hat figure—absolutely mind-blowing.
Her ultra-short white bodycon skirt clung perfectly to the flawless curve of her hips; her slender calves were straight and smooth; her thighs plump and silky; especially that narrow waist paired with a full, perky behind—it made a powerful visual impact.
When the woman turned around in the elevator, Grayson saw her: beautiful—truly beautiful.
An incredibly gorgeous girl, quite mature-looking, about twenty-five or twenty-six—slightly older than Grayson, but that age was just right: without girlish softness, she possessed the mature charm a woman should have.
Tsk tsk, women out in society really do have flavor.
Just as the elevator doors were about to close, Grayson hurriedly squeezed in.
The woman cast Grayson a displeased glance, as if blaming him for holding her up, but she ultimately said nothing.
Inside the elevator, it was just the woman and Grayson. They both seemed to be going to the hotel's top floor.
The fragrance emanating from the woman filled the elevator; that scent made Grayson involuntarily tense and excited.
The woman stood in front; Grayson stood just to her side and behind—an excellent angle to admire her perfect figure.
Although Grayson kept telling himself inwardly to be a gentleman, don't look, don't look—
But faced with a woman like this, who could remain a gentleman? Indeed, the psychological thrill this mature beauty gave him was truly different from the pretty female classmates he saw at school.
Suddenly, the woman turned back and glared at Grayson, exclaiming, "What are you doing?"
"N—n—nothing, n—nothing at all!" Grayson was genuinely so nervous and excited from seeing this woman. "Nothing? Weren't you peeking at me?" the woman sneered. This loser still won't admit it?
How stupid—this elevator was so smooth inside, its walls like mirrors; the woman could clearly see every move Grayson made behind her.
"I—I—I wasn't peeking!" Grayson stammered, feeling guilty. Especially since the woman looked fierce yet sexy and mature; her sharp tone made Grayson both afraid of her and even more excited, his tongue tied so he could hardly speak.
Suddenly he felt his manhood become rock-hard—so rigid it even hurt.
"Heh heh, still saying you weren't?" The woman pointed at the bulge in Grayson's jeans. "It's so obvious—and you still won't admit it?"
Ah? Damn it. Today he'd worn jeans. The moment Grayson saw her sexy back, his manhood had gone rock-hard, the throbbing desire pressing against the fabric until his penis even started to ache.
Grayson hurriedly half-turned away, refusing to let the woman see his front. God, so humiliating.
It really wasn't entirely Grayson's fault—her figure was too amazing, and when she had turned around she faced him squarely in that narrow elevator. Grayson had an unobstructed view of the deep cleavage between her breasts. He had to admit: she was stunning. Hard not to be moved, especially at Grayson's age when desire runs strongest.
When Grayson turned back again to face the woman and try to explain, he suddenly felt an itch in his nose… Achoo!
Whether it was the woman's intense perfume irritating him or something else, Grayson sneezed forcefully in her direction.
The woman let out a startled cry.
As it turned out, the milky-white discharge from Grayson's sneeze landed squarely on the front of the woman's blouse—and its color and consistency looked uncannily like a man's ejaculated semen…
"Sorry, sorry!" Grayson mentally cursed in shame. He wanted to pull out a tissue to wipe the fluid off her blouse, only to find he had none. Without thinking, he reflexively reached out to help wipe her chest.
"What are you doing?" The woman's expression darkened further.
"I—I was just wiping it off for you," Grayson blurted, then froze.
It all happened so suddenly—he hadn't thought it through. Now, confronted by her question, he realized both his hands were resting on the woman's breasts.
"Pervert!" The woman slapped Grayson sharply. At that moment the elevator reached the top floor and the doors opened. She stormed out in fury, leaving a stunned Grayson alone in the elevator to nurse the sting of that heavy slap. It really packed a punch.
Grayson rubbed his aching cheek, speechless—after all, he had groped her, so he deserved that slap. He then hurried out of the elevator.
Sebastian Caldwe had been waiting some time. Alongside Caldwe were other senior executives from the Western branch—mostly in their forties or fifties, each looking like a poised, successful professional in a formal suit.
But the moment they saw Grayson, everyone rushed forward to shake his hand and introduce themselves, each wondering why there were faint red marks on one cheek of his. Naturally, as subordinates, none dared ask.
"Young Maste Grayson, please take a seat," Caldwe said, guiding him to a chair.
Caldwe, in his forties, exuded calm shrewdness—surely not just anyone could become head of a branch of the family business.
Then the hotel servers began bringing dishes and uncorking a bottle of wine.
As one exquisite dish after another was set before him, Grayson's expression truly resembled that of a country bumpkin who'd never seen the world. Most of these dishes he'd never encountered; their colors and presentation visually overwhelmed him.
Grayson stared at the table piled with dishes in confusion, not knowing where to begin.
Seeing Grayson hesitate, no one else dared start eating either.
Sensing what was on Grayson's mind, the experienced Caldwe took the initiative. "Young Maste Grayson, let me introduce these dishes. These are oysters with champagne foam and caviar; this is carrot sorbet with foie gras mousse; this is slow-cooked Japanese A5 wagyu; this is char-grilled Chilean sea bass with miso foam…"
When Caldwe finished describing the dishes, Grayson relaxed and reached for the oysters with champagne foam and caviar. Seeing that, the others began to eat as well.
While eating and sipping wine, Caldwe reported to Grayson as though briefing a superior, explaining the family's influence and industries in Oregon—all currently managed by the Western branch.
Grayson listened in amazement. He realized many of the enterprises in Oregon he'd heard of were actually owned by his own family.
That truly surprised him.
Although born into such a wealthy family, Grayson naturally disliked the stereotypical second-generation rich-kid lifestyle. The family strictly controlled him, so his experiences were quite similar to those of most ordinary people.
"Why hasn't Victoria arrived yet?" After a while, Caldwe asked the others.
No sooner had he finished speaking than the rapid click of high heels sounded behind Grayson. Then a voice said, "Mr. Caldwe, I'm sorry I'm late."
"What happened, Victoria? Today of all days, with Young Maste Grayson present, you're still late," Caldwe gently chided.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Caldwe. I wouldn't have been late, but something happened in the elevator and I had to go to the restroom—that took some time." The newcomer was a woman—and Grayson recognized that voice immediately: it was the sexy beauty from the elevator!
Grayson's heart raced again. He hadn't expected that this seductive woman was also from the Western branch.
Though pleased, he also felt a bit embarrassed—meeting her face-to-face now would surely be awkward!
"All right, come formally meet Young Maste Grayson," Caldwe said, leading the woman to stand beside Grayson, but at his side.
Embarrassed, Grayson still couldn't bring himself to look directly at this sexy, mature woman—so he kept his head turned, showing only one cheek.
"Young Maste Grayson, hello. I'm Victoria of the Western branch's Intelligence Department. Greetings to you!" Victoria spoke to the side of Grayson, then immediately extended her hand for a handshake. Grayson had no choice but to half-turn his body and face the woman who made him so nervous.
Upon seeing Grayson's full face, Victoria froze—her outstretched hand suspended, eyes wide, stammering, "Ah—you—you're—you're Young Maste Grayson?"
"Ah, um, yes—um, sorry…" Grayson stuttered, nerves tangling his tongue.
Their awkward exchange left Caldwe and the other executives utterly baffled; they couldn't make sense of it, only sensing the two had met before.
Silence fell. Grayson and Victoria stood there in mutual embarrassment.
Once again, the savvy veteran Caldwe intervened. He pulled Victoria aside, and the two spoke quietly—undoubtedly Caldwe seeking Victoria's explanation.
About a minute later, Caldwe and Victoria returned to Grayson's side, smiling. "I didn't expect Young Maste Grayson and Victoria to have already met in the elevator," Caldwe said.
"I'm sorry, Young Maste Grayson. It wasn't intentional in the elevator—I didn't know you were Young Maste Grayson. Please forgive me," Victoria added.
"No problem, it was a misunderstanding. At that moment we didn't know each other anyway—and honestly, I didn't lose out!" Grayson said, no longer nervous, and even laughed at his own remark.
Hearing Grayson laugh, Victoria laughed too. She realized that when Grayson said he hadn't lost out, he meant that although she slapped him, he did get to touch her chest.
Thus, the awkward moment ended.
Next, everyone ate, drank, and chatted, the banquet atmosphere warm and convivial.
Finally, the dinner drew to a close, and it was time to leave.
"Young Maste, would you like to go to the club to rest?" Caldwe asked. Since they were entertaining him, they naturally wanted to host him properly.
The club?
Grayson paused—one of those places where various sexy beauties surround you?
"No, thank you," Grayson blushed.
Victoria watched Grayson's blush and a faint smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, her gaze revealing growing interest.
Caldwe nodded and said nothing further as they prepared to depart.
Everyone at the table waited—for Grayson to stand before they could.
But Grayson lingered, not only remaining seated but also staring at the leftover dishes on the table.
"Young Maste Grayson, haven't you eaten enough? Shall I ask the staff to bring more dishes?" Caldwe's heart lurched as he spoke anxiously—feeling guilty for not providing enough food.
"Waiter, bring the menu!" Others broke into a sweat—indeed, how could they have let the Young Maste go hungry?
"No, no—I've eaten enough," Grayson hurried to assure them, then pointed at the untouched fruit platter. "I just noticed no one's having this fruit. I was thinking… maybe I could pack it to go? Heh heh."
His remark nearly sent everyone into shock.
What on earth—the Young Maste wanted to pack up the leftovers?
Who'd ever seen a wealthy second-generation heir take home leftovers?
Moreover, this heir was absolutely top-tier.
Yet in everyone's hearts, their admiration for Grayson only deepened.
A family so wealthy, yet without a hint of extravagance—truly someone destined for greatness.