She made such a sharp hotel manager—shoulders squared, neutral expression giving her an effortless edge. And yet the curse she let fly was downright filthy. Meng Ning couldn’t help but chuckle from her perch.
Duty demanded she keep her eyes glued to the waves, but she stole a glance downward anyway.
Her own ankle came into view, alongside Wen Zenian’s profile—the pale line of her neck sweeping down into the collar of her shirt.
Everything about that neckline seemed poised to slip right inside.
Perhaps it was the curse itself that endeared her a little. Even the high and mighty griped about their clients or bosses behind closed doors.
Meng Ning had no idea whether Wen Zenian’s negotiations with the investors had gone poorly, or if they’d succeeded but left her drained. After all, the operating costs of C Hotel were staggeringly high, and keeping everything running smoothly demanded facing immense psychological pressure every single day.
Just then, Qi Xiao arrived to relieve her shift. Spotting Wen Zenian from afar, she tensed up, her shoulders drawing tight. As she walked over, she even stumbled once, her arm and leg on the same side moving in awkward unison, though she quickly corrected herself.
Feigning composure, she greeted Wen Zenian. “Hi, Gwyneth.”
She rapped on the observation platform’s tripod to signal Meng Ning to climb down, then scrambled up nimbly herself.
Wen Zenian hadn’t spared Meng Ning a single glance since arriving at the beach. Only now did she seem to notice her. “Does the control room have any water?”
“Yes.”
Wen Zenian fell into step naturally behind her as they headed toward the control room.
The sun scorched every inch of exposed skin. Their shadows stretched obliquely across the beach, cast upon the soft, nearly pale white sand.
The outlines of those shadows were strikingly clear—and they overlapped much more closely than the two women, who walked slightly one behind the other.
Meng Ning pushed open the door to the control room. One colleague was peering through binoculars, while another lounged in a swivel chair, fiddling with her phone.
The second woman glanced up at Meng Ning, a joke already forming on her lips. But then her eyes flicked past to Wen Zenian standing behind.
Everyone shot to their feet in unison.
Wen Zenian was an odd one. You could say she put on airs, yet she’d casually tell everyone to “sit.” But say she didn’t, and her mere presence had them all sitting ramrod straight, their earlier lazy slouch in the swivel chairs vanished.
The entire control room fell eerily silent. Blazing sunlight poured through the massive observation windows, and the ticking of the second hand on the wall clock seemed audible in the hush.
Meng Ning headed to the island counter at the back, intending to grab a bottle of natural mineral water for Wen Zenian. Wen Zenian trailed after her, and the colleague who’d been perched on a stool there sprang away instantly.
In a lowered voice, Wen Zenian asked, “Any hot water? I don’t really like drinking cold.”
Such an ordinary sentence came out like an intimate whisper.
“Yes,” Meng Ning replied.
She pulled out a disposable paper cup and poured a serving of hot water for Wen Zenian. Wen Zenian took a sip, finding the temperature just right—warm without being scalding.
She drank it down in small sips, then glanced around as if searching for a trash bin.
“Just leave it here,” Meng Ning said.
Wen Zenian nodded without ceremony, set the cup behind the island counter, and departed.
Meng Ning could almost hear the room collectively exhale.
But she was only staring at the lipstick mark Wen Zenian had left on the rim of the cup.
She picked it up, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash.
The next day was the C Hotel staff dinner.
Unlike the annual gala or experiential events, this one had no theme and wasn’t held in the hotel’s stuffy formal restaurant. It took place in the usual employee cafeteria—but with executive chefs from Chinese, Japanese, Thai, and French cuisines serving the staff. A proper feast.
Some positions at a five-star hotel paid modestly, which drove certain people to leave. But the benefits were excellent, which kept others around.
People came and went. It was just how things were.
Meng Ning still hadn’t told Qi Xiao she was planning to resign.
That was probably why she enjoyed spending time with Qi Xiao and Song Xiao. They weren’t close enough to share every secret, but they could easily pass the hours together.
Like chocolate that’s too rich—it could trigger a migraine. Emotions that ran too deep started with intoxication but ended in fear.
Tonight’s dinner featured a novel shellfish dish, prepared in white wine with a rich buttery aroma. Its fresh sweetness assaulted the tongue.
Meng Ning had a couple extra glasses. Ever since deciding to quit, she’d felt a bit more reckless.
The wine had a high acidity tonight, clinging to the tongue. Qi Xiao ate her seafood while whining, “I don’t want to get laid off!”
Her physical fitness test scores weren’t great.
Meng Ning stared into her tall crystal wineglass, her face reflected back at her in a comical curve. “No one’s getting laid off.”
Qi Xiao blinked. “How do you know?”
Meng Ning blinked too. “I…”
A low voice came from behind her. “I told her.”
Meng Ning and Qi Xiao turned together. There stood Wen Zenian in a sleek black halter evening gown, poised and elegant. She favored diamonds over pearls; the sharp edges suited her perfectly.
Tonight, beyond her diamond earrings, she’d added a diamond necklace that glittered between her straight collarbones.
The entire table surged to its feet. “Gwyneth.” “Hi, Gwyneth.”
This post-Lunar New Year thank-you banquet for staff always included toasts from management. Word had been that Wen Zenian had an investor dinner tonight and wouldn’t attend—but here she was.
The managers split up to toast the tables. The Italian GM and German deputy GM handled the ones in the back, while Wen Zenian took their section.
Wen Zenian smiled and nodded, raising her crystal glass. The pale golden liquid inside swayed enticingly.
She sipped her wine as if kissing the glass. To everyone, she said, “You’ve all worked hard. Keep pushing forward in the new year.”
She stood right beside Meng Ning, and as she spoke, a faint floral-fruity wine scent wafted from her breath.
So Meng Ning knew: she’d already done a round at the investor dinner before coming here.
With a press of her fingertips, Wen Zenian signaled everyone to sit. Management weren’t the stars of this thank-you banquet anyway. After toasting, they either sat to eat a bit or left entirely, giving the staff the run of the place.
Compared to the annual gala and experiential events, Meng Ning preferred this relaxed dinner.
Management finished their toasts quickly. Meng Ning glanced around: the deputy GM sat chatting with staff, while the GM and Wen Zenian had vanished.
Only then did Qi Xiao lean in, whispering, “When did she tell you?”
“When I went to her office.”
“What were you doing in her office?” Qi Xiao had drunk plenty; her narrowed eyes gleamed with the glaring words “office play.”
Meng Ning opted for the truth. “I decided to resign.”
“Wha—” Qi Xiao started to yelp, but Meng Ning yanked her down. “Shh.”
“You—you—you, why?”
Meng Ning smiled faintly. “I’ve worked here five years. I’m starting to feel a bit worn out, and the pay isn’t great.”
It was all true, leaving no room for doubt.
Qi Xiao posed the key question. “For a resignation, you really don’t need someone at her level to approve it, right?”
Meng Ning stared at her wineglass, thinking: Damn, Qi Xiao hasn’t drunk that much.
“What did she say?” Qi Xiao pressed.
“She said she’d consider it.”
“You two…” Qi Xiao weighed her words. “After she left our place that morning, did anything else happen between you?”
Meng Ning shook her head.
It was the truth.
Though woven in was a wordless kiss earned from a twelve-hour flight.
Qi Xiao paused, muttering to herself, “Will she even agree?”
Meng Ning smiled. “She’ll agree either way. She can’t very well hold my file hostage.”
“Then you two…”
Meng Ning’s smile deepened. “Just look at her in that evening gown.”
Qi Xiao noticed something: whenever Meng Ning discussed awkward or uncomfortable topics, she smiled even more.
Qi Xiao suddenly wondered if that was why Meng Ning always seemed so affable.
Indeed, Wen Zenian looked utterly refined in her evening gown. Her snow-white shoulders emerged squarely from either side of the halter straps, the subtle rise of her shoulder bones elegant even in their slight prominence. She probably skipped mascara, opting for earthen eye shadow with a hint of shimmer that made her deep eyes gleam brighter—flecked with a faint violet under the lights.
Nearby colleagues gossiped that Wen Zenian sometimes jetted between hotels in various countries on private planes.
Qi Xiao sighed.
Meng Ning offered only that one comment about the gown, flashed a smile, and swiftly changed the subject.
She’d definitely had too much to drink. When the lights swept over, she was sitting perfectly upright in her chair, yet her shoulders inexplicably swayed.
She called to Qi Xiao, “I’m stepping out to sober up.”
She hadn’t expected to run into a blond, blue-eyed man just outside the restaurant. Meng Ning recognized him as one of the investors—she’d seen him surfing on the beach.
In English, she asked, “Is there anything I can help you with?”
The man eyed the Chinese woman before him.
She was young, but not overly so. Her fair, taut face screamed youth, with features lifted by constant activity. Yet those black-and-white eyes held an unnatural calm, robbing her of any greenness.
He remembered seeing her on the beach in a black long-sleeve wetsuit, gazing blankly at the sea.
Now she wore a uniform the shade of sea mist, and those eyes remained just as serene. So it wasn’t the wetsuit’s effect. Her tone was polite when speaking, but carried a sense of distance.
Like the sea. Everyone thinks they can master it—until a wave crashes over, revealing their laughable naivety.
The man politely gave the deputy’s name.
Meng Ning nodded. Of course, he didn’t need to come here himself to find her; maybe he’d drunk too much at the banquet and stepped out to clear his head.
She wasn’t keen on dealing with management, so she tracked down the supervisor in charge of tonight’s event and asked him to fetch the deputy GM.
Meng Ning slipped out a different exit.
She was good at finding solitary spots like this. Few knew about the open patch outside the employee cafeteria, enveloped by a flamboyant tree and a Chinese banyan. The banyan was ancient, its twisting branches rich with character, slicing the inky night sky into fragments overhead.
Meng Ning fished a cigarette and lighter from her pocket.
Little Thief.
That’s what she called herself in her mind.
The cigarette was Wen Zenian’s. The lighter was too. And she’d had the gall to bluster in the woman’s office, “No idea, haven’t seen it.”
She’d refused when Wen Zenian offered her a smoke, and now here she was, sneaking one in hiding.
She lit up, and a fierce mint hit her, nearly making her cough. But the aftertaste faded sharply, the stark contrast leaving her craving that initial bite.
For no reason at all, Meng Ning thought Wen Zenian excelled at these games of contrast.
Smoking her cigarettes, thinking about her—it didn’t sober her up. If anything, it intensified the buzz. Clutching the cigarette, she whipped her head around on a sudden hunch—
In that swath of darkness cloaked by night, was Wen Zenian standing there?
