Natasha surveyed the furnishings in the inner room. A surgical light, an operating table, a few tall stools. The air smelled strongly of concentrated alcohol mixed with povidone-iodine. These basic medical instruments were arranged with meticulous precision, just as one would expect from a compulsive surgeon.
Yang Ming stood at the stainless-steel sink, washing his hands as water streamed over his slender fingers. He turned off the faucet, pulled out a paper towel to dry them, and turned toward his uninvited guest.
"Miss Angelina." Yang Ming pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing to the seat opposite him. "Here for my signature?"
Natasha did not take that chair. In her red-soled heels, she walked straight to Yang Ming's desk.
She leaned forward, bracing both hands on the desktop-a posture that was aggressively assertive while perfectly displaying her curves. The neckline of her silk blouse opened wider with the movement, exposing a generous expanse of pale skin.
"You're much younger than I imagined, Doctor Yang."
Natasha lowered her voice, giving it a husky edge. She pushed a thick document toward Yang Ming, her fingers brushing the back of his hand in a seemingly casual touch.
A distinctive perfume drifted into Yang Ming's nose. It was not one of the floral or fruity scents commonly sold on the market. Its base notes carried a faint hint of musk and some kind of synthetic pheromone.
Yang Ming withdrew his hand and picked up the pen on his desk.
"Nice perfume formula." Yang Ming opened the document to the first page without looking up.
"A synthetic androstenone derivative, with the concentration held at zero point two percent. It stimulates the male hypothalamus, increases heart rate, and produces mild sexual arousal and a sense of trust. Not particularly friendly to people with rhinitis, though."