"Hey, Mom." Zhou Ying pressed the phone to her ear.
The instant the call connected, Jiang Cheng's knee forced her legs apart.
His left hand tugged the strap of her dance leotard down.
Fingers brushed the red mole just below her collarbone—the one he'd bitten into existence that morning.
When Jiang Cheng suddenly moved, panic flashed across Zhou Ying's face.
"Has Jiang Cheng left yet? I'm already on my way," Fang Yuan's voice came through, mingled with the elevator announcements.
"He—he should…" The sentence died in a stifled moan.
Jiang Cheng bit the spot behind her ear, the most sensitive place, while his right hand slipped under her skirt.
He murmured, "This gap fits my fingers even better than piano keys."
"Why aren't you saying anything?" Fang Yuan asked, puzzled.
Clenching her teeth, Zhou Ying drew a deep breath and tried to steady her ragged breathing.
"He should be heading out soon…"
She silently thanked the dance training that let her snatch a breath at exactly the right instant.
She could speak quickly without betraying the gasp caught in her throat.
"You sound a little tired," Fang Yuan said, concerned.
The words made Zhou Ying's fingertips tremble.
Tears glazed her eyes.
The storeroom ceiling light flickered, casting jagged shadows across Jiang Cheng's face.
"Tell Auntie you're doing inventory."
Zhou Ying twisted her body in protest.
After another quick breath she answered, forcing lightness into her tone.
"Oh, I just finished practice—maybe I'm still catching my breath."
The tail of her sentence was swallowed by the clatter of a swaying shelf.
Jiang Cheng's circling fingertips matched the rhythm he'd used on Zhong Chuxi's thigh the night before.
"Didn't you say you'd come eat with us?"
Fang Yuan's question turned Zhou Ying's knees weak.
Jiang Cheng chose that moment to bite her lower lip—hard enough to taste the faint salt of blood.
In the cramped storeroom every breath carried the heat of their bodies.
"I'll come later—didn't you say… there's the red-envelope giveaway? I'll wait till that's over."
"All right, I'll hang up then…"
When the call ended, Zhou Ying groaned, "You liar."
Jiang Cheng only smiled; words were useless now.
Actions spoke louder.
Deep among the shelves, the hair tie Zhong Chuxi had lost last night dangled from a rusty hook.
It swayed like a silent witness, recording the overlapping gasps and rising heat inside the tiny room.
After Zhengde Group was acquired by Jiang Cheng, it was merged into his father's Jiangtai Building Materials.
As finance manager of Zhengde, Fang Yuan had to attend the reopening banquet.
His father attached great importance to the event.
He'd sent a message first thing in the morning.
It showed that, no matter the field, men always treat "first times" with special reverence.
Half an hour later Jiang Cheng kissed Zhou Ying—still lying motionless by the door—and stepped out of the storeroom.
At the exit Wang Sheng and several others were already waiting.
"Young Master." Wang Sheng inclined his head, several briefcases dangling from his hand.
"As instructed, all the prepared red envelopes are inside."
He pulled open a zipper.
Neat stacks of gold-embossed envelopes, each bulging, came into view.
"Good work."
Wang Sheng lowered his voice. "But… there's something you should know."
Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow. "Speak."
"Security spotted a few reporters loitering at the gate,"
Wang Sheng said, handing over a tablet with a surveillance still. "Their gear looks like the finance channel's."
Jiang Cheng glanced at the screen, chuckled, and tossed the tablet back.
"Jiangtai Group must be doing well if a lousy reopening banquet is worth staking out."
Wang Sheng caught up, hesitated, then asked, "Should I have someone…?"
Jiang Cheng said, "Let them shoot whatever they want—just keep me out of frame."
He pulled the car door open, then turned back. "Right, Zhou Ying will come later. Arrange a car for her."
"Understood. Don't worry, sir."
Soon the car stopped outside the reserved hotel.
As expected, several finance reporters waited at the entrance.
They were clearly well-prepared.
The moment the rolls-royce halted they raised their cameras, ready to capture Jiang Cheng.
But Wang Sheng's team had planned for this.
As Jiang Cheng stepped out, a huge black umbrella snapped open like a shield, hiding him completely.
Under its cover he walked steadily into the banquet hall.
Only after he vanished inside did Wang Sheng turn and walk straight toward the reporters.
In previous years these finance journalists had never covered Jiangtai.
This year was different, thanks to a series of eye-catching moves.
First the successful acquisition of Zhengde, then the partnership with Tianlong Intellectual Property to develop eastern Chengdu.
Rumors even claimed a Jiangtai subsidiary had secured a mining area in the Western Hills.
Though the mine remained unconfirmed,
Jiangtai's market value had already soared from the ten-million level to well over a billion.
Such explosive growth naturally drew widespread financial-media attention.
More importantly, Jiangtai wasn't just another real-estate firm.
It was a construction company.
In expanding, it had created large numbers of jobs for grassroots workers.
It solved livelihood problems
and contributed sizable tax revenues to the local government.
For these reasons the reporters held a high opinion of Jiangtai.
When Wang Sheng explained the situation, they exchanged glances of surprise.
They'd heard that today's reopening banquet welcomed employees of every rank.
There would even be a red-envelope handout.
With most entrepreneurs,
such an event would be staged for maximum publicity; they'd invite as many reporters as possible.
After all, renting the venue and filling dozens of tables with food and drink cost money.
If reporters didn't come on their own, the boss would hire a crew…
Yet Jiang Cheng had passed up this perfect chance to appear on camera—something they found astonishing.
After hearing the explanation, none of the reporters complained.
Instead they admired his low-profile approach.
Inside the banquet hall Wang Wei came forward beaming. "President Jiang, you're here."
"Uncle Wang, just call me Xiao Jiang."
Wang Wei had worked beside Jiang Cheng's father for over a decade.
Every New Year Jiang Cheng saw him at the family home.
Among everyone present Wang Wei felt the most familiar.
Wang Wei smiled at the words.
Still he waved them off. "That won't do. You're our leader now—President Jiang suits you."
Since he put it that way, Jiang Cheng didn't correct him again.
Some things need be said only once.
Personal feelings aside, this was a company;
keeping public and private matters separate was essential.