Jasmine Yale was just focusing on counting numbers, wholeheartedly absorbed, her face adorned with a warm, sweet smile.
Because she had just washed her hair, the breeze blew and her fluffy strands fluttered; her cheeks rosy and fair, she had quite the Little Princess vibe.
"Sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two..."
"Idiot."
"Ah!" Jasmine gasped in surprise and looked up.
Out of nowhere, that Maybach had pulled over, stopping right beside her.
The window was open, and Sylvan Cheney was in the driver's seat.
He was propping his arm on the window, tilting his head, his gaze falling on her.
Being so close, he caught the scent of the jasmine-scented body wash on her.
This evening, Jasmine was wearing a loose, blue floral print dress with a pure white knit cardigan over it, giving her quite the pregnant woman look.
Jasmine furrowed her brow, "What number was I at..."
