The Unveiling of Secret Queen

Chapter 842: Mr. Yancey, How Many Minutes for a Cup of Tea?

The reporter was relentlessly blocking the girl’s way and even shoved the microphone in front of her face, determined not to let her go without an answer.

The girl seemed tired of being cornered and finally raised her head to answer with a number, unhurried.

Candice Yancey watched the girl on the TV casually mention "250" and couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Standing up, she laughed, "That’s truly Nathalie’s style. I wonder how she did on her exams. I was too nervous about affecting her performance to call her."

She was dressed in a blue shirt with a suit vest over it, looking smart and dashing, her eyebrows arched with vigor, yet her eyes were gentle, "Now that the exams are finally over, I’ll find some time to call her later and see how she did."

In front of Mr. Yancey was a cup of tea, the blue and white porcelain glaze underneath shining white, cradling the glossy new tea, the leaves bobbing up and down in the cup—beautiful, like a landscape painting.

His sharp gaze slightly narrowed as he slowly lifted the teacup, sipped the tea, then set the cup down and gave a sidelong glance at the speaker, his voice light, "Do you have something to do now?"

"No." Candice thought for a moment, "Nothing right now, but I do have an engagement later. I have to attend a banquet, the first birthday celebration of Old Yang’s daughter. Our families are close, and since you can’t go, I definitely must represent our family."

She was talking about Beijing’s Sunshine Hall.

It’s precisely in charge of education.

Mr. Yancey lifted his eyes suddenly glaring at her, quite dissatisfied, "If you have something later and nothing now, why not call her right now?"

Candice: "..."

"I understand. I’ll call now, is that alright?" She said resignedly, rubbing her forehead. Turning around, she went to the sofa where she found her bag, from which she retrieved her phone and dialed Nathalie Quinlan’s number.

The phone call went through.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the elderly man on the sofa, looking poised as he drank tea but actually all ears.

She twitched the corner of her mouth and discreetly pressed the speakerphone button to spare her grandfather the strain of eavesdropping.

"Beep."

The phone rang just once before connecting.

The girl’s voice came through, slightly raspy but very polite.

"Mrs. Yancey, may I help you?"

Hearing her voice, Candice’s spirited facial features softened, and she glanced again at her grandfather, who had been holding his teacup for several minutes without drinking a drop, nor setting it down.

Tsk—such a pity!

"Mrs. Yancey?" The girl’s voice, a bit husky as if she hadn’t slept well, but still patient, called out again.

Candice snapped back to reality and couldn’t help but laugh gently, asking her, "Nathalie, are your college entrance exams over? How did you do?"

*

On the other end of the phone, Nathalie Quinlan sat in the passenger seat, her fair elbow propped on the edge of the car window, enjoying the breeze and looking very at ease, "Pretty good."

She was quite earnest. "Above 735. The remaining 15 points depend on luck."

After all, points might be deducted from the college entrance exam essays.

The other points could also be affected if she hadn’t slept well and overlooked something in the questions.

She was just too ’honest’—’honest’ to the point that Candice and Mr. Yancey were at a loss for words on their side.

Well, when people ask others how they did on their exams, and their response is full marks with good luck or 98 with bad luck, what can you say?

Amadeus Yancey was driving.

Today, he was the one picking someone up since Audrick Zachmann had a magazine shoot he had to attend, and Alfred Garland had been sent to Beijing to handle some matters concerning the Hoffman Family.

He rested one hand on the steering wheel, waiting for the traffic light.