He stood in the snow for so long without an umbrella, large piles of snow on his body gradually melting with his body heat.
Ice water seeped into his clothes, infiltrating his pores, slowly devouring his body temperature.
His hands and feet were stiff from the cold, his lips pale, pulling at the corners of his mouth, his hoarse voice revealing a hint of fatigue: "I spent two days and nights getting here, now I'm cold, hungry, and thirsty. Can you join me for a meal?"
Could she refuse?
He knew too well how to make her comply, mentioning only one thing related to Matthew Saxon, and she could no longer reject his request.
--
Ten minutes later.
In a roadside Western restaurant.
It wasn't a high-end restaurant, but the decor was cozy and looked clean.
The waiter brought the coffee.
Scarlett Yates removed her leather gloves, placed them on the table, and took two sips of steaming hot coffee from the cup she held.
