Capturing the Young Doctor's Heart: Mr. Big Shot Won't Let Me Go-Chapter 16: Are You Free, Mr. Lowell?

This was essentially saying that if she didn’t drink, it would be a public show of disrespect.

It was a covert test of her obedience.

Claire Prescott’s eyes turned slightly cold; she silently stood, raised her glass of red wine, clinked glasses with him, and downed it in front of everyone.

The burning discomfort in her stomach was suppressed. She stared at him and said calmly, "Are you satisfied now, sir?"

The young girl’s clear and elegant eyes were calm and unruffled, her fair and delicate face had a tinge of pink, reflecting a tenacity under the crystal light.

Seeing her like that, it seemed that the drink just now was no pressure for her.

Usually, one would say something before drinking; drinking without a word annoyed him.

"You seem to handle your drinks well," Ethan Lancaster said with a smile, yet his eyes lacked warmth.

Claire replied, "Just average. Any more, and I’ll be drunk."

Any more, and she’d leave immediately.

In fact, she had no request to make of him, nor of anyone present.

Though she often went to The Nocturne Club, no one had ever pressured her to drink before. If she did, it was usually low-alcohol fruit-based drinks, and she’d never been drunk.

She wasn’t even clear about her own limits.

But Ethan wasn’t planning to let her off; he took the wine bottle and slowly refilled her glass, the deep red liquid shimmering mysteriously in the light.

He said, "Why not have another two glasses with me."

Claire curled her lips coldly, seeing clearly that this wouldn’t satisfy him. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

Seeing her reluctance, Liam King advised, "Our program’s high-end configuration is all thanks to Mr. Lancaster’s sponsorship. Miss Prescott was introduced by Mr. Lancaster to participate; we should all thank Mr. Lancaster for the opportunity. After all, Miss Prescott’s participation also offers more exposure for your Sinclair Apothecary, right?"

With these words, Claire seemed slowly to understand the cause and effect of the entire situation.

The program crew hadn’t actively sought her out; Ethan Lancaster was the mastermind behind it.

She looked perplexedly at the man beside her, "My participation in this program doesn’t seem to benefit Mr. Lancaster at all. He doesn’t strike me as someone who would do a losing business."

Liam interjected, "Miss Prescott, your talent and beauty are certainly valued by Mr. Lancaster. Surely, once the show airs, the business and reputation of Sinclair Apothecary will improve, too. Inviting you to participate is essentially mutually beneficial."

"Perhaps you don’t understand me. Participation or not, it makes no difference. Even without me, you’d find another heir of traditional medicine to fill in."

Claire glanced around at everyone present, continuing, "Nonetheless, I still hope everyone here remembers the original intent of promoting intangible cultural heritage. I also wish your program success in the end."

She stood up, maintained her composure, drained her glass of wine, apologized, and left the private room.

Ethan Lancaster’s face visibly darkened.

Seeing this, Liam quickly left his seat to chase after her, "Miss Prescott..."

Such a fearless person was a first for him.

Ethan Lancaster had gone through so much trouble, bringing everyone involved in the program to introduce them to the young lady, only for her not to appreciate it at all, stubborn as she was.

Someone tried to ease the atmosphere, saying, "She’s just a young girl, a bit naïve, hasn’t seen much of the world. Let’s not take it to heart."

...

Various people walked past her.

Once outside, and perhaps due to the aftereffects of the red wine, Claire Prescott felt light-headed.

She didn’t know what being drunk felt like; now alone, she feared losing control and doing something foolish due to the alcohol.

As she continued thinking, seeing a familiar figure ahead, her gaze suddenly froze, and her footsteps slowed.

The interplay of light and shadow outlined the man’s handsome and refined profile, coming against the light, still in his shirt and trousers, with a stature as elegant as a pine, arrestingly captivating.

Everything around started to blur; only he remained distinctly clear.

Claire wanted to grasp something to steady herself. As he drew nearer, that feeling grew stronger, so when he stopped in front of her, she grabbed his wrist.

"Do you have time, Mr. Lowell?" Her tone carried an unintentional coquettishness, and she looked straight at him. "Could you take me home?"

The evening breeze lightly swept past, causing her stray hair to flutter, brushing over her warm, rosy face, accompanied by a faint scent of wine.

Her palm was thin and warm.

Keane Lowell gazed into her unfocused eyes and softly asked, "You’ve been drinking?"

"Only two glasses, shouldn’t be drunk."

"Shouldn’t?" The end tone was teasing.

Claire nodded, earnestly, "I’m talking to you quite clearly right now."

"Since when did you learn to drink?"

Upon hearing this reproachful tone, Claire’s face turned a bit somber, and she slowly released his hand, inadvertently brushing past his pinky, like a feather lightly grazing, tingling softly.

Disappointedly, she said, "Fine if you won’t take me."

Just as she was about to call a car, her hand was suddenly enveloped by his large palm.

Looking up, she saw Keane’s deep-set eyes staring straight at her, with a gaze intense and thick, like a whirlpool, as if to draw her in.

He said, "Did I say I wouldn’t?"

...

Keane led her into the car.

Assistant Cheney asked, "President Lowell, to Sinclair Apothecary?"

"Yes." Keane glanced at her, leaned over, and pulled the seatbelt beside her to fasten it for her.

Claire caught a faint whiff of his scent, thanked him, and couldn’t help asking, "What perfume are you wearing? It smells nice."

Keane suddenly stiffened, his eyes flashing a subtle light mixed in the night.

Such a direct question made him slightly uneasy.

He turned to look at her exquisite and sculpted face, "Not wearing any perfume. What scent did you pick up?"

Claire thought for a moment, describing, "It’s very fresh, like cedar with a hint of rose scent, and some other..."

She couldn’t figure it out no matter how hard she tried.

Just as she was about to forget what they were talking about, he said, "Want to smell it again?"

It was like an invitation.

Claire thought of leaning closer but was restrained by the seatbelt over her hips, too lazy to move, "Never mind, I couldn’t identify the scent even if I did."

She thought the topic would end there, but unexpectedly, in a very earnest tone, she said, "Could it be your natural scent?"

Probably due to the alcohol, Claire expressed whatever immediately came to mind, emotions of joy, anger, sadness, and happiness; nothing was held back, returning to a state of unreserved freedom, faintly playful.

Keane chuckled softly, asking in a warm, deep voice, "Who did you go drinking with tonight?"

Claire shook her head without a word, suddenly falling silent, looking out the window.