Chapter 67: An Oscar-Winning Actress

Ferne looked at the unfurled paintings on the table. He had to say that these were pretty good ones. The artistic conception was fairly clean, pure and peaceful. At the corner of it lied a mini signature: Britt.

"Who's the painter?" Ferne asked casually.

Emily pointed at Harold and said, "Him."

Harold, "...."

Ferne nodded. Now he knew what had happened. He glanced at Harold in pity, like he was saying "It's really tough to work for someone else. So pathetic".

Harold glared back. His expression says for him, "I don't need your sympathy."

Ferne, however, was mistaken. What he read from Harold's gaze was "Yes, yes, after all she pays". Immediately, he turned his sympathetic gaze to Emily. "Why don't you keep the card Armando gave you last time? The money is enough for you to live the rest of your life comfortably."

"I feel at ease spending my own money." Emily looked at the painting on the table quietly.

"...."

Emily must not be mocking them, who still relied on their family, right?

"But I still want the fifty grand." Emily said righteously, "Since you offer the place to hang up my painting, then we'll take the fifty grand off from your 10 percent."

"...." This was settled? Did he agree? Emily, you were such a "negotiator"!

Before Emily left, she handed a note to Ferne, "My card number."

Ferne, "...."

Why was she so confident?

After that, a waiter came to clean up the table and asked Ferne, "Mr. Ferne, where should we put these paintings?"

Ferne took out a cigarette as he walked out and waved his hand, "Hang them up."

"Where?" The waiter asked.

"The most luxurious rooms. One in each room."

"Alright."

Having walked around, Ferne went back to the hall, and the waiter came to fawn on him. "Mr. Ferne, you are so thoughtful. There are exactly eleven rooms."

"...." It was not your boss who was thoughtful, but Emily.

If anyone dared to say again that Emily was a retard, he would definitely cut off the guy's head! With her intelligence, damn, he would for sure chase after her if he wasn't married.

And more importantly, she was so pretty. No, no, stop it.

Emily turned to look back when she walked out of the hotel. Harold followed her gaze and only saw an empty corridor. ‘Could it be that seeing Mr. Vincent's buddy reminds Miss Emily of him?’ Harold thought.

Having pondered for a moment, he started, "Mr. Vincent is abroad for a meeting."

Emily glanced at him, befuddled, "I'm just estimating how many paintings you can hang up in such a corridor."

Harold, "...."

They took a taxi and left. Having worn the mask for a bit too long, Emily felt a little hot, so she just took it off and played with the cap in her hand. She studied the driver casually until he looked at the rearview mirror and asked friendly, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." It was a little strange. This driver was apparently not one of Vincent's bodyguards, but somehow, she still had the feeling that Vincent sent him.

Kamron just walked out from the back door and was about to light a cigarette when he inadvertently glanced at the taxi in front of him. He happened to see Emily leaning against the window.

He didn't come back to his senses until the taxi had driven away. Then he rushed out and chased after it, "You damn girl, stop!"

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Harold heard the noise and saw Kamron through the rearview mirror. He whispered to Emily, "Miss Emily, you don't have to look back. It's the guy you ... smashed and kicked."

"Oh." Emily glanced at the rearview mirror and said in a calm voice, "It looks like he's recovered."

Harold, "...."

He quietly clamped his legs.

Suddenly, the detective called and said, "The rat is out."

"Where to?" Harold asked.

The detective lowered his voice. "I don't know. It's only that woman and she just came out. The driver drove a Bentley to pick her up. Alright, I gotta go. I'll send you the location when I get there."

"Is there anyone following?" Emily leaned over and asked softly.

Harold put the phone by her ear, and the detective said, "I've been following her for half a month, and I haven't seen anyone."

As soon as Harold hung up the call, Emily said to the driver, "Stop here. Thank you."

It was only a less-than-four-minute drive. So Emily paid the starting price and hurriedly took another taxi. Before she could sit tight, she blurted out, "Go to the art gallery."

Not long after they were gone, Kamron brought a group of people and blocked the former taxi. As soon as he got out of his car, he saw that the back seat was empty. Kamron kicked the tire angrily, "Damn it!"

The taxi driver had seen much of life and just sat there, fearless. Kamron walked over and knocked on the window. "Tell me, where's the girl who just sat in your car? Where did she go?"

The driver simply pointed at the opposite direction, "Over there."

Kamron gritted his teeth and led his people to rush towards that direction, "Get her!"

"Yes!"

He had made up his mind! And he was determined to catch this damn girl!

In the art gallery, Emily studied every single painting. There were landscape paintings, portraits, and various abstract paintings. The proportion of cold and warm colors was as exact as had been measured. Every painting looked just like a perfect mold, or a soulless replica. So when she finished the last one, she turned away her gaze, somewhat disappointed.

"Miss Emily, I've secretly photographed them all. I'll develop the negatives when we get home, so you can enjoy them in leisure," Harold said quietly.

Emily, "..."

"What's wrong?" Harold had learned to read Emily's eyes. For example, at this moment, her eyes were telling that she disliked the paintings. He did not know how to paint, so when he saw that Emily had stared at the paintings for a long time, he thought that she liked them.

"Just killing time." Emily walked out of the art gallery and the sun shone on her face, making her ivory-white visage to glow like a piece of porcelain. "In the future, only my paintings will be worth taking pictures."

Harold looked at her in a daze. The teenage girl's words did not make him feel that she was arrogant or conceit. On the contrary, her aura was so clean and pure that people would uncontrollably believe that her words would come true in time.

The detective sent the location to them. It was Reverie Teahouse.

They immediately took a taxi and rushed over. Although the name was a casual one, the teahouse was not small. It had three and a half floors. On top of the building was a small balcony with a parasol to block ultraviolet rays. There also were a round wooden table and a set of chairs. Not knowing how, 19 bamboos were planted around. Under the bamboos were a circle of hydrangea flowers, colorful and bright. And the bluestone floor tiles were placed fair and square. All these, combined with the melodious stream, were so beautiful.

A waiter made the tea and left, leaving only the guest there.

When Emily and Harold arrived, they immediately noticed Christy sitting on the balcony. She wore an antique champagne cheongsam, with her long hair curled up and a string of prayer beads on her wrist. She looked so extraordinary but untainted, like a young lady from a wealthy family, who was tired of the secular world and lived in seclusion here.

"Do you have reservations?" An attendant in a cyan robe asked with a smile.

"Yes." Emily pointed upstairs calmly. "We have an appointment with Miss Christy. She's already here, right?"

Harold, "...."

If Emily was an actress, she could definitely win an Oscar. What a pity!

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