Charles Seymour nodded to the smiling colleagues around him, then bent down, picked up the lunch box he had just placed on the floor, and strode off with his two long, straight legs to find Sophie Wilson.
His striking back and elegant steps drew countless admiring glances.
The footsteps in the stairwell were very clear. Remembering how someone had just stood up for her, Sophie Wilson bit her lower lip gently and smiled foolishly to herself.
"Are you backing out?" A cold voice, like a bucket of ice water, poured over her.
Sophie Wilson turned her head in surprise and saw Charles Seymour standing on the step behind her with a cold, handsome face. Most importantly, his thin lips were pressed tightly, sharp and piercing. His furrowed brow and half-squinted eyes all indicated one thing—he was angry!
Sophie Wilson’s heart skipped a beat, utterly perplexed. What had she done to make him misunderstand that she wanted to back out?
Don’t ask why such an obscure remark made sense to her.
Because this idiot was currently most concerned about their "deal."
"No." Sophie Wilson searched her mind several times and couldn’t figure out what she had done or said to give him the wrong signal, so she quickly denied it to prevent any misunderstandings caused by someone’s overthinking.
Unexpectedly, her denial didn’t ease Charles Seymour’s expression but increased his anger: "If not, why were you sitting on the ground? Want to catch a cold?"
After this low growl, Charles Seymour rigidly added another sentence, giving the most "reasonable" explanation for his anger: "Don’t think being sick can cancel the deal!"
She really wanted to kick this awkward, repressed guy!
Sophie Wilson got up, quietly letting out a long breath. She had lived two lifetimes and wouldn’t stoop to this childish guy’s level.
"Let’s go back to eat lunch."
Sophie Wilson was fine, but Charles Seymour wouldn’t let it go, standing unmoved in place, as if his dark eyes absorbed all the gloom of the night, staring intently at her.
For a moment, Sophie Wilson felt the stairwell was filled with gusts of eerie wind. If he kept staring a bit longer, she might hear the wails of a hundred ghosts.
"I won’t sit directly on the ground again." As soon as this promise was made, the temperature in the corridor instantly shifted from the eighteenth layer of hell to the warm flowering of spring.
Oh my, could he change expressions any faster?
Despite her complaints, when she thought about how this strange reaction was because he was worried about her health, Sophie felt a wave of tenderness.
She directly reached out her small hand and cautiously pinched Charles Seymour’s fingertip with her fingers.
The moment she touched those warm fingertips, hot like his passionate heart, Sophie felt a tremor in her heart, and the warmth that had just faded quickly rushed to her cheeks again.
She quickly glanced at Charles Seymour, seeing cracks of shock appearing in his ice-cold eyes. Unexplainably, a sense of accomplishment swelled within her heart.
Her fingers, which were shaking a moment ago, suddenly steadied. Not only that, but she boldly clasped Charles Seymour’s large hand, going beyond just his fingertips.
The astonishment in Charles Seymour’s eyes grew more intense, like the magma of a volcano continuously bubbling and tumbling. If not for his long-established habit of suppressing it with cold composure, the volcano would have erupted long ago.
Feeling slightly guilty at first, Sophie Wilson suddenly gained confidence and glared at him: "What are you looking at? Don’t couples hold hands?"