Everyone at the front desk fell silent at the same time. Chen Peiran stood nearby, glaring at her.
The landline carried the man’s voice clearly. A faint crackle in the connection made it sound even more magnetic, with a hint of teasing that Shuangxu couldn’t tell was real or just her imagination.
“Which one of my little sweethearts is this?”
“……”
What the hell? If this hadn’t been Yundun’s office phone, Shuangxu would have thought she’d dialed the wrong number.
She discreetly covered the receiver and turned her back.
Little Liao immediately “got the hint” and dragged Chen Peiran away, speaking loudly. “President Chen, eavesdropping on someone’s phone call is incredibly tacky!”
People nearby looked over. Chen Peiran’s expression turned awkward, and he shook her off. “Why are you shouting?”
Shuangxu spoke into the receiver. “I’m Song Shuangxu.”
“Song what?”
The little hope she’d had—that he might help her out because they knew each other—vanished.
She hadn’t expected He Tingzhou not even to remember her name. With no other choice, she had to bring up Shen Yu.
“Shuangxu,” she enunciated clearly. “Shen Yu’s younger sister.”
“Looking for your brother?” The man still sounded as nonchalant as ever, with not a trace of warmth. “He’s not here.”
Shuangxu said, “I’m looking for… you.”
Silence lingered on the other end for three seconds.
He Tingzhou’s voice was languid. “Wait.”
Five minutes later, He Tingzhou’s executive assistant came down in person to escort her, ushering her respectfully into the elevator. “Miss Song, this way, please.”
No word could adequately describe how awful Chen Peiran looked.
Little Liao hadn’t expected Shuangxu to actually pull it off. Hope blazed back to life in her. “You really know President He? Then we’ve got this in the bag!”
“Don’t celebrate at halftime.” Shuangxu covered her mouth and lowered her voice. “He and I… aren’t close.”
President He agreed to see Shuangxu alone, so Little Liao had to stay in the lobby, watching wistfully as the elevator doors closed.
Chen Peiran’s tense, twisted expression was reflected in the gleaming metal frame, a world away from his earlier confidence and arrogance.
Shuangxu was instantly delighted.
“President Chen, you look awful. Be angry if you want, but don’t make yourself sick with it! Hahahaha!”
Chen Peiran glared at her, but had no time to trade insults. Frantically, he pulled out his phone and called someone in a low voice. “Find out who Song Shuangxu is.”
He hadn’t expected He Tingzhou to actually agree to see her.
Chenxing had gone to considerable trouble just to get an introduction to Yundun Group through a mid-level manager. Chen Peiran had made countless trips to Yundun, only to deal with a minor supervisor in the technology development department. He hadn’t even caught a glimpse of He Tingzhou.
If she really knew He Tingzhou, wouldn’t that ruin Chenxing’s partnership with Yundun?!
Shuangxu herself wasn’t nearly so confident.
He Tingzhou was Shen Yu’s friend. In theory, with Shen Yu as a connection, securing this little liquid-hydrogen drone contract should have been a sure thing.
But of Shen Yu’s friends, He Tingzhou was the one Shuangxu knew least—and feared most.
Her few impressions of He Tingzhou boiled down to one word: bad.
When she reached the CEO’s office on the top floor, the assistant knocked. A cool, distant voice came from inside. “Come in.”
It sounded nothing like the voice she’d heard on the phone.
The assistant opened the door and politely gestured for her to enter.
Shuangxu let out a long breath. The wispy hair over her forehead lifted, then fell again. She steadied herself and stepped inside.
He Tingzhou’s office was done in cold shades of black and gray. Its hard lines and metallic feel spoke of an owner who kept people at a distance.
She hadn’t expected anyone else to be there.
Several men in suits were seated around the lounge area. It was no wonder He Tingzhou had caught Shuangxu’s eye first; he stood out far too much among them.
Unlike Shen Yu’s refined good looks, He Tingzhou’s features were strikingly bold: thick brows, deep-set eyes, a high, straight nose. He was handsome in a way that was almost aggressive.
He sat on a black leather sofa with his back to the floor-to-ceiling windows. His shoulders were broad and straight, his hard, angular frame tapering at the waist, with long legs beneath his black dress pants.
When the door opened, he lifted his eyes and glanced over.
His eyes were long, narrow, and keen. A single look was enough to make Shuangxu feel the pressure rolling off him.
He Tingzhou’s gaze slid over her and moved on. He seemed indifferent, probably without even getting a good look at what she looked like now.
Shuangxu didn’t understand why he’d let her in if he was in the middle of a meeting.
She tactfully sat down nearby and tuned out the conversation.
Nearly twenty minutes passed before the discussion came to an end. Once the others had left, Shuangxu stood and walked over to the lounge area.
He Tingzhou stayed where he was, head bent over some documents, as if he’d forgotten she was there.
Shuangxu knew she’d only gotten this much time because of Shen Yu. As he reviewed the documents, she explained why she had come.
He Tingzhou didn’t even look up. His fountain pen made a soft rasp against the paper.
His fingers were long and strong, and his strokes forceful; the sound rose and fell, like clouds drifting and a startled dragon taking flight.
Shuangxu briefly outlined Feixue’s latest progress on the liquid-hydrogen drone project. Halfway through, she realized He Tingzhou had shifted his attention from the documents to her at some point.
An open blue folder rested on his knee. He propped his temple on one hand and stared at her without blinking.
His eyes were sharply shaped, their irises a deep, inky black.
Shuangxu couldn’t tell whether he was listening intently or lost in thought.
“Feixue spent two years developing the liquid-hydrogen drone project. Chenxing didn’t acquire the research through entirely proper means. The two founders had a falling-out…”
“I don’t deal with couples’ fights,” He Tingzhou finally said.
“I want the technology, not the fruit of their love. It makes no difference to me whether the child takes the father’s surname or the mother’s.”
“It does make a difference,” Shuangxu said evenly. “Shu Yang is a graduate student in aeronautical engineering. Chen Peiran studied finance. Shu Yang has always been the technical core of Feixue’s R&D department. More important than the technology is the person who knows how to use it.”
She paused. “Since you’ve been following this project for so long, President He, you must have a lot of faith in Shu Yang’s abilities.”
He Tingzhou raised an eyebrow. “You’re not calling me Brother Tingzhou anymore?”
Shuangxu thought, Didn’t you just say you didn’t remember me?
“…Brother Tingzhou,” she corrected herself.
He Tingzhou studied her thoughtfully for a few seconds. “Why are you the one pulling strings for Feixue?”
Shuangxu wanted to say she hadn’t come specifically to pull strings. She’d been thrown into this at the last minute and hadn’t even thought of that beforehand.
But if the connection worked out and she could help Shu Yang, that would be a good result.
“Shu Yang is my senior schoolmate. She’s in the hospital right now and can’t come herself, so I’m here on her behalf.”
“You’re the first person who’s ever used connections to get this far with me.” He Tingzhou seemed to find it amusing. He straightened up. “I suppose I can make an exception for you.”
“Chenxing can offer the same terms. If they want to sign, they can make an appointment with my secretary.”
Shuangxu frowned. “Chenxing’s terms are practically giving it to you for free. They just want to get a foot in the door with Yundun Group. The project belongs to Feixue, and Chenxing got it without paying a thing—no cost to them at all. But Feixue is different. They invested a great deal of money and effort in this project.”
If they gave it to Yundun for nothing, wouldn’t the past two years have been wasted?
Shuangxu tried to reason with him. “Could we discuss the terms again—”
Before she could finish, a meaningful smile tugged at the corner of He Tingzhou’s mouth.
He wore a black shirt with two buttons undone. When he smiled like that, he looked less like a group president and more like a dissolute, wicked young master.
He Tingzhou rolled his fountain pen between his fingers. His words came out lazily, almost flirtatiously.
“Little Princess, you don’t have that much sway with me.”