C29

"Here, this is for you."

Westley placed sixty thousand yuan on Sienna's desk.

"I don't want it."

Sienna pushed the money back, her tone firm. "I didn't lift a finger for this debt collection! It's all rightfully yours."

"That's not going to fly. Remember our agreement this afternoon? The bonus is to be split evenly. We're a team, and you're practically my mentor. It's only fair and by the book," Westley insisted with uncharacteristic seriousness.

Sienna pondered for a moment before pulling out a hundred yuan note, offering a smile. "Alright, I'll take this much as gas money."

With Sienna standing her ground, Westley could only scratch his head in resignation.

"Okay, no more niceties then. I'll keep the money. But I'm taking you out for a lavish dinner tonight, and you can't say no to that, can you?" Westley said, his eyes twinkling.

"That I can agree to," Sienna replied with a smile.

They tidied up quickly and left the office shoulder to shoulder.

"Westley, how's the old gentleman doing?" Sienna inquired.

"He's going to be just fine," Westley confidently assured her.

"Good to hear."

Sienna, ever compassionate, breathed a sigh of relief, then glanced at Westley with a smile. "I never would've guessed you had medical skills."

"There's nothing I can't do," Westley boasted, puffing himself up.

He slung the snake skin bag over his shoulder nonchalantly, resembling a ragpicker.

Sienna, walking by his side, was strikingly attractive, her presence leaving an ineffable impression.

Together, they made quite the pair: a classic beauty and the beast duo.

Cruz, the security guard at the entrance, recognized Westley as the brash talker from the morning.

His face contorted with emotion, he wondered, Why does Westley get to walk and laugh with my dream girl?

Filled with resentment and envy, Cruz noticed a cleaning bucket and a large bottle of dish soap nearby. An idea struck him.

He stealthily opened the soap and scattered it across the path leading to the elevator, a route they were bound to take.

In the dim light, the clear soap went unnoticed.

"As soon as this guy steps on it, he's definitely going down."

Cruz smirked, already picturing Westley's clumsy tumble in his mind.

Sienna and Westley were approaching, and Cruz's heart pounded furiously.

"Miss Bailey, time to clock out," Cruz called out, initiating the greeting.

"Yes, hello Cruz," Sienna nodded with a smile.

Cruz's heart nearly skipped a beat.

Sienna was the goddess of his dreams.

Sienna and Westley, chatting and laughing, stepped onto the tile slick with detergent.

"Be careful!"

Cruz, the security guard, called out a warning with feigned concern.

A smirk played at the corner of Westley's mouth as he casually wrapped his arm around Sienna's waist and steadied her.

They glided over the soapy "trap" as if it were nothing, emerging unscathed on the other side.

Sienna, feeling Westley's touch, blushed as if struck by lightning.

She turned, her face a mask of confusion, and asked, "Cruz, what's the matter?"

Cruz looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

Somehow, they had navigated the detergent-slicked floor without incident.

Had the detergent lost its potency?

"Oh, it's nothing," Cruz said, his hand waving dismissively, his conscience pricking him.

He couldn't possibly admit to his sabotage attempt that Westley had so deftly avoided.

Just a few steps later, another figure emerged from the nearby restroom.

Her striking long legs were impossible to miss.

It was Yetta!

"Secretary Foster, good to see you," Westley called out cheerfully.

"Mhm," Yetta responded, her demeanor unchanged, offering a slight nod.

She had no interest in exchanging pleasantries with someone she considered beneath her, as if another glance would be distasteful.

She moved forward, her gaze fixed ahead, but suddenly her feet slipped.

"Secretary Foster!"

Cruz gasped, about to warn her, but it was already too late.

Yetta's body pitched forward, her head seemingly destined for the ground.

But in that instant, Yetta performed a move that defied belief.

Her right hand shot out, pressing against the ground ahead of her. With a slight push, her body flipped to the side, and she landed gracefully on the clean surface.

The sequence of movements was executed with a crisp precision, resembling the smooth flow of water.

Westley observed the entire scene, his brow creasing ever so slightly.

Cruz, the security guard, was utterly dumbfounded by the spectacle.

Westley had strolled over as if it was nothing, and Secretary Yetta had elegantly sidestepped the trap.

Did this company harbor secret masters?

"Secretary Foster, impressive moves," Westley commented with a teasing whistle.

Yetta straightened up just in time to catch his remark. She masked the brief flicker of panic in her eyes, cleared her throat, and responded, "It's nothing, just some dance training from the past."

Then, she addressed Cruz in her usual tone, "Please clean this spot to prevent any colleagues from tripping."

"Right away!"

Cruz hurriedly grabbed the mop to "erase the evidence."

Yetta said no more, striding away with her long, elegant legs in the opposite direction.

Westley stroked his chin, his gaze uncertain.

Dance training?

He wasn't buying it. Given Yetta's reflexes, there was no way she hadn't trained in martial arts.

"This lady has piqued my interest. Time to dig a little deeper into her background," he mused.

Sienna caught Westley's intense gaze on Yetta's retreating figure and mistook it for daydreaming. A twinge of jealousy unexpectedly surged within her.

She cleared her throat to get his attention.

Westley snapped out of his reverie and offered an awkward smile. "Shall we?"

"Get your hand off me."

Sienna's cheeks flushed as she pried away Westley's wandering hand.

"Apologies, it slipped my mind," Westley offered a shameless apology, inwardly scoffing, "A little touch never hurt anyone."

In the elevator, Sienna, still blushing, said, "Westley, can I have an hour to myself before we meet up for dinner?"

"Of course. Any preference for dinner?" Westley inquired.

"Whatever works for you! Just take down my number, and we can touch base over the phone when it's time," Sienna said.

"Sounds good!"

They exchanged numbers and then went their separate ways for the moment.

Westley arrived in the city center and immediately sought out an ATM.

He deposited the cash into a bank card he had prepared in advance, using his domestic ID for added secrecy.

This meant that any potential enemies lurking in the shadows wouldn't be able to trace a thing.

After making the deposit and keeping two to three thousand yuan on hand, Westley still had a box of Cuban cigars with him.

Sitting on the curb, he spoke in a raspy voice, "Dexter, I know you loved these. It's a shame you're not around anymore. I'll burn them for you; take your time and enjoy them on the other side."

He proceeded to light all eight cigars from the box with his lighter and placed them upside down on the ground.

Then, he gave a deep bow to the smoldering cigars.

Around the street corner, a Porsche 911 sports car cruised by.

The handsome young man behind the wheel caught sight of Westley's ritual and chuckled, "Aimee, do you think that guy's lost it? A perfectly good cigar, and he just wastes it like that."

The woman in the passenger seat, none other than Aimee from the Rogers family, was momentarily taken aback upon noticing Westley. "Why is it him?"

"Do you know him?" the young man inquired, intrigued.

"I mistook him for someone else," Aimee quickly corrected herself.

She certainly wasn't about to admit that the man making a spectacle of himself was her brother-in-law, at least in name.

"The entertainment tonight is bound to be thrilling. Are you all set?" he asked her with a grin.

"I'm all set!"

Excitement and a hint of anticipation shone on Aimee's face.

​