Even so, Nora Ainsworth still felt cold.
This was a cold that seeped deep into her bones.
The car went faster and faster.
Quentin Grant had to be the only person who could make someone like Herman Hawthorne act as his chauffeur.
The night was black as ink.
The atmosphere inside the pitch-black car was impossibly frigid.
Quentin Grant nibbled her ear, his voice a mesmerizing whisper. "How do you think I'll punish you?"
Before she could answer, he rolled down the window and shoved Nora Ainsworth's head out into the open air.
Normally, sticking any part of your body out of a moving car was a recipe for disaster.
But now, the upper half of Nora Ainsworth's body was pressed against the hard window frame. The biting wind was bone-chilling.
This was his punishment for her.
Nora Ainsworth didn't dare make a peep. Just a few feet away, Herman Hawthorne was at the wheel.
He must have sensed what was happening, but he remained silent.
