That afternoon, Frank brought Jazmine Harrison to a nearby restaurant.
"You look upset," he observed, swirling his wine glass.
"It's nothing," Jazmine replied absently, her mind still tangled in thoughts of those two mysterious groups from Hong Kong.
Frank raised an eyebrow. "Why did you bring me here? You could have just sent that invitation to Fashion Week through my secretary."
"Why would I miss a chance to take my darling to dinner?"
Jazmine shot him a sharp glare. "You're back at it again? Was the previous beating not enough?"
Unbothered, she picked up a piece of sweet and sour chicken, placing it neatly into her mouth.
Frank smirked. "I have a favour to ask."
"If my little flower wants me to—"
"You seriously forgot your last beating."
Jazmine's tone dropped several degrees, her gaze turning frigid.
A shiver ran down Frank's spine. He sank into his chair like a frightened kitten, visibly wilting under her stare.
"Better," Jazmine commented, satisfied.
