Sensing Marina’s reaction, Quentin took the opportunity to let his hand wander over her waist in a blatant display of possessiveness, all the while explaining, “At first glance, her theme doesn’t sound all that special. But she’s pairing fluorite with rubies for the design—and she’s already arranged things with the folks at LD. On the day of Fashion Week, when her model steps onto the runway, the stage crew will follow her cue and briefly cut the lights.”
“What?” Marina blinked, her lashes thick with mascara.
She was eager to hear more, but Quentin seemed in no hurry. Instead, he leered openly at her chest.
Marina was already disgusted by him.
But she forced herself to tolerate it, even tugging down her zipper to reveal a plunging neckline.
“Why would Niamh want a blackout in the middle of her show? Get to the point!”
Her coquettish tone worked: Quentin immediately buried his face in her cleavage.
Marina could hardly resist the urge to slap him across the face.
With his face still pressed against her chest, Quentin continued, “LD is hosting the show at the Solterra International Exhibition Center—you know the place. Niamh’s plan is to use the blackout to her advantage. Once the power’s off, the emergency UV lights will kick in, making the fluorite glow and the rubies shine even brighter. That way, her designs will steal the spotlight.”
“Ah, I see…” Marina bit her lower lip, realization dawning.
It was actually a pretty clever idea.
“Niamh really knows how to play the game, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, I thought so too.” Quentin lifted his head, suddenly serious.
“That’s why I got you this.”
He rummaged through his briefcase and handed something to Marina.
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