There's Something Not Quite Right With My Lover - c3-c4
☘ Chapter 3
Although I now know Mr. Model is a person with intense desires, as I don’t know what his desires are, this still isn’t enough to put me at ease.
I ought to have just directly ended this relationship, but I really do like Mr. Model a lot. In fact, I really do enjoy his proactiveness, even though sometimes it’s fierce to the point I’m barely able to hold on. So therefore, I decide to continue testing him.
During the morning hours at work, I just so happen to see the company’s little secretary watching Mr. Model’s variety show – her eyes are glued to him as she watches, enthralled, entirely unaware of my presence.
It’s only ten minutes later that she reluctantly closes the page, turns her head and sees me – her face turns pale in fright.
I look at the poster on her desktop – – it’s of Mr. Model wearing a white shirt with two buttons undone, revealing a sexy collarbone.
His face is cold; it doesn’t have the smile I’m used to. The eyes too; they’re empty, lonely, just like there’s nothing inside.
This unfamiliar Mr. Model makes me somewhat uncomfortable.
“President! President, please don’t confiscate my poster! Boohoohoo, this is Li Shaonian’s new poster, it’s the limited edition! Boohoohoo, I stood in line for a long time just to get it. President, please, don’t you confiscate it, I really like him very much!” The little secretary pitifully looks at me.
He hugs me and massages my cervical spine for me every night – I’m not going to squabble over a poster with you.
“I rather like him as well,” I expressionlessly say, before I walk into my office.
Inside the office, I sit down on a chair and pull out my cell phone for a look. There’s a message from Mr. Model; he’s filming a drama nearby and wishes to come over to find me at noon.
I think of that unfulfilled expression of his last night; even when I was on the brink of exhaustion, he had still been holding me and kissing me here and there. I can’t help but sigh; his energy is too very good indeed.
In accordance with my inner presidential code of conduct, I ought to refuse him – bringing a kept lover into the office isn’t appropriate at all.
But I inexplicably remember that little secretary and that poster from just before, and with my heart all stuffy, I suddenly feel that it’ll be nice if Mr. Model delivers some food over for me.
As I’m mostly a person who adheres to my heart, I thus allow him over. I also call and instruct the little receptionist downstairs not to stop him and to let him come up via my exclusive elevator.
Mr. Model arrives not much later; he’s wearing a dark, medium-length overcoat and looking especially fine.
I pretend to accidentally glance in the direction of the little secretary and see her in a daze, just as if she can’t believe her eyes – my mood is suddenly without comparison.
Mr. Model is always able to discern my feelings from my won’t-ever-change-by-one-percent expression.
“In a good mood?” He sets down the lunchboxes, sits on the sofa and beckons for me to come over.
Don’t know why, but when I’m with him, I don’t particularly mind him taking control of the situation; I also don’t mind him being overly bossy as well.
I walk over and sit next down next to him
“Let me hug for a bit,” Mr. Model wraps his arms around me.
“Am a little tired today; at least the recording for the program has been completed,” he complains, his tone somewhat resentful.
I think about the variety show I’d glanced at that morning, then frown and say, “If you don’t want to record, then you don’t have to record; I have the money to raise you.”
Mr. Model’s eyes widen, a few measures of joy float into his eyes, “True, you have money.”
I’m under the impression that a grand battle in the office will be unavoidable in the afternoon, but I’m proven wrong. While the Mr. Model today is instead a rare model of propriety1, he’s still as clingy as ever – he still has to hug me even when he’s sleeping.
Really don’t understand – what in the world did Mr. Model hug before being kept by me?
☘ Chapter 4
Not only is it Mr. Model who’s been tired recently; I am also very tired. Work is the heaviest right before New Year’s, and with the entire company waiting for me to hand out the salaries, honestly speaking, the pressure’s a bit too intense. I had wanted to wrap up a few projects and give the employees a raise just in time for the holidays, but my health just had to be poor.
This nap ends up being much longer, much heavier and much more peaceful than before.
When I wake up, the sky’s nearly dark. I hurry to get up to deal with the paperwork.
Mr. Model stops me, “Someone surnamed Huang came this afternoon; he took some documents and said that he’ll let you take some time off.”
It’s Huang Lei, my associate partner.
I sigh in relief and lay back down, all groggy.
The lounge is very warm, but I still habitually snuggle into his arms.
Only towards him will my presidential code of conduct completely give way – if my daddy was still alive, he’d definitely be jumping in anger.
“Hungry?” Mr. Model softly asks.
“Not hungry.” My appetite hasn’t been good lately, and as eating something still makes me sick to my stomach, I don’t feel particularly eager to eat.
Mr. Model obviously knows my condition as he often doubles as my chef.
“Make some time to go to the hospital for a checkup.” He kisses my forehead.
He’s especially gentle today.
I vaguely agree, again on the verge of falling asleep.
I sleep until midnight, when – upon waking up – I suddenly hear the person next to me talking on the phone.
Mr. Model is reclining on the pillows, his other hand is still around me.
“I know,” he tells the person on the other side of the phone, somewhat impatient.
Dunno what that person replies, but Mr. Model seems to become somewhat angry – his voice even drops a few notches in warmth and gets all icy-cold.
“You’re not qualified to meddle in my business,” he hangs up the phone as soon as he finishes speaking.
I close my eyes and pretend to sleep, feeling that something isn’t quite right.
Mr. Model has always had a good temper – at least, in the three years I’ve kept him, I’ve never seen him get angry before. It’s rare to even hear him raise his voice to speak, much less exhibit this sort of peculiar behavior.
My heart’s a mess; I just still hope he hadn’t come to me for matters related to the company.
Even just thinking about if he really is…..my head throbs with bursts of pain.
“An’an?” Mr. Model presses a hand to my forehead – so cold, it makes me shiver.
At least I can still remember that my full name is Chen Yu’an. I really don’t like him calling me “An’an”, that isn’t even a bit presidential at all; but as my head seems to be really heavy, I’m too lazy to respond.
Mr. Model’s just like a kindergarten teacher; I feel like he even knows how bad and how high its grade is2.
But I still limply slide out of his embrace and again reconnect with my bed.
No matter how it’s put, a President isn’t supposed to appear at a hospital and most certainly isn’t supposed to appear at a hospital with a currently popular model.
I can’t tell if I’m more worried for myself or more worried for him.
In any case, I’m not going to the hospital.
I am the Golden Backer; it is my word that counts.