Jasmine Yale's long hair hung over her shoulders, the soft strands accentuating the gentleness of her face.
She took a sip of plain water, with a hint of tenderness in her eyes.
After listening to the voice message again, she saw a call coming in from Sylvan Cheney.
Jasmine Yale answered the phone, gently resting her head on the cushion, as the warm orange light cast a golden hue on her skin.
Sylvan Cheney was still standing outside, the alcohol yet to wear off, with a slight drunkenness in his eyes.
"Did you like it?" he asked.
Jasmine Yale chuckled, teasing, "Do you mean the story or something else?"
"You little rascal." He laughed, raising his eyebrows slightly.
"President, you're drunk," Jasmine Yale said, "If you weren't drunk, there's no way you'd tell my baby a story."
"Why not!" Sylvan's tone was somewhat irritable.
