Preston Keaton unbuttoned his shirt and lazily lowered his gaze.
The girl's brow was furrowed in displeasure. Her pale, weak lips were drained of color, which only made her dark eyes seem brighter as she stared at him timidly. She was clearly afraid, yet she dared to talk back to him.
'It seems she's already forgotten about yesterday's helicopter.'
'The girl has a short memory.'
Preston Keaton smiled leisurely. "I won't be harsh with you. But why don't you tell me... if you were in so much pain, even if you weren't going to find me, why didn't you call a servant?"
Evelyn Grant, feeling guilty under his condescending gaze, pouted. "It was too late. I didn't want to bother them."
Preston Keaton narrowed his eyes, a palpable pressure naturally emanating from him that made Evelyn Grant's skin crawl. She pressed her lips together and turned her head away, avoiding his intense gaze. She felt as if he could see right through her, inside and out.
