled slightly into a mocking smile.

Life was a never-ending drama.

Having no interest in seeing if the guy would get slapped, Zhou Luchen put out his cigarette, turned the steering wheel with one hand, stepped on the accelerator, and drove away.