Chapter 54 Are You Feeling Comfortable

Maggie found his reaction amusing.
As they stepped out of the hospital building, Dan stopped by a patch of mossy green grass and took out a cigarette pack.
It was a limited edition cigar.
"You smoke?" she asked, surprised.
Ignoring her astonishment, he lit the cigarette. "Occasionally."
This behavior was unlike him.
Most renowned hosts took great care of their vocal cords.
They avoided spicy food, alcohol and cigarrettes, and before bed, they would suck on loquat pieces and gargle with medicine daily to moisturize their throat.
Dan had a pure and clear temperament, like the refreshing wind and bright moon in the mountain stream.
When Maggie had just entered the industry, she had watched his interviews.
In those scenes, there were unruly mobs wielding whatever objects they could find, chaotic scenes of looting, smashing, and robbing pedestrians and vehicles on the narrow and crowded Scott Street, with explosions echoing all around.
It was like suffocating.
Yet Dan remained composed, his fingers resembling the delicate branches of a plum tree, and his bleeding wounds tightly gripping the microphone.
But it was like dawn, a rekindled ray of light, with solemn and meaningful words.
Maggie was about to bid him farewell politely when he turned his head and asked, "Are you coming tomorrow?"
"I'm not sure," she replied.
He flicked the ash off the cigarette. "You're bleeding."
Maggie looked down at her thigh. "Where?"
Dan didn't understand her logic and chuckled, "It's your earlobe."
She raised her hand to cover it and gently rubbed it between her fingers, smearing a trace of blood.
It was when they collided earlier that her earring fell off, and her earlobe was bleeding. She had wiped it once, but it hadn't stopped.
Dan lifted his chin, revealing a clear and sharp jawline. "Register and get some anti-inflammatory medicine. If you don't treat the wound, your ear will get infected and rot."
Maggie was frightened by his serious tone and muttered, "It won't be that serious."
"Don't believe me?" Dan took a drag of his cigarette and coughed, unable to stop coughing. "Infection will also ruin your face and cause swelling; you'll be out of the hosting industry for good."
She swallowed and stared him down for a moment before turning on her heel to leave.
Thinking he had provoked her, Dan called out, "Where are you going?"
Without looking back, Meggie, with her waterfall-like silky smooth hair outlining her elegant figure, replied, "To get some medicine. I still want a long-lasting career in hosting."
Dan chuckled, but the smoke choked him, causing a coughing fit he couldn't stop.
...
Harold finished his social gathering at Platinum Square. It was 10 p.m., and his car was parked on Island Road, where neon lights were scattered.
He had vomited once, having enjoyed a barrel of pure grain whiskey during the gathering. It weighed ten kilograms and was sealed with a red silk cover.
Several cities under his jurisdiction were busy with elections and changes of office. During this critical period, there were several times more officials moving around than usual.
As someone in the circle of power and decision-making, he had considerable voting power. During the meal, he had consumed four and a half pounds of medium-alcohol liquor, and its aftereffects should not be underestimated.
Harold was experiencing a nerve pain that felt like a chisel hammering at his temples, with blood vessels bulging on his forehead and his eyes filled with dense red bloodshot veins.
Nick turned on the reading light, noticing that his complexion looked terrible. He frantically searched his pockets and realized that he didn't have his medication with him. "Secretary, I'll buy it now," he said.
But he was stopped. The Secretary pressed against his temples to relieve the pain. "I can get through this," he said firmly.
Nick understood that in the world of politics, discussing health issues was considered taboo. Colleagues would exchange greetings and chat with each other, but topics such as hospitals and illnesses were strictly avoided.
He was purely challenging himself. Used to being unstoppable in front of others, he refused to let age or illness bring him down.
As he entered the house, the nanny was gathering magazines and fruit trays. She nudged Maggie, who was leaning against the table. "Mr. Edwards is back."
Harold took off his suit jacket, which reeked of smoke and alcohol, and walked towards the sofa. "What are you looking at?"
Maggie was sitting on the carpet, so engrossed that she hadn't even heard the sound of the door.
She had a magazine column from the station's travel show tucked under her arm.
Maggie looked up at him, her bare face shining under the dim floor lamp, like a gentle moon outside the window.
The strong smell of alcohol permeated the air. She restrained her expression. "Have you had a lot to drink?"
Harold sat down on the sofa, unfazed. "Just a few drinks."
"Don't lie..."
He looked at her with a smile. "Have you decided where you want to go?"
"Yes."
Maggie put down the magazine and climbed onto his lap, snuggling into his arms.
Her young and tender body, warm and fragrant, pressed tightly against his strong physique. Harold held onto her waist. "Tempting me?"
Maggie didn't say a word. She sensed his exhaustion and tension, and her fingertips massaged his temples with varying pressure.
"Does that feel good?"
He closed his eyes, relaxed his nerves, and let go of everything. His palm glided along her back. "Sure."