Limited-Time Attachment - Chapter 28

Song Ming reorganized a team within Boshen. The personnel mostly consisted of Boshen’s original senior executives, with the addition of two subordinates who had worked with her for many years, specifically to handle Boshen’s long-delayed property rights dispute.

“Don’t let the company fall into a state of stagnation just because this dispute isn’t over. Business as usual, negotiate cooperation as planned,” a clear female voice echoed slightly in the corridor outside the conference room, her tone casual. “And take this opportunity to build some hype for the new products.”

Seated at the head of the conference table, Song Ming was rarely seen wearing a suit. Her features were inherently aggressive, the suit, which emphasized her commanding presence, fit her perfectly. Her grey-green eyes swept across the room without a hint of emotion, young, beautiful and sharp, she inspired awe and trepidation.

A Boshen executive looked up at her, not daring to maintain eye contact for long before quickly looking away. “Understood, President Song. However, the other party’s attitude remains very firm. What should we do about that?”

Song Ming didn’t answer. Instead, a subordinate who had been following her and was attending the meeting via an overseas link spoke up: “The opponent is a major brand with a long history of operation and a very mature PR mechanism. They won’t show any obvious reaction until the public opinion reaches a certain level. However, as long as our follow-up measures keep pace according to plan, they will take action soon. We just need to respond according to the current proposal when that happens.”

Realizing his question wasn’t particularly bright, the executive sheepishly shut his mouth.

Song Ming leaned back in her chair at the head of the table, one elbow propped up, her finger brushing past her brow. She expressionlessly ignored the less than capable subordinate.

“Any other questions?”

Experiencing a high-pressure work environment for the first time, the Boshen executives shook their heads in a mix of respect and fear.

“Meeting adjourned.”

The multi-colored office chair, perfectly fitting the aesthetic of a design company, spun half a turn as it was left empty. Song Ming, who detested meetings even more than her subordinates, was the first to rise and walk out. The sunlight streaming in from outside was trampled beneath her feet, her slim waist was accentuated by a thin leather belt, her proportions impeccable.

While this meeting was taking place, an ivory-tower public relations war regarding Boshen’s property dispute was unfolding online, fueled by Song Ming’s deliberate push.

The case, which had been dragged out for three to five years, was unearthed for discussion. For a time, conspiracy theories and skepticism flew everywhere, with some comments being quite harsh. However, none of this affected Song Ming. She only cared about how much hype this could generate for the company’s future new works and the fact that the company’s current lead designers weren’t quite up to par.

Otherwise, even if they won the battle of public opinion, it would be a wasted effort without the hard strength to support subsequent development.

With one hand in her pocket and the other clutching a folder, Song Ming walked lazily toward her office. Before she could push the door open, her phone rang, it was Song Zhicheng.

“Tsk.” Song Ming’s expression flickered with distaste.

This show-off was at it again.

Last time, he failed to plant someone by her side and got scolded by the Old Man. This time he’d grown smarter, changing his tactics constantly pestering her to return to the Group to take up a position.

In any case, she and the Old Man were naturally at odds; being close might only increase the mutual loathing.

Song Ming casually hung up the phone. Within two minutes, the other party called again.

“It’s me,” Song Zhicheng said on the other end, his tone perfectly natural. “Why didn’t you pick up just now?”

Song Ming didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Is there something?”

“Have you thought about what I mentioned before?” Song Zhicheng sounded very concerned. “I’ve been following the news online lately. Sister, I told you long ago, there’s really no need for you to break away from Songyun. Boshen is a small company, its current situation isn’t suitable for long-term operation. You have no big-name designers and no sufficient capital injection. You can’t turn the tide. Why waste your time? If you like big fashion brands, I have ready-made agency partnerships we can discuss. Or, if you just like playing around at Boshen, don’t force it wouldn’t it be better for the Group to inject capital for you?”

“You don’t need to worry about how I’m doing, and don’t call me that, it’s nauseating,” Song Ming leaned back in her chair, casually shaking her mouse to wake her computer screen, her voice cold. “As for you, constantly urging me to return to Songyun, does the Old Man know?”

Song Zhicheng’s voice paused; he was choked up by Song Ming’s words.

Song Ming let out a mocking laugh. “Songyun is still under Chairman Song’s control. If you keep acting so presumptuously, be careful not to shoot yourself in the foot.”

The other side was silent for a moment before the call was abruptly disconnected.

“Idiot.”

Annoyed, Song Ming tossed the phone aside and picked up her other device. Her subordinate overseas had finished screening reliable designer candidates and sent two files to Song Ming. The final message was brief:

“President Song, the funds are ready.”

Public opinion was about to reach its peak, and both capital and talent were in place. Everything was just right.

“Only you. If it were anyone else in our circle taking over Boshen, I’d seriously think they were mentally ill.”

Jing Lie had organized a gathering at a certain bar. After several rounds of drinks, the others had moved off to pursue their own agendas, flirting or dancing, leaving only Jing Lie and Song Ming in the booth.

A slightly tipsy Jing Lie leaned over to clink glasses with Song Ming, looking earnest.

Song Ming held her glass but didn’t drink. Jing Lie didn’t notice her dodging the alcohol and continued, “You probably don’t know, but even now, plenty of people in the circle doubt whether you can actually make Boshen work.”

“Let them.” Song Ming’s reaction was flat.

In the beginning, she simply didn’t want to watch a certain woman get her way; she didn’t actually care much about the brand itself.

“Most people think you’ll accept capital injection from Songyun. They’ve even started taking bets on it.”

A stray hair brushed against Song Ming’s cheek, her grey-green eyes devoid of emotion. “These people are bored.”

“Tell me about it. Quite a few are betting you’ll accept.”

“That’s too bad,” Song Ming said indifferently, her voice cool. “They’re going to lose everything.”

Jing Lie froze for a second, then laughed so hard the wine in his glass nearly spilled. “I knew it. With your temper, you’d never accept someone else’s investment, unless it’s your own money.”

Song Ming took a sip of her drink and said ambiguously, “Isn’t that the truth.”

The atmosphere in the bar was heating up. Men and women danced on the floor, and the atmosphere-makers wove through the crowd. There were indeed a few women who caught the eye. But… Song Ming swirled her glass, feeling only that it was noisy.

“I’m going out for some air,” Song Ming said, grabbing her cigarettes and lighter.

“Eh? Not playing anymore?”

Jing Lie’s voice followed her fuzzily, but Song Ming acted as if she hadn’t heard.

I’ve just lacked interest lately, it has nothing to do with anything else, Song Ming thought.

Since dropping the cooperation between Yuexi and Jiaxin, her chances of meeting Zhou Jibai had dwindled, save for that one accident at the banquet. It turned out A-City was actually quite large.

Song Ming walked out of the bar and stood under a streetlamp not far from the entrance to light a cigarette.

The entire street was lined with bars, though they catered to different crowds, most of the passersby were drunks. Song Ming stood alone in the corner under the lamplight, her oversized suit covering a halter-neck camisole. Around her neck was a choker-like collar, a cigarette between her lips, her short hair brushed back to reveal shimmering metal earrings.

Including the over the knee boots she was wearing, Song Ming stood nearly 1.9 meters tall. Her rolled-up sleeves revealed a section of clearly defined, firm muscle on her forearms, and the wide steel-band watch on her wrist subtly hinted at its owner’s character.

A puff of smoke slowly dissipated between Song Ming’s breaths. As her grey-green eyes swept across the street, her expression was lazy and lingering; her sharp, dangerous sexiness was captivating.

A drunkard walking past the bar happened to glance at Song Ming and suddenly stopped. Ignoring the nature of the establishment nearby, he shrugged off his companion and tried to approach her to strike up a conversation.

Song Ming’s drifting attention was pulled back by the drunk. Seeing the man swaying toward her, Song Ming flashed her first smile of the night after all, when one is unhappy, one usually needs to hit something.

A sober companion of the drunkard realized something was wrong, came over to hoist the man up, and dragged him away.

“Tsk.”

Song Ming felt a bit disappointed; they were only ten meters away.

“I’m sorry, sir. I have no interest in making friends. Could you please move aside?”

A familiar voice, cold in tone, sounded from the other side of the wall behind her.

Zhou Jibai?

This street was full of bars, why would she be in a place like this?

The voice responding sounded like a man, and he was being persistently troublesome.

Song Ming licked the base of her teeth. The slender cigarette was crushed between her fingers, and the cold white light of the streetlamp cast shadows on the roadside greenery, making the dark green leaves look deathly pale.

The last thread of smoke was rubbed into a fine line.

None of my business, Song Ming thought.

The man’s voice rose again: “You’re so pretty, baby. Don’t be shy. Let’s just play together, nothing else.”

The words were disgusting, lewd, and nauseating.

To hell with it. Song Ming opened her eyes, her face grim.

Zhou Jibai was being cornered by the man not far from her. Song Ming rounded the corner, strode over in a few steps, reached out to grab Zhou Jibai’s bare shoulder, and pulled her directly into her arms with a surge of strength.

“Out for some fun, President Zhou?”

Song Ming’s voice was dark. She spoke to Zhou Jibai, but her eyes were fixed on the men opposite them, her gaze chillingly cold.