She was completely different from Joan Harry; she didn't even quite understand what Joan was trying to express.
"But Mr. Pierson told me, no matter who wins or loses, we'll both get a cut. At least fifty or sixty thousand, and at most over a hundred thousand." Cici was particularly cheerful. "Why do you look unhappy? What, you don't like money? People playing this kind of game—there aren't many who don't like money, right?"
"Can you leave?" Joan Harry issued an eviction order, her voice trembling slightly.
Even though the suite's heating was sufficient, she felt as though she were standing in a cold wind.
So cold.
Cold to the bone.
"I really don't get why you're pretending to be so reserved," Cici sneered disdainfully. "Let me tell you, Mr. Pierson despises women who act reserved in bed. If you can't satisfy him, he's the type who won't hesitate to use force on women."
"I don't want to see you again."
