Originally, Ethan wanted to merge the entertainment company into Redwood Capital, but after thinking it over, he decided against it. Since Brandon and Kevin would be involved, he might as well just register a new company and set up a new office, separating it from Redwood Capital!
Seeing this, Ethan no longer insisted. His gaze swept over her slightly thin skirt suit and the morning coolness, and he asked with concern, "Have you been waiting long? Next time, you don't have to wait outside the door — just message me or call me directly. In this weather, if I catch a chill, I won't be able to explain it to William."
He half-jokingly brought up William.
Mia's eyes flickered slightly, as if a faint warmth flashed by, but it vanished in an instant, covered by deeper professional composure: "Thank you, Ethan, for your concern. This little chill was nothing."
Her tone was calm, carrying a steadiness that had come from being tempered: "Thinking back to when I first started as an account manager, braving the scorching heat of over a hundred degrees to win over a potential client and running around the streets all day was common. By comparison, the current conditions are ..."
She paused slightly, then naturally returned to the essence of service: "Moreover, as the personal secretary assigned by Chase, providing service beyond expectations is just part of the job..."
"Stop, stop, stop." This time, Ethan simply laughed and raised his hand to interrupt her, teasing with a hint of helplessness, "With your spirit of service, hasn't William ever given you an award before?"
He looked at Mia with great interest.
When William first recommended her, he vaguely felt this secretary might have some background.
But now, hearing her calmly talk about her grassroots struggles, the resilience and pragmatism forged from the bottom made Ethan's understanding of her much clearer.
This is definitely not a greenhouse flower.
He then asked, "Have you had breakfast?"
"I already grabbed something on the way here. Thank you for your concern, Ethan." Mia's answer remained concise and efficient.
"Alright, let's go." Ethan said no more and walked toward the bright orange McLaren P1, parked beside the courtyard, looking like a work of art.
He pressed the key, and the iconic butterfly-wing door slowly unfolded upward like a sleeping beast awakening, revealing a cockpit brimming with a sense of technology and combat spirit.
Ethan sat down in the low driver's seat and saw Mia standing by the cool passenger door, seemingly unfamiliar with this unique supercar opening method.
He leaned over and pointed to a cleverly designed sensor area on the inside of the car door: "Here, just tap with your finger, and the door will automatically rise."
His movements carried a sense of mastery and familiarity.
"Understood, thank you, Ethan." Mia followed the instructions, her movements still unfamiliar with the first attempt, but calm and composed.
She carefully sat into the highly wrapped bucket-shaped seat, placing a high-quality black leather briefcase — which looked like it was filled with documents — on her knees pressed together, her posture composed.
The engine emitted a deep, surging roar, like the low growl of a wild beast.
The McLaren P1 carried the two of them, leaving the quiet courtyard and merging into the gradually awakening city traffic.
...
Mia curiously examined the interior of the McLaren P1.
This was a bit different from the luxury car she had imagined.
The interior was too basic.
Visually, the large carbon fiber panel had a cold, hard sheen, the physical buttons were rough and direct, and the central display appeared small and simple.
There was none of the warm wood trim, fine leather wrapping, and exquisite clock face that were everywhere on William's Mercedes-Benz S-Class, nor those dazzling ambient light strips.
Although the seats were premium bucket-shaped, the side bolsters provided very strong support and the padding was relatively firm. When she sat down, she could clearly feel subtle road vibrations, completely unrelated to "comfort."
The "no-frills feel" of the interior couldn't even compare to some luxury sedans worth a fraction of the price she'd seen before.
Ethan keenly caught the fleeting confusion and assessment in her eyes. A knowing smile appeared at the corner of his mouth as he took the initiative to say, "You think this thing worth millions looks worse than a car worth a fraction of that? Even sitting in it feels rock hard, nothing like a sofa?"
"Huh?" Mia, having her thoughts exposed, quickly waved her hand awkwardly, "No, no, Ethan, I was just ...."
She wanted to find a proper excuse to cover it up.
Ethan chuckled lightly, his tone relaxed and honest: "It's fine, just tell the truth. True feelings are what they are, no need to hold back. That's what top-tier supercars are — works of art on the outside, race cars inside."
He pointed at the exposed carbon fiber pattern on the center console: "The manufacturer is meticulous about every gram in pursuit of ultimate lightness and performance. Genuine leather wrapping? Luxurious wood trim? Ambient lighting? These are all dead weight. Keep it simple where you can; carbon fiber where you can. Comfort? That's something to worry about with an executive sedan."
He tapped the steering wheel: "Speed and control are the only beliefs. So in terms of interior and comfort, it really leaves million-dollar business cars miles behind."
"So that's how it is!" Mia suddenly understood, a faint embarrassed smile appearing on her face. Her previous nervousness faded a little. "I was ignorant. I used to only know supercars were expensive, but I never expected the design logic behind them to be so ... 'hardcore.'"
She chose her words carefully.
Then, an even deeper question surfaced in her mind. She couldn't help but look at Ethan with genuine curiosity: "Then why are guys still so obsessed with sports cars? Although the performance is good, it's not comfortable to drive day-to-day and has low practicality. Besides ... Hmm... They look good?"
She was too embarrassed to say "showing off" directly.
"Haha, you hit the nail on the head!" Ethan laughed heartily, a hint of mischief flashing in his eyes. "Looking cool is, of course, the main product. But there's one thing you might not have expected — the car's AC isn't really that good."
Mia was taken aback and instinctively sensed something: "Huh? AC? I feel like it's pretty cool right now, isn't it?"
The temperature inside the car was clearly very comfortable.
Ethan smiled and explained, "It's not that the cooling can't work. I mean, when you drive a car like this and pull up at a busy intersection or a lively neighborhood... Guess what? Even if it's a hundred degrees out, you still have to roll down the window."
Mia instantly understood his underlying meaning, and the blush that had just faded from her face surged up again.
Having seen too much of the glamour and worldly affairs at the bank, she knew exactly what Ethan meant — rolling down the window wasn't for ventilation, but to catch envious or curious glances from every direction, especially from women.
This is the "social currency" attribute of a top-tier sports car beyond speed, silently declaring wealth, status, and a certain kind of appeal.
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