Limited-Time Attachment - Chapter 33

The founder and designer of Boshen lived in the eastern suburbs of City A, a considerable distance from the city center. The dim yellow evening light spilled down, seemingly gilding the buildings in gold. Two neat rows of trees lined the highway, their leaves having already turned a deep green.

The off-road vehicle maintained a speed of eighty miles per hour as it sped along the straight road. Fallen yellow leaves were caught in the wind whipped up by the wheels, tumbling across the pavement.

The atmosphere inside the car was somewhat stagnant.

Zhou Jibai leaned against the passenger seat, tilting her head slightly to look out the window. Song Ming glanced over, seeing only Zhou Jibai’s sharp jawline and half of her exquisite, beautiful face. The large, standard off-road seat easily cradled Zhou Jibai, leaving plenty of extra space, which emphasized the thin and fragile nature of her sexy, beautiful body.

Song Ming took a look and was the first to speak, breaking the uncomfortable silence: “I heard that after Wu Chen fell out with the Shengmu Group, he stopped caring about anyone. How did President Zhou convince him?”

Zhou Jibai, who had been quietly watching the scenery, didn’t answer. Instead, she asked about something else: “How many women have sat in the passenger seat of this car?”

Song Ming was stunned: “What?”

Zhou Jibai’s voice was clear and cold: “I don’t want to sit where others have been intimate. I’m afraid of accidentally touching something I shouldn’t.”

After a moment of silence in the car, Song Ming smiled and suddenly slammed on the brakes.

Song Ming’s previous speed wasn’t slow. The sudden emergency braking caused the inertia to jerk Zhou Jibai forward violently. Fortunately, the seatbelt wrapped across her chest held her back.

However, the friction from the seatbelt popped a button on her bright red shirt. The originally modest neckline suddenly appeared excessively wide, revealing Zhou Jibai’s naturally cold, white, and soft skin.

Song Ming reached out with one hand, grabbing Zhou Jibai’s arm to pull her back and press her against the passenger seat.

Zhou Jibai bumped against the elastic seat, her curled hair fluttering at her shoulders. When she looked up again, Song Ming’s arm was braced in front of her. The beautiful mixed-race woman was inches away, her sharp and emotionless grey-green eyes half-lowered, gazing at her without a ripple of feeling.

Song Ming curled the corner of her mouth slightly. Her gaze brushed past Zhou Jibai’s slightly startled expression and lingered for a moment on Zhou Jibai’s crimson, moist lips.

In truth, Zhou Jibai never had a particularly good temper. When she and Song Ming were together, it wasn’t as if other people didn’t try to interfere.

According to Zhou Jibai’s wishes, although they often shared the same bed, they never went public. Most of the time, it was like an affair, avoiding everyone to be secretly intimate in every public place they were supposed to meet.

Back then, they hid it very well. Their social circle thought Zhou Jibai was single, and no one knew her orientation. In contrast, Song Ming didn’t care at all, she didn’t deliberately hide her preferences and let others guess as they pleased.

At a certain press conference, a very beautiful young model had apparently heard of her and harbored thoughts she shouldn’t have. She tricked Song Ming into a hotel room and even lit drugged incense.

Song Ming, of course, paid her no mind. The only one she wanted to coax was Zhou Jibai.

But Zhou Jibai cared a great deal. Although she showed no sign of being upset on the surface, so much so that even Song Ming couldn’t tell she was unhappy, within half a month, all of that model’s commercial shoots were systematically cut off. She effectively vanished from the industry.

Seeing such handiwork, Song Ming knew exactly who was responsible.

Song Ming had once asked Zhou Jibai if she was being too harsh. It was just a flirtation; considering how practiced that model was, Song Ming likely wasn’t the only one she had seduced. There was no need to waste time on such a person.

When she asked this, Zhou Jibai was at Song Ming’s house, wearing that Morandi grey slip nightdress, having been painstakingly lured over to spend the night after a week without intimacy.

Under the light, Zhou Jibai’s skin was fair and delicate. She lightly ran a hand through her loose hair, her captivating eyes filled with an indifferent and proud emotion: “But if I don’t make her completely disappear from my sight, I will feel very disgusted. Constantly disgusted. Do you have the heart to let me be that sad?”

Who would choose a woman whose face they couldn’t even remember over their beautiful and seductive girlfriend?

Song Ming gave Zhou Jibai a satisfactory answer, and in return, Zhou Jibai walked over and gave her a long, lingering kiss, a taste so good it was unforgettable… and then forced her to burn the evening gown she had worn the day she accidentally entered the model’s room.

…What “gentle and glamorous beauty”? It was all nonsense.

“Rest assured, President Zhou, I wash the car very frequently.”

Zhou Jibai was taken aback, suddenly realizing Song Ming’s meaning. A hint of anger colored her brow: “You…”

Before she could finish her sentence, Song Ming suddenly leaned down and kissed her.

Having been entangled with each other, it wasn’t just that Zhou Jibai knew Song Ming. Song Ming was equally familiar with every one of Zhou Jibai’s preferences. Amidst the grinding of lips and teeth, Song Ming even had a free hand to tilt Zhou Jibai’s chin up, forcing her to look up.

After a long kiss, the corners of Zhou Jibai’s eyes were tinged with red.

Song Ming pulled back slightly, a flick of flirtatious laughter in her eyes. Without shifting her gaze, she nonchalantly used one hand to fasten the button on Zhou Jibai’s chest that had been rubbed open by the seatbelt: “Why didn’t you bite me this time?”

Zhou Jibai’s breathing was unsteady, and the watery glint in her eyes couldn’t hide her fury: “Song Ming! How dare you?”

Song Ming smiled, backed into the driver’s seat, and looked toward the wide road ahead: “I lied to you. This is a new car, hardly anyone has sat in it.”

Zhou Jibai froze, her hand gripping the edge of the seat silently: “Song Ming, are you using your ‘woman-chasing’ tricks on me?”

Song Ming blinked slowly, inconspicuously tapping her finger. She turned to look at Zhou Jibai: “It really is a new car, President Zhou.”

As soon as the words “President Zhou” fell, the anger on Zhou Jibai’s face froze and quickly dissipated.

Zhou Jibai stared at Song Ming in silence for a moment, gritting her teeth: “Fine. A new car.”

“Don’t be so angry,” Song Ming smiled. “You kissed me once in the hotel, and now I’ve paid you back. Are we even now?”

Zhou Jibai had already settled back into her seat, coldly straightening her collar. Hearing this, she shot Song Ming a sideways glance but didn’t answer.

Song Ming wasn’t angry either. She said with a smile, “Aren’t we supposed to be partners? How can we cooperate properly if we’re always dwelling on old grievances?”

Zhou Jibai kept a cold face, neither agreeing nor disagreeing: “Drive.”

Song Ming nodded slightly and said very good-naturedly: “Alright.”

A remote and quiet residential area appeared before them. The buildings were spaced far apart, but the greenery was well-done, with two small parks along the way. The security at the gate was lax and sloppy, so Song Ming drove straight in.

“We’re here.”

According to Zhou Jibai, the founder and designer of Boshen, Wu Chen, lived in Building 13. Song Ming and Zhou Jibai walked into the unit door one after the other. Song Ming lagged a few steps behind, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Zhou Jibai’s slender waist and thin, beautifully lined shoulders and back.

Southeast Asian… don’t make me laugh.

If Zhong Zhengcheng could get his way, she might as well write her surname “Song” upside down.

Wu Chen lived in a high-rise duplex. Zhou Jibai walked familiarly to his door and rang the bell. Song Ming frowned slightly: “How are you so close to him?”

Zhou Jibai withdrew her hand and glanced at Song Ming: “That isn’t within the scope of what a partner needs to know.”

Song Ming: “…” Tsk.

The door soon opened from the inside. A man with a gloomy, irritable expression and messy, mid-length hair opened the door.

Song Ming raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly.

“President Zhou?” Wu Chen’s gaze swept over the two people at the door, his eyes appearing lifeless. “Who is this now?”

“Song Ming.” Song Ming gave Wu Chen a slight nod as a greeting.

“Oh,” this time Wu Chen’s gaze lingered on Song Ming for a bit longer. “The new owner of Boshen.”

Song Ming tucked both hands into her trench coat pockets, unconsciously shifting her stance. Her attitude was indifferent, completely unconcerned: “Correct.”

Wu Chen didn’t speak again. He scrutinized Song Ming in silence, showing no intention of letting them in.

Song Ming gave a very nonchalant smile, her grey-green eyes emotionlessly examining Wu Chen’s sullen face beneath his messy hair.

“Don’t just stand at the door,” Zhou Jibai frowned. “Let’s go inside and talk.”

Song Ming looked at Zhou Jibai, her attitude softening as she put away her arrogant expression. Wu Chen, with his “dead fish eyes,” looked left and right before taking a step back to clear the doorway.