In the white BMW convertible that had just stopped, a woman with fair skin and beautifully manicured hands held a custom-made latest edition phone: "Hello? Mom, I know. I'm downstairs at Robert's building! Yes, indeed, I want to give him a surprise! I know, I understand, bye."
With that, she hung up the phone.
She opened the car door and stepped out, revealing her long and fair legs.
Looking up at the towering skyscraper in front of her with a large pair of black sunglasses, her lips painted a bright red curled into a smile.
Locking the car, she proudly carried her Hermes handbag and walked towards the building in high heels.
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The President's Office on the fortieth floor.
Emma Smith gently massaged Robert Thomson's acupoints, with her nimble fingers extending from his cheeks to his neck and shoulders, sometimes applying pressure, sometimes releasing, but in every case, her technique was accurate.
