In My Desperate Time

Chapter 157 What Do You Intend To Do

Why is it linked to Frances’ room?

His room and mine are connected. Then wouldn’t he be able to budge in when I’m showering?

Although he had previously budged into my room, at least he shouldn’t be so blatant about it!

“Frances!”

I walk out of the room and shout at the man who is working downstairs.

“What? Miss me?”

The man raises his eyes nonchalantly and smiles tenderly.

Miss you, my ass!

I scurry downstairs and point at our room and say, “Why are our rooms connected? Tell me what do you intend to do?”

“How about you guess who I want to ‘DO’?”

Frances emphasizes the word ‘Do’ which causes even my ears to blush in red.

Each time when I wish to communicate with him, he becomes mischievous and lecherous.

“I don’t care. Seal the door or I won’t be able to shower in peace.” I demanded.

“Relax, this is a private villa. No one else will be able to budge in. If you are still worried, I’ll keep a watch out for you, or, we can shower together.”

Frances smiles at me suggestively. I want so much to bite him viciously.

For him to keep a watch out for me?

Doesn’t he know that he is the person I’m wary of?

There is no point of saying anymore to Frances. I can only go upstairs in anger.

Frances calls out as soon as I turn around.

“Where are you going?”

“Are you blind? Upstairs!” I didn’t even turn back and say impatiently.

“Don’t go up. Let’s go to the market.”

Market?

I turn around in surprise and look towards Frances.

“Didn’t you say that you don’t allow me in the kitchen? Then why are we going to the market? Don’t tell me you’re allowing me to cook?”

My eager anticipation is shattered by Frances’ words.

“Dream on. You can’t but I can!”

He cooks?

Forget about it!

I’ve seen him cook porridge which was worse than a witches’ brew. But I don’t intend to die so soon.

“Can I refuse?” I look at him and say awkwardly.

Frances calmly glances at me and replies sternly, “What do you think?”

Looking at his manner, it doesn’t look like I have a choice. I can only pout and go with Frances.

I am stunned when I see his choice of vehicle.

“Ride there in a bike?” I ask doubtfully.

France shrugs, “Why not? It’s not far away, there isn’t a need to drive.”

How can I refuse if even an important company director like him is willing to lower himself to ride a bike? Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

Except, where’s my bike? Why is there only one?

“What will I ride? Do I run behind you?” I pout.

“Hop on.”

He looks at the seat behind him and says to me cheekily.

He’s giving me a ride?

Couples in high school and universities often do this simple and yet romantic action. But it just feels odd for Frances and me to be doing this.

“You can choose to run behind or ride with me.

I can choose not to go!

Of course, I didn’t say this and obediently climb onto Frances’ bike.

I didn’t want to have too many intimate physical contacts with him and so I only grab onto his clothes.

The road to the market goes uphill and the road becomes steeper and steeper. I feel the effects of gravity and almost fall off the bike.

“Hold on tightly.”

Frances says coldly.

I grab onto his waist.

I wanted to do this earlier but I was afraid that he would be unwilling to and that was why I didn’t.

We soon arrive at the market.

Frances is wealthy and buys the vegetables without asking for the price. Very soon we are done and, on our way back home.

Naturally, the way back is now downhill. His shirt is bloated by the wind and damp with his sweat on our way up. It looks rather comical.

I stretch out my hand and jab the shirt playfully and start to laugh happily.

I don’t know why I am laughing. It is strange but I just feel happy.

“Did you forget to take your medication before coming out?” Frances asks coldly. It is like pouring cold water onto me and immediately put a stop to my laughter.