Jasmine Yale turned desolate as she laughed, "But I don't care about him, I don't care about him at all. What's so great about him that makes me want to see him, Charles Mcintosh; you're lying to me, I won't go, I'm not going…"
He had drunk alcohol on the rainy day.
He questioned her, what if he couldn't make it back?
Could that be considered a prophetic statement?
Jasmine Yale's body felt cold, extremely cold.
Her hands were shaking, she gripped her scarf, failing to control herself.
Charles Mcintosh looked at her, gave a slight nod, "Miss Yale, you should take care of yourself. I'm heading to the airport soon."
Having said that, he bent down to pick up the magazines scattered on the floor for Jasmine Yale.
"Miss Yale, here." He placed the magazines and the documents into the arms of Jasmine Yale.
Jasmine Yale had a blank stare, without any focus.
She held onto the magazines, barely reacting.
