Li Qiao's heart was stung by Shang Yu's words, her nose filled with the breath he exhaled.
She rubbed her forehead against the man's, wrapped her arms around his lean waist, and looked up, saying, "I've been really busy, haven't I?"
Busy, indeed, was a very good excuse.
In the dim light of the living room, Shang Yu observed Li Qiao, cupping her face in his palm, his eyes narrowed with a barely noticeable playfulness, "Are you really just busy?"
"Of course." Li Qiao didn't want to continue the topic and, looping her arm through his, headed back to the living room, "Did my uncle tell you when he'll give me the other twenty pages of translation documents?"
The man glanced at her right hand without a change in expression and curved his lips slightly, "In a hurry?"
As the two of them sat down, Li Qiao leaned against the couch, crossing her legs, and turned her head to raise her eyebrows, "Not in a hurry, just asking."