Across the dining table, Simon, who had just picked up his utensils, looked up with a confused expression. "What did I do on purpose?"
Irene Lande, feeling that her suspicion was unfounded the moment she voiced it, blushed as she met his gaze but still replied, "I think... you were trying to seduce me."
Simon studied her increasingly red face, then smiled and nodded. "Yep."
He admitted it?
Irene's eyes widened slightly. But noticing the playful smile at the corner of his mouth, she quickly realized he was teasing her. Looking away, she muttered, "You... jerk."
Born into the Lande family, many things that were out of reach for most people were never an issue for Irene. Her peculiar thought had mostly been prompted by the overwhelming emotions she experienced during the past weekend, all thanks to him.
He had whisked her away to a remote wilderness thousands of miles away, easily carrying a massive gun that she could barely lift, firing it with a wild masculinity that captivated her. Then, after a casual picnic, he picked up a piece of charcoal and sketched a vivid portrait of her in the vast, boundless landscape. At night, in their tent, he'd made her lose herself in a daze, only to carry her on his back during a tiring hike the next day.
All in all, the weekend had been the most memorable time of her 25-year life.
Not because of the activities themselves, but because of him.
Had he seduced her?
Of course! The name Simon Westeros was already enough to make many women lower their defenses. For someone like her, already caught in his orbit, resistance was futile.
Remembering something, Irene looked at Simon cautiously and asked, "Hey, I noticed you've been in New York for quite some time recently?"
Simon replied, "Yep, I had a fight with my wife. So, here's your chance to shine."
"Liar," she said, not believing his nonchalant tone but feeling a tinge of excitement nonetheless. "Then... can I stay here for a while?"
"Sure, but I'll be heading back to Manhattan for work in the next few days, staying on the Upper East Side."
Irene paused her meal, then gathered her courage and said, "I can come to the Upper East Side too. I'll make breakfast for you every day... and lunch... and dinner."
"And a late-night snack."
"Mm-hmm, mm-hmm."
"No."
"Jerk, heartbreaker, playboy."
"…"
Irene suddenly softened her tone and pleaded pitifully, "Simon, I've fallen in love with you. You have to take responsibility."
"Should I kick you out right now? There's an old saying from the East: 'A short pain is better than a long one.'"
"Scoundrel."
Seeing Irene still pouting, Simon dropped his joking demeanor and gestured toward the seat next to him. "Come here."
After a brief hesitation, Irene got up and walked around the table. Simon pulled her onto his lap, wrapping an arm around her waist.
He kissed her cheek gently. "You're a good girl, Irene. But you need to understand that there won't be the kind of ending you might hope for between us. I just hope that our time together can become a fond memory for you. If you want more, I'm afraid I can't give it to you."
Leaning into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his breath, Irene's earlier feelings of resentment quickly melted away. His words stung, but she couldn't bring herself to leave. Instead, she turned around and kissed him, determined not to let him go so easily.
And so, they didn't leave the Greenwich estate until after 9 a.m.
Estée Lauder's headquarters, located at the intersection of Fifth Avenue and East 59th Street in Manhattan's prime real estate, was where Irene arrived at 10 a.m. Her assistant, Jessica, hurried to meet her, reminding her that her father, Ronald Lande, was displeased with her absence from the company's 9 a.m. meeting. He had asked her to visit his office immediately.
Irene used to be nervous about her father's scoldings, but ever since she'd called Simon for help with Estée Lauder's IPO issues, her family seemed to have guessed the nature of her relationship with him, even if it had never been explicitly stated. This gave her an odd sense of invulnerability.
After instructing her assistant to prepare a picture frame, Irene made her way to her father's office.
Ronald Lande, buried in paperwork behind his desk, didn't scold her when she entered. Instead, he smiled and asked her how her weekend had gone.
She couldn't exactly give an honest answer. So she deflected and brought up her work instead. Ronald didn't press her on the weekend, and after discussing business for a bit, Irene stood to leave. As she turned to go, Ronald asked, "By the way, have you seen the latest issue of Forbes that came out today?"
Irene paused, then shook her head. "No, why?"
She was about to ask further when she suddenly remembered.
She'd recently seen in the papers that Forbes would be releasing its annual list of the 400 richest Americans at the end of the month. Obviously, today was the day.
Not that she cared much about how much he was worth.
After all, it was an unreachable figure for her.
Mmm... a position he liked so much... bad man.
Ronald didn't notice his daughter's brief distraction. He handed her a copy of the magazine. "Here, I happen to have one. Take a look."
"Thanks, Dad."
Irene took the magazine and, after confirming her father had nothing more to say, left his office. As soon as she stepped outside, she curiously glanced at the cover of the Forbes issue in her hands. The bold numbers on the front gave her the answer she was most interested in.
$700 billion!
Wow.
That's a lot of money.
She marveled for a moment and then couldn't resist calculating how much her own Estée Lauder stock was worth in comparison to his fortune. The difference was too staggering to grasp.
Flipping through the Forbes magazine as she walked back to her office, Irene found that her assistant, Jessica, had already prepared the frame she'd requested. Noticing the magazine in Irene's hands, Jessica remarked, "Oh, you're reading Forbes too? Everyone's talking about that $700 billion figure. It's unbelievable."
Irene set down the magazine and took the picture frame, carefully placing the charcoal sketch from her bag into it. She asked with interest, "Do you think $700 billion is a lot?"
Jessica shook her head. "Not really. It just feels like another agreed-upon figure between Westeros and the Forbes Group, like last year's $300 billion."
This was the first time Irene had heard such an idea. Curious, she asked, "What do you mean?"
Jessica, a Harvard graduate personally chosen by Ronald to assist Irene, was much more than a simple assistant. She explained, "It's just rounding to a clean number—$3 billion, $7 billion. It lowers the sensitivity of public opinion. Think about it: $700 billion versus, say, $712.5 billion. Which one gives a clearer sense of the scale?"
Irene understood and smiled. "But I think $700 billion is easier to remember."
Jessica nodded, smiling. "Easier to remember, but also easier to dismiss or forget. It's a psychological tactic. So, $700 billion, like last year's $300 billion, is likely part of a PR strategy crafted by Westeros's team."
Irene, now holding up the framed sketch to inspect it, playfully countered, "Why couldn't it be Simon... I mean, Westeros himself who came up with the idea? I've met him a few times. He's really impressive, even more than you'd imagine."
"That's for sure," Jessica said, laughing. "Some of my friends even speculate that Westeros might be a vampire. The strange things about him are just too many to count."
"Didn't they say he was a psychic? Or maybe an alien?"
"Well, that's clearly misdirection," Jessica replied, enjoying the conversation. "If you've seen the footage of him fighting in underground boxing matches in Australia, or that scene in The Man from Earth where he shoots a bow—allegedly, Westeros himself did that scene. Most people couldn't even draw that bow. It all suggests that his physical abilities are far beyond normal. At the same time, he's under 30, with talents people can't develop in a lifetime. The only thing that fits is a vampire."
"Okay, fine. So he's not a psychic. But why couldn't he be an alien?"
Jessica smiled. "Because he's married and has kids. Aliens would struggle with that."
When Jessica mentioned Simon's marriage and children, Irene's instinct was to protest, "And vampires can?"
Sensing that her boss's tone had shifted slightly, Jessica didn't want to push her luck. She smoothly changed the subject, turning her attention to the sketch Irene had just framed. "Wow, this drawing is... amazing, Irene. Is that you?"
"Of course."
Irene beamed with pride, moving to a wall in her office, where she carefully replaced an Andy Warhol painting with the framed sketch.
Jessica was genuinely impressed by the charcoal drawing. She studied it closely. The lines were rough yet conveyed the artist's skill. The composition had the refined elegance of a
master filmmaker's shot. Jessica could easily discern that the background was a vast, ancient wilderness. Irene sat on a fallen log, cradling an oversized gun in her arms, with one hand resting on the barrel and her chin resting on her hand, smiling.
After a moment, Irene asked, "So, what do you think?"
Jessica glanced at her boss and said, "It feels like the woman in the drawing is looking at her lover, happy, like a girl in love."
Surprised, Irene responded, "Huh?"
Jessica smiled. "Seems like I was right."
She leaned closer to the drawing, noticing some small, messy writing in the lower-right corner. Curious, she stepped forward to read it.
Before Irene could stop her, Jessica had already said it out loud, "For Irene, Simon."
Luckily, Jessica didn't seem to react much, just smiling with a teasing tone. Irene relaxed.
Simon.
That name was so common. There were probably countless people named Simon in Estée Lauder's headquarters alone. There was no way Jessica could immediately jump to the conclusion that this Simon was Simon Westeros.
Feeling reassured, Irene continued chatting with Jessica before starting her day's work.
Since graduating from college, Irene had steadily built up her experience within the company. She was now in charge of one of Estée Lauder's marketing teams. Aside from being late today, she was usually very responsible, and her team's performance had earned recognition from upper management. After spending half an hour discussing the day's agenda with Jessica and sending her off to gather the team for a meeting, Irene finally picked up her Forbes magazine again.
Work was important, but she couldn't stop thinking about him.
Quickly skimming through the article about Simon's $700 billion net worth, she hesitated for a moment before taking out her phone. After some awkward fumbling, she drafted a text message. Verizon had started offering SMS services two years ago, but the user experience wasn't great due to the limitations of early cellphones, so Irene rarely used it. After clumsily typing out the message and double-checking it, she finally hit send.
The message contained just one line: "Congrats, Mr. 700 Billion."
Seeing the message sent, Irene figured Simon was probably too busy to reply right away. She set her new Nokia phone down beside her, but couldn't help hoping to hear the notification chime soon.
However, even when Jessica came to inform her that the team had gathered, her phone remained silent. Irene considered leaving her phone behind to avoid distractions but couldn't resist grabbing it as she got up.
And so, it continued.
It wasn't until almost 1 p.m., as lunch was winding down, that Irene finally received a response from Simon: "Thanks."
So dismissive!
She stared at the text for a moment, grinning foolishly, before rationalizing that he must be extremely busy. The fact that he replied at all was already something. Feeling encouraged, she typed out a new message, thinking about asking him to dinner that evening. But after composing it, she decided not to send it. He had already spent the weekend with her—she couldn't be too greedy.
Otherwise...
Hmm.
Maybe he really would give her the "short pain" he'd joked about earlier.
Not a chance!
After Irene's playful yet demanding morning, Simon arrived in Manhattan and immediately had to jump into back-to-back work meetings.
In addition to his usual workload, Forbes's release of the 400 richest Americans list had created a stir, keeping Simon even busier than usual. On top of the Forbes release, Egret had coincidentally chosen to publish its third-quarter earnings report for 1995 on the same day, aligning with the "700 billion" narrative.
By the time Simon finally had a moment to text Irene back, it was just after 1 p.m., following the conclusion of a video conference with the team in San Francisco.
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