The Lane family was one of the magazine publisher's board members, and she wanted Hawk to write her a letter of recommendation.
"Quite the career woman," Hawk smiled slightly. "Small matter, no problem."
With that, he got up, grabbed paper and pen, and scribbled a recommendation letter in just a few minutes, handing it to Adriana:
"Will this work? If not, I'll call the old man to write you one."
"It's perfect, perfect," Adriana replied, taking the letter with a joyful smile.
She knew her place. For a minor issue like this, a letter from Hawk, the director's son, was more than enough. If she'd asked Hawk to involve old Lane, she'd have been stepping way out of line.
"Alright," Hawk nodded. "Then goodbye." He turned to see Adriana out.
"Wait a moment." Adriana caught the edge of his jacket.
"What is it?" Hawk asked, puzzled. "Is there something else?"
"I haven't properly thanked you yet."
"Wasn't that what the previous one was for?"
"That was just being polite," Adriana flipped her long hair alluringly, her eyes seductive. "The real thanks hasn't even started. You solved a problem that's been bothering me for so long. How should I thank you?"
Being polite? Was this the legendary "polite courtesy" hook-up of the entertainment industry? He learned something new every day.
As for how Adriana intended to thank him… Hawk pondered for a moment, then said:
"Let's call it a Special Acknowledgement."
Under the cover of night, Manhattan remained ablaze with lights. The neon colors were enchanting and dazzling. Lights illuminated the entire city, and the endless stream of traffic formed a continuous river of light, weaving fluidly through the crowds, a spectacle of glorious color. It was truly the City That Never Sleeps.
Outside, in the ocean off New York, the rolling waves, driven by the tide, crashed against the shoreline again and again.
The next morning.
The fiery red sun rose from the horizon, casting a brilliant golden light. As time passed, fragmented golden rays gradually speckled the faces of Hawk and Adriana. Adriana showed no sign of waking up. The shredded Victoria's Secret lingerie and black fishnet stockings scattered on the floor of the room were ample evidence of their exhaustion.
Hawk turned his head to look; Adriana was still deep in slumber. A smooth, long leg was uncovered outside the quilt. He chuckled softly, then slid his hand back under the covers, wrapping his arm around Adriana's slender waist. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, his nose filled with her sweet, pervasive scent.
He couldn't resist pressing Adriana again, feeding her an early "breakfast"…
After washing up.
"I have to go. I've been missing all night; my family will be worried." Adriana put on a set of women's clothing stored in Hawk's apartment. It was a black business suit jacket with a deep V-neck that showed off the white shirt underneath, accentuating her full figure. Her lower half was a black pencil skirt and black stockings; her hips were perky, and her legs were gracefully long and toned, giving her a tempting business professional look.
A supermodel truly lived up to the name—a walking clothes hanger. Everything she wore looked perfect on her. Adriana picked up her Prada bag and bid Hawk farewell.
"Give me your phone," Hawk said with an unquestionable tone. "Let's exchange contact info. Keep in touch when you have time."
Adriana certainly wouldn't refuse. First, the Lane family was among America's top power elite. Establishing and maintaining this connection would be greatly beneficial for her and her family. Second…
Standing outside the Steinway Tower, Adriana couldn't help but lightly rub her defined abdomen, a slight blush on her cheeks. She mumbled softly, "How can he be so incredible? He's more frantic than if he were on drugs…" If she knew Hawk had performed two Special Acknowledgements before her, she'd probably be even more impressed!
After Adriana left, Hawk was fully dressed. He wore a perfectly tailored dark-gray cashmere suit with a light blue shirt, no tie, and one button casually undone at the collar—projecting an elite aura without sacrificing youthful vitality.
At this moment, he was one of the most brilliant students in the Columbia University economics department, the one with the nickname, "The Financial Eye of the Storm" on Wall Street—Hawk Lane.
On the Columbia University campus, ancient stone architecture intermingled with modern glass facades. The air was filled with the mixed scent of books, coffee, and crushed autumn leaves. This was a temple of knowledge and capital, as well as an arena of status.
And Hawk Lane was undoubtedly the born protagonist of this stage.
"Hey, Hawk! Can I borrow your notes from the investment club meeting last night?" A gorgeous blonde, blue-eyed girl approached with a familiar, easy tone.
"No problem, Emily. I'll email them to you later," Hawk responded with a warm, polite smile.
"Lane, are you really going to 'condescend' to attend the Finance Chamaecyparis tea party this afternoon? I heard you debunked a senior's model in just ten minutes last time." A Middle Eastern-looking girl, holding a stack of thick economics textbooks, asked with a mix of admiration and teasing.
"The academic exchange isn't important. I just really like Professor Emilia's pastries," Hawk winked, eliciting a low laugh.
The charm he projected wasn't about extravagant arrogance, but about his effortless poise, deep knowledge, and innate elegance—much of which came from his previous life's experience and studies. This, combined with the immense wealth and mystery represented by the Lane surname, made him the focus of countless eyes on campus. Girls privately discussed the brand of his suit that day, while guys speculated about his family's investment strategies.
He moved through the crowd like a stable yacht gliding through a bustling sea.
When the bell rang, Hawk declined several invitations from classmates to have lunch and walked with a steady pace toward a small, non-public lounge on the top floor of the Business School building. This was one of the Lane Family Foundation's "safe houses" on campus.